The Beauty Within the Beast

Chapter Six

Upon waking the next morning, she tiptoed out of her room.

The house was silent. Wolfgang’s bedroom door was ajar. She caught sight of the long, deep grooves in the wood-made by his claws, and shuddered with fear.

“Wolf?” she called softly.

No answer. Perhaps that was a good sign.

She stole down the stairs. The kitchen was empty, which was a surprise.

She found him in the garden. He was crouched on the ground in the vegetable patch, bare-chested and up to his elbows in mud.

“Go away!” he shouted when he saw her.

“Why?” she asked, not understanding, still walking towards him. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Go away now! Go back in the house!”

“I don’t understand Wolf!” she said. “Why?”

“Do as I say or else!” he snarled, an ugly look of anger and brutality filling his eyes.

She did as she was told.

He came back in a few minutes later, brushing off his trousers and hands and scattering bits of mud all over the floor.

Eleanor had her hands on her hips.

“What was that all about?” she said. She was still staring at his naked torso.

He looked suddenly ashamed.

“I...I,” he stuttered, unable to finish.

“You what?”

He sighed, giving up.

“I killed the cat,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

She almost laughed. Because she didn’t believe him.

“You did what?”

“I’m sorry. He was in the way. So I... kind of...just, killed him.”

Eleanor had no idea what to say, or think, or do. She felt strangely detached from this situation. It didn’t help that she was quite distracted by the long, lean muscles which rippled under his pale tan skin.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

He snorted.

“I just buried him,” he said.

“That was decent of you.” Her voice was accusing, but she didn’t sound as angry as she should’ve been. Her face was growing warmer the longer she looked at him.

“I really am sorry,” he said and looked it. “I’ll get you another one.”

That woke her. She glared at him sharply.

“No, you won’t,” she said. “That would be cruel. Animals aren’t objects or possessions.”

His head dipped to one side; his eyebrows raised. He nodded slowly.

“I think I can agree with that.”

“Good,” she said. Then remembered what had been distracting her. “Are you going to put your top back on now?” she asked.

He grinned.

“Why?” he asked, seeming to forget his guilt. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She looked at him, long and hard.

“No,” she answered truthfully.

She found that she wasn’t uncomfortable looking at him because, in some strange and vague way, she believed that he belonged to her. She understood for a moment how he felt, understood why he treated her the way he did. Because in his mind, she was a part of him.

“Do you have a frying pan?” she asked, clearing her thoughts. “A big, heavy one?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“So I can hit you over the head with it,” she said, without even a twitch of a smile.

“Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested in the answer.

“For murdering that poor little kitten,” she said fiercely, a smattering of tears glittering in her eyes.

He hung his head.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t control things. I just get mad and...”

“Then you destroy the things that make you angry,” she finished for him, her voice bitter and cold.

“Something like that,” he said.

“You better not get mad at the chickens,” she warned, keeping a straight face. She didn’t think this was at all funny.

He laughed, a small, sad kind of laugh.

“No. I won’t.”

“Or me.”

His eyes widened.

“Never,” he said, with conviction. “I couldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, remembering the times he’d almost seriously hurt her so far. She knew for sure that the wolf-dog at the door had been him.

His expression hardened.

“Then you’d better just be careful, hadn’t you?” he said. The regret was gone from his voice and his stance.

Eleanor decided to ignore him. She wasn’t worried by his threats...well, not very.

“I’m cooking!” she said, bouncing away into the kitchen.

“No you’re...” he followed.

“Unless you want me to hate you forever,” she said.

“You couldn’t,” he said, overconfident.

“How do you know I don’t already?” she said.

“Because forever hasn’t finished yet,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

Eleanor sniffed in disdain.

“Do you hate me, Eleanor?” Wolfgang asked.

“Why should you care?”

He glared.

“Don’t answer a question with a question,” he said, eyes flashing.

“Why not?”

“Ok, you hate me,” he decided.

“For today anyway,” she said, under her breath.

They were quiet for a few moments. He hadn’t been around long, but Eleanor already missed Wulf’s tiny mewls.

Abruptly, Wolfgang started talking again.

“I’m scared of fire because when my family left, they set fire to my bedroom, where I was sleeping. When I woke, the entire room was engulfed in flames. I couldn’t get out through the door, so I smashed open the window and jumped out. For ages afterwards, I’d have nightmares every time I slept and when I woke the fire would still be there, surrounding me. I was only small. I’d start screaming. That’s when people started to say the mansion was haunted.” He’d said it all in one go, his face screwed up with sadness and fear, without stopping once to breathe.

Eleanor was feeling even less generous towards him than usual. So she didn’t show him any sympathy.

“Do you enjoy killing?” she asked him, expression and tone emotionless.

Hurt flashed in his hazel eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you enjoy killing? Is that why you have entire skeletons laid out neatly in your shed, like trophies?” She knew it was a risk, mentioning it. But she didn’t care, she just wanted to keep punishing him for what he’d done.

His expression clouded over with anger. She shouldn’t even know about those.

“Yes,” he hissed venomously, deciding to relish this opportunity to appal her further. “I love it. I love sinking my teeth into my prey’s throats, and drinking down their lifeblood as it comes gushing forth. But most of all I love the sound of their last, rattling breath as it creeps up out of their soul,” he finished with satisfaction, licking his lips as if tasting it. She couldn’t help thinking he’d rehearsed those words, ready to scare her with.

“You are a werewolf then?” she asked slyly.

Wolfgang muttered a few curses under his breath and then walked out. She heard the back-door slam and laughed quietly to herself as she listened to him smashing around the shed.

He returned a few minutes later, just as she’d finished making breakfast.

“Where’s my food?” he said, sitting violently down on the stool.

Eleanor smothered a grin with her hand.

“Topless men don’t get breakfast,” she said. “Nor do dirty ones. Go and get cleaned up and dressed and then maybe I’ll think about feeding you.” She relished this opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine.

He glared daggers at her.

“Since when do you tell me what to do?” he said. His brows furrowed and his lips curled in disdain. Beautiful, and yet ugly in his anger.

“Since you ask if I hate you yet.”

To her surprise, he got up and went out.

When Wolfgang came back his hair was slightly damp and the mud had vanished from his hands. He was wearing a short-sleeved black shirt, but he’d left it undone. Because he could never completely yield to any authority.

“You’re so childish, you know that?” Eleanor asked, serving him.

He didn’t bother responding; he was too busy staring in disbelief at his plate.

“What is this?” he asked in a low, distrustful tone.

“Pancakes.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Where’s the meat?”

“I don’t cook meat.”

He stared at her in blank astonishment for a few seconds, then, with a sweep of his arm, sent the plate flying across the kitchen.

“I am not eating that!” he raged. “What do I look like? A herbivore?”

“It has eggs in it,” she choked on the giggle that crept up her throat.

He stormed out of the room.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To get some real food!” he shouted back.

Eleanor just shook her head and laughed.

***

When he got back the house was silent. He found the kitchen in the same state he’d left it, and there was a note stuck to the fridge which read ‘If you’re gonna throw tantrums, you deal with the consequences’. Angered by this insubordination, he tore the note into little pieces and added it to the mess on the floor. Then he kicked a couple of chairs over. When he finally realised he wasn’t helping, he set to tidying up.

“I never asked you to cook anyway!” he yelled into the silence.

There was no answer. Fearing the worst, he ran out of the front door, frantically calling Eleanor’s name.

“You’d better not have got out, you little s**t!” he shouted.

Running back inside, he noticed that the back door was open.

He found her in the orchard, hanging upside-down from a tree.

“You stupid...! I... Why’d you do that for?”

Eleanor laughed, looking at him from up-side-down.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his eyes burning bright amber.

“You look silly from up-side-down,” she giggled.

He sighed loudly and angrily, turning away.

She tweaked his hair. He looked back at her, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She stared at him.

“What?” he asked, turning fully towards her now.

“I hate you,” she said and flipped down out of the tree.

Exasperated, he walked back to the house.

He had steak for breakfast, and Eleanor had to look away because he ate it almost raw, blood dripping down his chin, past his throat and into the dip in his collarbone. It made her feel even more sick now, to watch him. Because she knew what he was capable of.

She hadn’t believed it. She still didn’t, not really, not when she thought about it. But she couldn’t deny the things she saw with her own eyes. He was a werewolf. Even if he refused to admit it most of the time.

“Can I see it?” she asked, in a moment of weakness. Her empathy got the best of her, as usual.

“See what?” he asked, and his voice was angry because she had trespassed enough times now on his privacy.

“The room they set fire to,” she didn’t meet his gaze, suddenly ashamed at her lack of consideration for his feelings. He hadn’t had a very good childhood.

But then, that should make him a kinder person. It hadn’t. It had made him arrogant and cruel. She hated him. She didn’t feel sorry for him. Even if he was the only person who’d ever truly seen her.

“So you were listening then?” he grunted, and when she chanced a look she saw that there was mild laughter in his gaze. He was so unexpected. It confused her; she never knew where she was with him. But then, she rarely knew where she was with herself.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said softly.

“I don’t really like that room,” he said. She didn’t hate him as much, when he was like this, quiet and gentle, and almost afraid.

“I understand,” she said. “Tell me which room and I’ll go alone.”

He stood up and shook his head.

“No. It’s ok. I’ll come with you.”

He got up and led her upstairs to the third floor. There were only two rooms on that floor.

The half of the door that was left, was black and hanging off its hinges. The white walls were stained with black and brown, the carpet burnt away to reveal the darkened floorboards beneath. A thin sheet of plywood covered the window. The only thing that was left of the bed was a few charred stumps of wood.

“My shirt caught on fire before I escaped, and I had to slip it off. I still have the scars,” Wolfgang said.

He turned to show her, standing up again and slipping his shirt down his arms. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before.

Across one side of his back, the skin was pink and glossy; it crept up his back like malicious silk. Eleanor reached out to trace the edges of the scar and felt him shiver slightly under her touch.

“You must have been so afraid,” she said.

She heard him swallow hard as if to dislodge the tangible fear which stuck in his throat.

He nodded.

“I was,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“So was I,” she said.

He turned to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“They set fire to my hair, in school. I was stupid. Alex told me to cut it short, or dye it, to stop it drawing attention, but I couldn’t make myself do it. It was all I had to be proud of. The only remarkable thing about me. I’d let it grow all the way down to my hips. The longest hair in the whole school. And they burnt it.”

Wolfgang was staring at her in awe.

“Let me see?” he asked, delicately.

It seemed to delight him that they shared this painful experience.

She turned her back and pulled down the zip of her dress, revealing her shoulders and upper back. An almost identical scar to his stretched up her spine, towards her neck.

“The teachers put it out before it reached my head,” she explained and then gasped as his fingers connected with her skin. He stroked the marks with the tips of his nails, gently.

Eleanor found that there were tears in her eyes. She swallowed them down, trying to hide her emotions.

“You see, I was always destined to be ugly,” she said softly, her voice catching on the word.

Wolfgang grabbed her arm and spun her around so that he could stare fiercely into her eyes.

“Stop that,” he said angrily. “You are not ugly. You can never be. You are more beautiful than anything I have ever known.”

His eyes were both warm and angry at the same time. Angry with her for hating herself.

But Eleanor didn’t believe him. She didn’t care enough to be convinced otherwise. She was resigned to the fact that she would always be this way.

“I’d rather be something else anyway. I’d rather people valued me for my actions than for being beautiful.”

A loud thumping sound echoed through the house, making them both jump.

Eleanor grinned.

“Finally, something surprises you,” she said.

Wolfgang stuck out his tongue.

“I wonder who that is. I never get visitors,” he said c*****g his head thoughtfully to one side.

She looked pointedly at herself.

“You’re not a visitor,” he said, making his way to the door. “You live here.”

“Only because you won’t let me leave,” she muttered, following him.

He stopped by the door.

“You stay there,” he said, glaring at her.

She did as she was told, watching as he unlocked the door and went out.

A sudden bark of laughter erupted from behind the door.

“This is new,” he said, still laughing.

Eleanor’s curiosity took over. She disobeyed his order, following him outside.

A wave of disgust filled her stomach as her mind registered what she was seeing. She turned away, clamping her mouth shut to block the escape route of her last meal.

Wolfgang waved a small piece of paper in her face, apparently forgetting his earlier instruction.

“It’s from the farmers,” he said, sounding delighted. He blazed with excitement. He laughed again, full of surprise and wonder.

She took the paper from his outstretched hand. He danced away, to examine his gift. The smell wormed its way into Eleanor’s nostrils. It filled her head, making her feel giddy and faint.

The note read,

‘This is a gift for you, oh great and powerful Werewolf. Please take it as an offering from us humble farmers. We hope it will be sufficient to satisfy your ravenous appetite and distract you from our flocks.’

Eleanor laughed.

“They really have you summed up, don’t they?” she said.

She looked up. Wolfgang had a hold of the carcass’s front legs.

“I hope you don’t think you’re bringing that inside,” she said.

He ignored her and dragged the body forward.

She darted in ahead of him, assuming that, if it came to it, she could stop him from getting in.

The corpse bumped over the threshold.

“No!” Eleanor shrieked, stamping her foot, which made him stare. He had never seen a real girl do that before. In fact, she’d never done that before in her life. She didn’t know what made her do it. “You are not bringing that thing in here!”

He ignored her still, despite his surprise, pushing her aside and hauling the calf after him. It left a long streak of dark blood behind it.

“You’re not going to eat it, are you?” she asked, disbelieving, her face screwed up in disgust.

He looked up.

“Why not?” he asked, and then disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a cleaver in his fist.

“Because it’s disgusting!” she said. “It’s probably been out there for a while, and there are flies everywhere, and it’s gross!”

He didn’t answer, was too busy concentrating on hacking the legs off, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.

“I refuse to be a part of this,” she told him and flounced off upstairs.

When she came back down, he was in the kitchen, mopping up the last remains of a curry with a piece of pita bread.

“You’ve already cooked and eaten?” she asked.

He looked up, grinning, and licked sauce from his top lip.

“Yep. And it was delicious. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She screwed her face up.

“I’m good thanks.”

She couldn’t have eaten anything if her life depended on it. The sight of half a baby cow on the worktop in front of her was making her want to heave.

“And I also think I’ll leave you to clean up this mess,” she said. “I’m going to dig up vegetables.”

She fled out into the garden. The chickens were up, squawking and complaining for their breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” Eleanor scowled at them, opening the door of the henhouse. She pulled out the sack of corn and began scattering the feed around the pen.

Next, she wandered through the gate and into the vegetable garden. She bent down and dug a few onions out with her fingers, enjoying the cool feel of the damp soil against her skin.

“Eleanor!” came Wolfgang’s call from the house. His voice sounded strange; high and unsteady.

“Coming,” she said, walking leisurely up the garden to the door, the onions dangling from her fist.

She sensed something was wrong as soon as she stepped inside. Wolfgang was not on his stool-he was lying in a crumpled heap on the cold stone floor. He groaned softly when he heard her, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, rushing to his side.

He grunted softly.

She turned him over onto his back. He retched emptily; only then did she notice the pool of dark liquid which was dripping from the worktop.

Eleanor gulped and took a deep steadying breath. She felt herself switch into emergency mode.

“What happened?” she urged and shook his shoulder a little.

“Poison,” he gasped out, and she couldn’t help thinking ‘I told you so’.

But she wasn’t so cold that her mind didn’t start to think of solutions.

“Do you have any charcoal?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly.

“Won’t work.”

“What should I do then?” she asked, lifting his head off the floor and onto her lap. They were in the middle of nowhere; it was at least an hour to the nearest farm. By the time she reached anyone Wolfgang would probably be dead.

She pulled out Luke’s phone, but there was no signal. She couldn’t call an ambulance, although she doubted they’d even know what to do with him.

“Need Wolfsbane,” he said, and it frightened her, how small and weak he sounded.

“Where do I get it?” she asked.

“In the forest. Library. A big herb book. You’ll find a picture.”

“I know what Wolfsbane looks like. Where do I find it? Do you have some in the garden?”

“No,” he grunted. “The forest-its everywhere. But-I don’t...” he started, his voice an awful whisper. “You...go out-alone. You won’t come back.”

The thought thrilled through her, bright and beautiful and full of hope. Now she could run away, she could go back home, she could finally be free. She could leave him to die here in his lonely, silent house, and no one would ever know.

But she couldn’t. Because his beautiful face would haunt her forever. And she would only feel like the worst kind of traitor. It was no victory, to escape from a dying man.

Wolfgang wouldn’t know any of these thoughts though. Whether she stayed here or ran away, the outcome would be the same. He would die. He was just going to have to take that chance.

“You’ll just have to trust me,” she said sweetly, smiling at him, and despite the pain, he smiled back. Because he knew she was right, and he knew he was helpless.

Looking into his eyes she saw the fear in them. The absolute terror of being abandoned all over again.

She saw in an instant of complete clarity that she had forgotten what life was like without him in it. The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

She patted his shoulder.

“Stay here,” she ordered, enjoying being in charge. “I’ll be right back.”

He gurgled; it sounded like he was choking on his tongue. It took her a moment to realise that he was laughing.

“Not going anywhere,” he grunted.

But Eleanor was already gone.

Wolfgang turned onto his stomach and coughed violently. A thick trickle of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Eleanor ran, exhilarated, enjoying the feel of the breeze slipping its cool fingers through her hair. The air smelt like freedom, the sky was pale blue, the trees beckoned to her with their branches. Every sound screamed at her to run and keep on running, to never look back, to forget the silver-haired boy who lay dying in that empty, silent mansion.

It took all her strength and compassion not to listen.

She found the patch of plants she’d been told to look out for, and crouched to quickly dig some out at the roots.

She clasped them carefully in her fist, like they were precious as jewels, and raced back.

Her heart was filled with dread, by the prospect of returning to her prison, and of finding Wolfgang silent and unmoving on the kitchen floor.

He was unconscious when she reached him. She slapped him awake, and he jerked his head away, his beloved, familiar amber eyes flashing angrily.

Isn’t it so amazing how we don’t know how much we love something until we get close to losing it?

“Wolfgang,” she whispered, into his ear, as if she were afraid of hurting him. “I got it.”

He mumbled unintelligently.

“What?”

“Crush the leaves,” he said, his voice still so quiet.

She found a mortar and pestle in one of the cupboards and ground them to a green pulp. Then she filled up a glass of water and brought them both to him.

She gasped when she saw the small puddle of blood by his head.

Slowly, spoonful by spoonful, she fed him the paste. He kept retching.

“Might wanna get a bucket,” he said when he could take no more.

She returned with it just in time to catch the projectile vomit that exploded in her direction. She steeled herself, resolutely determining not to stare at the chunks of brown stuff floating in the dark liquid. Oh, how glad she was that she didn’t eat meat, although even if she did, she wouldn’t have eaten that. If she had, they’d both be dead by now.

He kept on throwing up, till it was dark, sinister liquid dribbling from his mouth, and she knew it was the poison. When he’d finished, and there was nothing left for him to bring up, she hooked his arm over her shoulder and tried to stand him up.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled, pulling his knees closer to his body.

“No. You can’t lay here on the cold kitchen floor. Come into the other room.”

He conceded, pushing his legs up under him to support his weight. She still had to practically drag him out of the room.

She set him down on the red sofa and peered anxiously into his pale face. His pupils were very small.

“How do you feel?” she asked, but he only groaned and rolled over.

She stood up and shut the curtains.

Listlessly, she paced the room. The freedom-filled air still called to her from the window; she heard it playing through the trees outside. It slipped into her ears and filled her brain. She tried desperately to make it go away.

“Sit down,” Wolfgang moaned, his voice a little stronger now. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“I’m just going to throw the meat away.”

She found rubber gloves under the sink, and pulling them on, chucked the remainder of the hacked-up carcass, bones and all, into a black bag. She kept her mouth closed and held her breath so she didn’t have to breathe it in. She dragged it outside and heaved it into the bin. Back inside, she scrubbed her hands and forearms until they were red and a little sore.

When she returned, Wolfgang was already asleep. The day drifted by at an agonising pace, as she sat, anxious and restless by his side. At one point she dozed off, huddled in a corner by the open window, lulled to sleep by the song of the breeze and the whisper of home.

Wolfgang groaned, deep and guttural, startling her awake. The room was filled with darkness; night had fallen over the forest.

He twitched in his fitful dreams; she watched in awe as fur sprouted out of his skin. She found herself moving closer, fascinated by what was happening before her eyes.

She looked away for an instant, distracted by the hooting of an owl. When she turned back Wolfgang was gone, and in his place lay a two-metre-long, silver-grey wolf.

Eleanor gasped and backed away.

The wolf bared its teeth at her. She shuddered, certain of what damage those fangs could do.

She came up against the wall. Terror hammered into her chest and wrapped savage fingers around her throat.

He blinked several times, and then gave an almighty yawn as if to say ‘I’m too tired to scare you’.

Eleanor slowly sank to the floor.

Wolfgang went back to sleep, curling up with his chin resting on his paws. He looked almost sweet like that, and she nearly laughed at herself for being afraid.

But she didn’t relax. Not completely. And she only half dozed, sitting there on the floor, with the hard wall at her back.

***