The Beauty Within the Beast

Chapter Two

Her eyes slid open. It was dark and silent. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be there.

She sat up. Slowly she became accustomed to the blackness.

She was lying on a very old sofa, in the middle of an average-sized room. She stood up, careful not to move too quickly and dizzy herself. She slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling for her phone. It was gone.

Eleanor limped towards the door. And then noticed a tall, slender man standing in the entrance.

Memories of last night came flooding back. She backed away from him, fear in her face, in her throat, in the painful pulse of her panicked heart.

He stepped into the room and switched on the light. It was dim, but it still made her blink rapidly. He didn’t say anything, just regarded her through half-closed, hazel-gold eyes.

For a moment, all thoughts emptied from her mind. All she knew for that instant was his eerie, unearthly beauty. Shaggy hair fell untidily into his face, reaching to his shoulders. He looked dishevelled in an intentional way. He was tall and lean, and his skin was a pale-golden tan colour. His lips were slightly parted, revealing white teeth and pointed canines.

He gave off an aura of savage joy and an untamed spirit. His entire body seemed to laugh at her.

“Wolfgang,” she remembered.

A smile flitted quick across his face, dancing gently in his eyes.

“Yes.”

He came towards her, and the fear stirred again, but she squashed it down.

He held out a hand for her to shake, unable to control it, she pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tucking it safely behind her.

His eyes flashed bright amber for a moment. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light?

She chose to ignore it.

“I understand,” he said. “And I apologise for your unfortunate and unpleasant experience.”

“Not your fault,” Eleanor said, a little too brightly.

He didn’t answer.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said, next moment.

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the way she’d said ‘helped’ and not ‘saved’ or ‘rescued’. To get his own back, he said,

“I killed that man, you know.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “Something attacked him. It wasn’t you. And I don’t think he died.”

“Well,” he seemed to realise something. “I set my dog on him. My dog killed him.”

He gazed smugly back at her, an expression of lazy self-satisfaction in his strange yet beautiful features.

“That was not a dog,” she said.

“Yeah, he’s a brute. Sometimes I think he’s got some other DNA spliced into him.”

She looked at him disbelievingly, he stared back, expression defiant, daring her to argue.

Changing the subject felt like a very good idea.

“What time is it?” she asked, going to the window. She pulled back the heavy brocade curtain.

“Dawn,” he said, dramatically, which drew a smile.

Sure enough, pink tendrils of light were spreading their way across the horizon. The faint grey glow seeped through the gaps in the trees. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

“I must’ve been out cold for hours,” she said.

He nodded.

“What were you doing running around at night, all on your own?” he asked.

“Getting away from my step-father,” she answered, not looking at him. She didn’t really want to talk about it.

“You should be more careful,” he said, and she was grateful that he didn’t probe any further, although she sensed that it wasn’t because he cared. “The forest can be a very dangerous place.”

She saw in his eyes that there were a thousand implications to his words.

“I should be getting back,” she told him, turning back towards the door.

He frowned.

“I thought you were running away.”

“Not forever.”

“Why would you want to go back?”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

He grinned at her, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes

“You do now,” he said. And he didn’t really seem to be joking.

They stood in silence for a while, him staring at her with cold concentration, as if gauging her reaction to this suggestion.

Then he grinned reassuringly as if to reassert that he was only teasing.

“Might as well have some breakfast before you go,” he said, overly cheerful. Somehow, she didn’t trust him.

It was way too early for breakfast. No one ate at dawn. But she was rather hungry after her adventures.

“Ok. Can’t hurt.”

He smiled; a childlike innocence displayed in his open features. Sometimes his appearance changed as quickly as the direction of the wind.

“Follow me,” he said, taking her hand and bowing stiffly over it. She shivered at his touch and fought the urge to pull away again.

He led her out into the dimly lit hallway and through a door a little further down it.

The kitchen was a complete contrast to the vintage look of the first room. Everything was sleek and modern and new. The floor and worktops were made of white marble and the walls and cupboards matched.

Wolfgang started sifting through the cupboards. He opened one of the largest doors, revealing the refrigerator hidden skilfully within, and took out a large bowl.

“How do you like your steak?” he asked, throwing various herbs and spices into the meat-containing basin.

“I don’t,” she said, quickly, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

His eyes widened.

“What do you mean? How can you not like steak?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

A look of pride filled her face.

He tilted his head a little, looking interested.

“Why?”

“Because I love animals, and don’t think it’s necessary to eat them to survive. The way I eat is healthy and doesn’t cause any pain or suffering to other living things.”

He was quiet for a few seconds.

“Hmm. I get that.”

“But...?”

“I have to eat meat to survive.”

She stared at him.

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, and went back to the fridge.

“What do you want to eat then? I don’t have much else.”

“Do you have any bread?”

“Yes, and peanut butter.”

Eleanor took it from him and started making herself a sandwich.

Not long after they were both sitting on the high stalls which he’d pulled up to the work-top.

When Wolfgang bit into his rare steak, blood trickled down his chin. He licked his lips, and Eleanor was suddenly struck by how wolfish he looked. Then he reached up and daintily wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

Eleanor turned away and covered her mouth with a hand. Bile rose in her throat. Just watching him eat was making her feel sick.

Any other time she wouldn’t have been able to finish her own food, but she hadn’t realised how hungry she was till she’d started on the sandwich.

“Coffee?” he asked, and she saw that he’d already finished.

“I see you inhale food rather than chewing like normal people,” she said.

He laughed. She found that she enjoyed the sound of his laugh, and resolved to do everything she could from then on to hear it again.

“I’m not a normal person,” he retorted, handing her a mug.

She didn’t deny that. He got stranger and stranger by the second.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. “Don’t you have people to help you take care of this place?”

His gaze turned shifty; he wouldn’t look at her.

“Oh, they all left long ago.”

“Why?”

“They got scared off,” he answered.

Which, somehow, didn’t surprise her.

“Should I be scared too?”

He looked down at his hands, turning them over, studying them. He looked shy once more.

“No. I would never hurt you.”

Which wasn’t what she’d asked at all.

“Why not?” she said softly.

“Because you are the only remaining proof of the remnants of my humanity,” he told her and glanced up into her eyes. His were warm and deep and gentle. Her heart did a funny little jump in her chest.

She looked away. This conversation was going strange places.

Wolfgang seemed to think so too, and next moment stood up, and asked briskly,

“Shouldn’t you call your mum? Let her know you’re ok?”

Eleanor shook her head and opened her mouth to speak,

“You’ve been gone all night remember? She’s probably worried about you,” he cut in.

“Probably not,” she said under her breath. Aloud she said,

“I can’t find my phone anyway. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket, or those bastards took it.”

He conjured it from thin air, handing it to her.

“I found it when…after I brought you here.”

She shrugged and started dialling her mum’s number.

It rang a few times before she answered.

“Ellie? Where are you? I’ve been worried…”

“I’m fine. I stayed at a-a friends place.” She made a face at him as if to ask if they were in fact friends.

He grinned like she’d paid him the greatest compliment.

“Who’s? Luke’s? Are you guys together now?”

Eleanor pulled the phone away from her ear, glared at it, and cut the call.

Wolfgang looked at her quizzically, his head tilted to the side like a curious cat.

“I guess you’ll be wanting a change of clothes too? Walking around in broad daylight wearing just your night clothes is extremely undignified,” he asked, changing the subject.

Eleanor got the feeling that he was trying to prolong her stay as much as possible. She shrugged mentally; he was probably just lonely.

“Ok.”

He took her up the grand staircase and into a small dressing room. Eleanor looked around it in awe. It was full of antiques; a beautiful dressing table, a wardrobe, a mirror. It was like taking a step back into the past.

“Where’d you get all this old stuff?” she asked.

He brushed it off indifferently.

“Oh, these things? They’ve been here forever.”

He turned away and started rummaging through the contents of the wardrobe.

“Here,” he finally said, producing a dress with a flourish. “This should fit you fine.”

It was as old-fashioned as the room. It was a pearly pink colour and made of satin. It had a tight bodice and long, flowing skirts.

“I hope that didn’t belong to your long-dead wife,” Eleanor said.

“Nope,” he said, without laughing. “Never had one of those.”

He handed her the dress and then made his way to the door.

“You get changed. I’ll be waiting outside.”

She waited until he’d closed the door and then undressed. The dress was a little hard to get on, and she took a few minutes navigating it.

She pulled it gently over her head and then gasped at her reflection.

The dress was beautiful. It fitted snugly around her chest and hips, hugging and accentuating her barely existent, natural curves. The skirts were slashed, revealing the white petticoats underneath. The sleeves were tight to the elbow and flared out over her forearms. The neck was wide, square and not too low, and ended in the V-shaped lace-up front.

She gave an experimental twirl.

“Marvellous,” Wolfgang’s wry voice said, and she spun round to find him standing in the doorway.

She scowled.

“I hope you weren’t peeping,” she said, her hands on her hips.

“Of course not,” he said, and his voice was earnest, but his eyes were full of mischievous laughter.

“Good.”

“So, you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. And very vintage. You could get a lot of money for it.”

He attempted a modest posture; it didn’t work and it didn’t suit him at all.

“I know.”

“I feel bad to take it.”

He grinned.

“Don’t. It isn’t for free.”

She didn’t quite like the sound of that.

He turned to walk out of the room, and she followed.

“Some of this stuff must be worth a fortune.”

He laughed his deep, rich laugh.

“It is. I auction stuff off now and then when my funds are running low.”

“Well, it’s alright for some. I’d kill for a free source of income; a little extra money would be more than welcome!” she said.

He chuckled.

“I suppose you’d like a tour too?” he asked.

He seemed to be making suggestions and then acting like they were her idea in the first place.

She looked at him and saw behind the laughter that he was very ready to be annoyed. She got the feeling that if she refused, he’d explode in a fit of anger. So, being the shrewd and intelligent girl that she was, she politely accepted.

“That would be lovely,” she said, with a falsely bright smile.

He grinned at her, belying the dangerous expression in his narrow hazel eyes.

He hooked his arm through hers and led her down the hall.

“This floor has seven bedrooms,” he informed her, as he strode along. He’d put on his most superior tone. “Each one with its own bathroom.”

He grandly flung open the door of the first room.

“You may, of course, take your pick,” he said, and Eleanor didn’t understand at all.

Eleanor was instantly distracted by the sight before her.

The room was lush and luxuriant. A large four-poster bed, complete with satin covers and cushions, stood in the middle of the room. The carpet was pale pink and made of plush faux fur. Twin lamps were placed on either side of the bed. The curtains were beautiful, tumbling gently down over the large window. Natural light streamed in, sparkling off the satin and shine which filled the room from top to bottom. There was a little bed-side cabinet and a white sheep's wool rug on the floor. A small flat-screen TV was mounted on the opposite wall. It didn’t look like it belonged.

He showed her into the connected bathroom. Here the strange old/new theme of the house was even more apparent. It gave the place an out-of-this-world feel.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, looking just a little sad. "It's kind of quiet and lonely," he admitted.

Eleanor chose to laugh because she wasn't feeling particularly generous towards him. He was making her feel distinctly uncomfortable with his strange, enigmatic suggestions, and all she wanted to do was go home.

"Yes, I'm sure it has its own fair share of ghosts," she said unhelpfully.

The tour continued onto the third floor, which had another seven bedrooms on it, and two large bathrooms. They went out onto the roof, where some deckchairs were opened out under the rising sun, and several window boxes full of flowers lined the edges.

"Like it?" he asked.

She smiled to herself but didn't let him see it.

"Yes, it's all very pretty," she said, with a slightly patronising air.

He glared sideways at her.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go down to the basement."

"Ok," she said, glad for some reason that she'd annoyed him.

They went down. Eleanor noticed the old-fashioned dumb-waiter in the hallway. It made her laugh again, she liked it.

"That's handy," she commented.

The basement was large, airy and quite cold. It was also pitch black.

"I can't see anything," she complained.

"I know," Wolfgang said in a low, sinister voice. "That's the way I like it."

She decided to pretend that she wasn't at all scared, even though she didn't like the fact that she couldn't see him. She felt the strong need to keep an eye on him at all times.

"This little tour has been very...entertaining, but I really do need to get home now," Eleanor said, rather condescendingly.

"You can't go home," he said, his voice quietly dangerous.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you can't leave. You have to stay here now."

She spun towards the sound of his voice. He kept moving, she wished that she could see him, that he would turn on the light.

"Why?"

"Because no one can know about me, no one can find out."

"They won't know about you. I won't tell," she reassured him. And wondered what exactly there was to know. He was nothing but a strange, solitary, eccentric young man.

He ignored her, continuing to pace round and round; she heard his footsteps on the cold, hard stone floor.

"I’ll sign an agreement or something, one of those non-disclosure things, so I legally can’t talk about you to anyone, just let me go home!" she began to panic, her heartbeat fast in her chest, struggling to break free of its cage.

"No," he answered, his voice emotionless and cold.

"But why? Is it about your dog? The one that attacked that guy?"

He laughed darkly. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

And Eleanor wanted to laugh too, or maybe just cry. She was beginning to feel hysterical. This whole thing was completely ridiculous.

She dropped her hands and hung her head. A huge sigh escaped her lips.

"Please..." she said, in a last desperate attempt to appeal to his better nature...if he had one.

He didn't seem to hear her; at least, he gave no response.

Without warning, he touched her shoulder. She jumped violently, terrified.

"Don't touch me." She hissed at him, and he chuckled.

'I was saved from one man just to be attacked by another,' was her frenzied observation.

"Our tour isn't finished," he said, without apologising. "Come on."

He took hold of her arm, she tried to pull away but his grip was strong, although not painful.

He led her up out of the dark cave and back onto the second floor.

She wasn't concentrating on what she was seeing; all she could think of was escape. She wanted to get away from this strange man and his huge, silent, lonely house. She couldn't imagine being here for any length of time. It would eat away at her heart.

He showed her the dining room, with its large oblong mahogany table which could seat at least twelve people. He showed her the big ballroom, with its polished marble floor and DIY disco-ball attached clumsily to the ceiling. Then he took her into the little side room.

It was empty except for a grand piano. Wolfgang went straight to it, a small sigh of something like relief falling from his perfect lips. He caressed it lovingly, running his hands up and down its smooth lid.

He opened it, an expression of ardent rapture in his hazel eyes. His fingers stole softly along the keys, producing faint little notes of music. He sighed again, this time with contented bliss, and sat down on the stool.

He played idly with the keys, making no particular tune, simply enjoying the feel of the smooth, cool surface under his skin.

"Did you know I compose?" he asked an unmistakable note of pride in his tone.

Eleanor still wasn't interested. In fact, she was sulking.

"No," she said, noncommittally.

He wasn't at all disheartened by her impassive response.

"Would you like to hear a piece?"

"Hmm."

He started to play. She perked up a little; he was uncommonly good. She thought she recognised it; she was quite fond of classical music.

"What did you think?" he asked when he'd finished.

"Wasn't that The Magical Flute by Mozart?" she said, remembering where she'd heard it before.

"How did you know I was going to call it that?" He sounded pleasantly surprised.

“Umm...because it's already been called that? By Wolfgang Mozart..."

He drew himself up to his full, almost 6-foot height.

"I am Wolfgang Mozart, the child genius."

She laughed, unable to hold it in.

"You're crazy," she said.

He stood up, knocking the stool to the floor. His eyes flashed bright amber; his pupils narrowed to ebony slits.

"Don't you ever call me crazy again," he said, his voice low yet deep and full of menace. "Do you understand?"

She averted her gaze, getting the feeling that looking straight at him would make him madder. Internally defiant, she thought,

‘Why not?! What will you do about it?!’ but she didn’t want to find out.

"Ok. Sorry."

He relaxed a little, turning to right the chair and sit back down.

"Do you want to have a turn?" he asked, indicating the piano. As if to calm himself down, he rubbed the spotless wood with his sleeve, buffing it to an intense shine.

She didn't much feel like answering him, but she could see in his expression, in the way he held his body stiff and rigid, that he would explode again at the slightest provocation.

"I don't know how," she said.

"Really?" he seemed astonished, as though she'd said she didn't know how to eat or walk. "I'll teach you," he said generously.

"No thank you," she said, risking his anger. She hated him right then because he acted like he owned her.

He laughed. It surprised her, making her look up. It was a light and easy laugh.

"Are you sulking?" he asked, barely able to believe it.

"No," she said, her face defying her words.

"Are you angry with me?" he probed, appearing to relish this idea.

She shrugged and pouted without realising she was.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, deciding to be honest.

"Sorry to hear it," he said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

Eleanor didn't respond to him. She went to the window and looked out, her hand on the curtain.

"What's out there?"

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Uh, the garden?" he said as if it was obvious.

She ignored this remark.

"Can we see it?"

He laughed again. He must've been in a good mood-all of a sudden.

"There's no way you're escaping through there," he assured her. "It's surrounded by a seven-foot wall."

"So?" she said. "I'm good at climbing."

"I'm sure you are," he said. "But you'd have to have wings to avoid being impaled on one of those spikes.”

"Maybe I do."

He looked confused.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Maybe I do have wings."

He chuckled.

"Maybe," he said.

"So, we gonna see this garden or what?"

He scowled. He didn't like her disrespectful tone. And he liked to do the controlling. He'd been about to take her out there anyway, but now he decided against it.

"Later. I'm tired."

“How?” she scoffed. “It’s barely even noon.”

He arched an eyebrow at her as if he couldn’t believe she was questioning him. When she looked him in the eye without flinching, he answered,

“I was out all night.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business,” he grunted.

They sat in silence for a while, each engrossed in their own thoughts.

"Wolfgang," Eleanor said. "Where are all your family? Are you an only child?"

He snorted.

"No. I had three brothers and four sisters."

“Had?”

“One of them died.”

"Were they all like you?"

He chuckled.

"You mean weird like me? No. I was the only Wolfen in my family."

She didn't quite understand what he meant but chose not to mention it because he was so unpredictable and irrational.

"What about your Mum and Dad?"

"I was the youngest, and the biggest, wildest and meanest baby ever born. So much so that I killed my mother on the way out," he sounded proud of this statement. "This made my Father insanely angry, and he hated me from the moment I came into this world. So as soon as I was old enough to look after myself and this place on my own, they all upped and left. They thought we were cursed, this house and I," he finished triumphantly, and patted the wall, something like affection in the gesture.

"Oh, how sad," she said, genuinely distressed for this solitary, eccentric young man. No wonder he was so...weird.

He looked down his nose at her disdainfully.

"Sad? No it isn't. It's awesome. I get this whole place to myself," he boasted childishly.

And then he unexpectedly turned shy, glancing up at her through his eyelashes, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"And now I have you to share it with," he said, his gaze soft.

Panic seized her heart in a grip of ice. She looked around wildly for some escape.

'What?' she thought. 'I can't stay here. He's crazy!'

"I heard that," he said.

Eleanor froze.

"Heard what?"

"You said I was crazy."

"No I didn't!"

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" his voice was low and very dangerous. He obviously believed he'd read her mind, and the trouble was she couldn't deny it with conviction. Every bone in her body was screaming about his complete insanity.

"I'm sorry," she said, to defuse the situation. He'd stood up, and was coming towards her, a slow deep anger burning in his amber eyes.

"Why do your eyes change colour?" she blurted out, powerless to stop herself.

He halted, blinking in astonishment, his irises melting back to their usual colour.

"Huh?" he said, unintelligently.

"Your eyes," she continued, grasping at the opportunity to change the subject. "They are normally hazel but they turn amber...sometimes."

He shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ok."

"Good."

"Umm...now what?" she asked, hoping he'd forget that he'd decided to keep her prisoner, or at least that he'd take her outside now. She needed to feel the cool spring breeze on her face, to dispel the uneasy feeling of sick fear in her stomach, and to clear her head so she could plan her escape.

"Now you can go to your room, I'm tired of company," he said loftily, not even deigning to look at her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked and amazed. He seemed to think she was his new pet dog, to order around as he willed.

"You heard," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Eleanor decided it would probably be a good idea to get away from him. The baffling traits of his nature were beginning to numb her brain; very soon she wouldn't be able to think for herself.

"Whatever you say, my Lord," she said sardonically, rising to leave the room.

She expected him to get annoyed at her tone of voice, but he simply smiled indulgently at her and, turning around, began to play the piano.

"I'll leave you in peace to compose your replicas," she said, too quiet for him to hear.

He flapped his hand again as if swatting her words away like an irritating fly.

She slipped away up the stairs and into the first room, the one with pale pink silk coverlets and matching curtains.

She couldn't help noticing that he'd broken the lock. So she couldn't lock herself in. So she couldn't have any privacy. She ground her teeth in utter frustration at the tyranny of this man.

She flopped face down onto the four-poster bed.

'Tonight, when he's asleep I'll sneak out,' she thought, reasoning that because he was obviously mad, he wouldn't have the doors locked. But then again, he probably would. She was beginning to realise that Wolfgang never did what was expected of him. And since he seemed so happy to have her there with him, he probably wouldn't give her up too easily.

Aggravated out of her wits, she pushed her face into the pillow, clenched her jaw, and screamed.

The door banged open.

"Are you Ok?" Wolfgang's panicked voice sounded uncomfortably close to her ear.

She turned over slowly.

"Yes," she said, in an exaggeratedly calm voice. "I am fine."

"I heard you scream," he accused, glaring at her, cross because she'd made him anxious.

"Yeah."

"Why did you scream?"

She scowled back at him.

"Because I felt like it," she said, jutting her chin out in defiance.

"Well don't do it again," he said.

"Fine. I'm bored," she said, changing the subject.

"Let's go in the garden then, you spoilt brat," he said, and Eleanor tried not to laugh, because she'd got her own way and he knew it.

In some ways, she wasn't afraid of him. He mostly just made her laugh. But there was something in the cold glint of his eyes that told her he was dangerous, and that he was used to getting what he wanted or else destroying whatever stood in his way.

"Thank you, Wolfgang," she said and skipped out of the room ahead of him.

He followed her back downstairs, grumbling indistinctly to himself.

They went out into the semi-circular courtyard, and Eleanor drank at the fountain. A small gate in the wall led to the flowerbeds. Bright daffodils danced in the breeze.

"I love daffodils," Eleanor sang, delighted.

He grinned at her.

Some of the other beds were empty. Eleanor brightened at the sight of them.

“Can I grow my own vegetables?” she asked, getting excited. Then she remembered that she wasn’t staying. In some ways, the idea was strangely attractive to her. He had all this space he wasn’t using, and there was no space for her at home anymore. Maybe she could make this work.

“What?” he was taken by surprise and looked around at her, confused.

“Seeds, I need seeds. I can grow vegetables.”

He sighed.

“Yes, we can get you some seeds, you little veggie.”

She laughed, and followed him on through another gate in the fence, into an orchard full of apple and pear trees. He led her by the hand to the biggest of them, which stood tall and proud in the centre.

"This tree is older than my house," he said, and, climbing up it, hauled her up beside him.

There were many things carved into its ancient, gnarled bark, initials mostly.

Wolfgang pulled out a knife from somewhere about his person and offered it to her.

"Wanna add yours to the bunch?" he asked.

She shook her head. She wasn't part of the family and didn’t want to be.

He laughed at her, understanding in his uncannily insightful way.

"Here's mine," he said and pointed out a large cursive 'W' in the fork of two of the branches. It was framed by a large circle.

"What does that circle symbolise?" she said.

"The moon of course. My passion," he told her as if it was as obvious as his breathing.

"Oh."

Eleanor turned away, losing interest. She slid down from the tree without his permission; she noted with cruel satisfaction the incensed look he shot her way.

"Let's see this scary wall and its scary spikes then."

A smug expression settled into his eyes.

"Ok," he said, cheerful again.

They pushed through the trees until they came to the back of the large garden.

The impressive wall loomed over her by around two feet; she couldn't reach the top of it if she tiptoed. It was topped by a row of vicious black spikes.

"Ouch," she said, staring at them.

He chuckled rather wickedly.

"Still think you can get over that? Or maybe you're about to bring the wings out."

Infuriated, but powerless against him, she stuck out her tongue.

He laughed, delighted.

“You are funny," he said.

"I suppose I'll just have to punch my way through," she said, with a sweet smile.

He laughed even more then as if she'd suggested the most ridiculous thing in history. Which, it turned out, she had.

"It's three feet thick. And it also starts underground, so there's no way you can dig under it either."

Her head swung wildly left and right, looking for another exit, there must be a gate or some other way to get out of this place. There wasn’t, and this fact made her pulse begin to quicken. He felt herself starting to freak out, but held it back. She would do that quietly later when she was alone in her room...Her room? She was weakening already!

"Why are you doing this, Wolfgang?" she asked, placing a certain note of pathetic, pleading appeal in her voice. Again, she would try to prey on his apparent sense of chivalry.

It didn't work. She'd almost known it wouldn't. He was becoming just a tiny bit less unpredictable.

"I've already told you," he said, eyes cold, and turned, walking back in the direction of the house.

“Well it isn't logical!" she shouted after him, angry at him for being so unreasonable. And for just appearing in her life and thinking he could control it. No one controlled her.

"None of the interesting things are," he answered, without laughter in his voice, without looking at her. His words and tone invited no argument, and Eleanor knew from experience that there was no point provoking him.

She followed him back inside. He went straight to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cupboards.

"Are you eating?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes," he answered.

"How? We just had breakfast a few hours ago,"

"I have a healthy appetite. I'm growing."

She laughed disbelievingly.

"If you're still growing, you'll be a giant by the time your old," she said.

"I grow differently than other people," came his curt reply.

“Why?” she asked mockingly. “Because you’re a werewolf?” She didn’t even know why she said it, but it was already too late.

He glanced at her, his eyes still angry and cold.

"I don’t believe in werewolves."

“Neither do I,” she looked at him, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Teasing him was proving to be a lot of fun.

"I don't want to talk about this!" he said viciously, frightening her into silence by the ferocity of his outburst.

She figured he did that when he wanted to avoid awkward questions.

"My Mum will be worrying about me," she informed him, letting the topic drop.

He didn't look up from his work; he was busy making a salami sandwich.

He shrugged.

"She won’t. She thinks you’re at-Luke’s,” his lips curled in disgust as he said the name. “And if she really cared she wouldn't have let her husband chase you out," he said, around a mouthful of bread and meat.

That stung. Because it was true.

"It wasn't like that."

He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh? How was it then?”

"We argue a lot, me and him."

He c****d his head, interested.

"What were you arguing about?" he asked.

She scowled at him.

"What's it to you?"

He shrugged again.

"Dunno. Just...interested. Problem?"

She sighed.

"My Mum's pregnant again. And we live in this tiny little two-bedroom bungalow. So he wants me to move out to make room for the baby. He thinks its high-time I started taking care of myself."

Wolfgang grinned wolfishly.

"Cool. You stay here with me...problem solved."

She glared at him.

"Don't you start getting any of your marvellous ideas," she said.

His eyes flashed again, his expression turning dark.

"Don't you tell me what to do," he said. "I'll keep you here whether you like it or not."

"And if I refuse to do as I'm told?" she said, her chin jutting out, a stubborn glint in her eyes.

"Then I'm sure I can devise a suitable punishment," he said. His tone was light and laughing, but she knew that the smouldering coals within him could burst into flames in an instant. In a way it excited her, stirring something within her that she didn’t recognise. She squashed it down.

"Point taken," she said, to keep the peace, although inside she was furious. How dare he?

It was a good thing Eleanor had always been resourceful, diplomatic and tactful. Otherwise, things might've turned out differently for her.

"I don't like your step-dad," Wolfgang said.

"Why not?" Only she was allowed to hate him.

"Because he tells you what to do," he said.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of him.

"Like you do...?" she said.

"Exactly. No one can do that but me."

"I'm going to lie down," she said, standing up.

He waved his sandwich at her.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked. There was mayonnaise on his chin.

"After watching you wolf that down? No," she said, and boldly turning her back on him, left the room.

She heard him chuckle to himself.

He left her alone for most of the remainder of the day, and she lay in the room which she kept mistakenly thinking of as hers.

His absence lulled her into a false sense of security. She got up and went to the window. Trying the handle, she found that it wasn't locked; it opened easily and silently.

She leaned out of it, checking how far down it was to the ground. It was quite a long way, but there was a large pine tree growing nearby; she could just about reach one of its branches.

She leaned out farther, the window-frame digging into her ribs. She caught hold of the branch and pulled it towards her, struggling to get a firm enough grip so she could swing out without falling.

A heavy hand seized her shoulder. A deep, familiar laugh sounded close to her ear.

"Contemplating suicide already?" Wolfgang asked softly. "You've only been here a little while. Am I really that bad?"

She spun round, struggling to appear calm, but he had crept up on her so silently; she hadn't heard a sound. Her heart hammered desperately in her chest.

"You tell me," she gasped, ruining the effect of her carefree words.

Dusk was falling over the sky. Soon it would be night, and she'd be stuck here alone with this crazy, frightening man.

"Dinner's ready by the way," he said, not seeming at all cross with her.

Relief filled her mind. Relief that he wasn't angry and relief at the thought of food; she hadn't eaten since her early breakfast.

But as she turned to walk out of the room, she saw him pull a small key out of his pocket and lock the window.

That was one escape route now blocked.

***