The Beauty Within the Beast

Chapter Seven

The next few days were empty and sad, as Eleanor waited for him to recover. When he was strong enough, she helped him upstairs to one of the beds, so he’d be more comfortable, and so she could lock him in every night when he changed. She fed the chickens and made herself as much salad as she could, eating entire meals made of nothing but vegetables. She tried feeding some to Wolfgang, but when he realised what was already in his mouth, he screwed up his face and spat it out.

“I need real food, to get my strength back.”

Eleanor brightened at this request.

“I’ll go to the market, to get meat.”

This time I won’t come back.

“No,” he said because he’d read her mind again.  

“Why?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” his voice was weak, but his eyes blazed back at her as if they were burning a path to her soul. She withered under his gaze, almost unable to keep up her façade. “I can smell the deceit in your veins.”

She scowled.

“Fine. Don’t eat anything at all then.”

“Go and kill one of the chickens.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“No way!”

The fire faded from his features; his expression turned pleading.

“But I’ll starve if I don’t eat anything.”

Good.

The ferocity of that thought surprised her, she blinked rapidly to shake it.

But this would be the coward’s way out. She didn’t want that on her head for the rest of her life.

“I don’t even know how to kill a chicken.”

He looked delighted that she was even considering it.

“It’s easy. Just chop its head off with the axe hanging in the shed,” his face was brighter than it had been in days, something about the idea of her taking an animals life was giving him great pleasure.

“Shouldn’t I knock it out first?”

“No. It doesn’t taste the same.”

A wave of disgust assailed her senses; she squashed it down. If she showed any discomfort Wolfgang would see it as weakness, and mock her for it.

Silently, she got up and went outside. At the chicken hut, she screwed her eyes shut and stuck her hand in, grabbing the first hen her fingers connected with. It squawked and wriggled in her grip, scratching at her wrists and trying to get free. She only opened her eyes when she almost tripped over the spade. She found the key for the shed and fumbled with the padlock, struggling to unlock it with one hand.

Inside, she found the axe hanging on one wall, and decided to do it there, so the other chickens wouldn’t see. She kneeled on the floor, and held the chicken, by the neck, against the wooden slats. It had calmed down, and lay there with its feet in the air, staring unblinking up at her. Its tiny heart hammered against her palm, its feathers soft and warm on her skin. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sensation of suffocating in her throat. She clenched her jaw, set the blade against the hens quivering neck, and with one swift blow, swung the axe down to sever its head.

Opening her eyes, she realised she’d missed completely, and the chicken was still lying there in the same position, its wide eyes vacant. She laughed, but it was high-pitched and hysterical.

Just do it b***h!

She was gripping the axe so tightly that her knuckles were white. She took a deep, steadying breath, wiping the panicked grin from her face, and without allowing time for thinking, chopped off the chicken’s head. In the instant between the fatal blow and its brain registering that it was dead, it let out a strangled oddly human scream. Next thing she knew, Eleanor’s face and forearms were covered in blood. She sat there for a few seconds, silent in her shock. Then she jumped up, headless chicken hanging from her fist, and rushed to the garden hose. She turned it on and started washing her face and arms with it, squealing at how cold it was.

Wolfgang appeared at the back door.

“What are you doing?” he was laughing, but so was she, in terror and relief and triumph that she’d done what he asked and survived.

“I did it!” she shouted, thrusting the dead bird high like a trophy, her dripping hair covering her eyes.

“Well done!” he said, still laughing, and came over to take it from her. He licked his lips as he looked her up and down hungrily.

“You’d better go and get changed,” he said, helping her push her hair out of her face. She looked down at her almost transparent t-shirt and blushed.

“Yup, Ok,” she folded her arms across her chest and ran upstairs.

When she came back down, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling handfuls of feathers from the carcass.

“We can burn the rest off,” he said, shoving it into her hands. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but nothing could be worse than what she’d already done.

“There’s a blow torch in the kitchen drawer,” he said.

She went and got it, offering it to him.

“You do it, I’m tired, I’m going back to bed.”

Although it seemed pretty self-explanatory, Eleanor decided it’d be best to watch a video before using a blow torch. Ten minutes later, with the smell of singed skin and feathers in her nose, she was finally finished. The resulting carcass was rather charred, so she decided to make soup.

She fed it to him and watched the colour return to his cheeks.

With the vegetables she’d added to it, the soup lasted a few days, and every day he grew stronger.

She only suspected that he was pretending to still be sick when he shouted at her for the first time in days. She’d accidentally spilt broth down his shirt, and he’d slapped the spoon out of her hand and shouted.

“You clumsy i***t!”

Eleanor very slowly, very deliberately placed the bowl on the floor, got up, and left the room. Seconds later he heard the back-door slam.

Wolfgang laughed. Not really knowing why.

She came back in a few seconds later with a strange expression on her face, her arm bent awkwardly behind her back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” she said, her voice low and tight and shaky.

He grinned. It looked funny. Like he was in pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, but it sounded like a warning. A reminder that he would never let her go.

“I’m glad,” she said and lunged at him.

His quick wolf eyes caught the flash of silver in her fist; he caught her wrist and twisted the knife out of her grasp. She struggled, then went still.

“What were you doing?” he asked, and his wonderful eyes burnt amber back at her.

“Getting revenge,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze because if she did, he would shake her resolve.

“For what?” he asked, and she saw the tiny hint of a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“I could’ve left you. I could’ve let you die.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She froze. She didn’t know what to say. Not without exposing herself.

But when she thought about it, she didn’t even know the answer.

“I want to be free of you,” she said.

His eyes melted into a deep, sad hazel-brown.

“You may go,” he said, so soft, so full of sorrow. “I can’t stop you.”

A sob crept unbidden up her throat. She didn’t know how it got in there in the first place.

“But I don’t want to,” she said, so quietly he had to lean forward to hear it. It was just like a breath of air.

He laughed then. Threw back his gleaming head of brightly burning hair and laughed from right inside his heart.

“You’re getting as bad as me,” he told her, and his face was full of tender pride.

He thought that she belonged to him. She didn’t know how to prove otherwise.

She stood there in silence, twirling her hair around her finger, looking everywhere but at his face. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She didn’t know what was going on inside her chest.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said and caught at her chin with his fingers, which made her drop her guard. She glanced up, and his eyes caught hers and held her there so she couldn’t glance away again. For a moment all she wanted to do was let her knees go weak, so he’d have to catch her.

“Tell you what?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“Why you didn’t leave me for dead.”

She scowled.

“Because. I’m not heartless. All life is precious to me.”

He grinned and rolled her eyes.

She gazed at him. For the first time, she noticed that the light glinted off his jaw and upper lip. Staring harder she saw that they were covered in small silver hairs. So, that was why he didn’t get stubble.

“Do you love me yet, do you think?” he asked, and she was gratified to see that he coloured slightly.

But then she registered the word ‘yet’. What was that supposed to mean? Was he so arrogant that from the very beginning? Wait. Yes, he was.

She hated that arrogance in him. So she lied. She was getting quite good at that.

“No,” she answered, guiltily enjoying the pang of sadness that flashed through his features.

“Good,” he said coldly after he’d composed himself. “I’m glad. Werewolves don’t fall in love.”

Eleanor’s resolve broke. She spluttered with laughter. He glared at her, his hands bunching into fists.

“You said...” she laughed, pointing at him. He slapped her hand away. “You said you don’t...believe...in... werewolves,” she fell about, giggling insanely.

Her hysteria wasn’t catching. Wolfgang stared impassively at her, not at all amused.

Eleanor stuck her tongue out at him.

“Grumpy old man,” she grumbled.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

She pulled an innocent face-it didn’t convince him because her laughter spilt over and bubbled out of her lips.

She suddenly realised that he’d stood up. He was taller than she remembered; she hadn’t seen him standing for a while. His undone shirt slid further down his shoulders, revealing his corded muscles.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

Like lightning, his arm snaked out and he grabbed her by the throat. She cried out in alarm. He lifted her, her feet leaving the ground. Panic filled her body. She kicked out. By a random stroke of fortune, her knee found its target.

Wolfgang dropped her and doubled over, panting in pain.

Eleanor cowered away from him, trembling with fear. She rubbed at her sore neck. And hoped silently that he wouldn’t kill her for this latest blow to his ego.

He started laughing. It began right down inside his stomach and erupted upwards in one deep, throaty chuckle.

“I deserved that, didn’t I?” he said, his voice carelessly light, but she sensed in his posture the blazing rage.

He wanted to kill her. She saw that in his glittering eyes.

And she didn’t even care. She was just full of adrenaline and joy. Because he wasn’t quite invincible.

He swallowed; she followed his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down his throat. Then he turned away. As he did, a few beads of blood dripped from his hands onto the floor.

She caught at his wrists, making him turn back. She was shocked to see his half-wolf face looking into hers.

“I’m sorry,” she softly, said and opened his fists. A row of four small cuts decorated each palm.

Why am I sorry? He started it.

He grunted. And shrugged away, walking off.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. I need to feel the forest. Smell it. Drink it in with every breath.”

She let him go without making a fuss. She needed some time away from him anyway. His constant presence over the last few days had sapped away her energy. Probably her sanity too.

The library drew her. She crept inside and gently closed the door behind her.

Selecting a book marked ‘Werewolves’ from the W section, she settled herself down and began to read.

***

When Wolfgang returned, she had fallen asleep on the cushion, her hand tucked under her cheek, the book clutched to her heart. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. The hunger in his gaze was frightening.

She sat up quickly.

“You startled me,” she said.

A smile flashed across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Been doing your research?” he asked, sitting down next to her and taking the book from her.

She nodded and bit her lip, afraid that he’d be cross.

How could she keep living like this? Constantly fearing his wrath?

“Yes,” he said, flicking through the pages, but not reading anything. “There are many legends about how werewolves are made. I was born in the forest. My mother was out for a walk, trying to get the baby to come. She had all her children here, in this house. My dad was out, as always. I was born at night, out in the forest, under a full moon. My siblings said that a wolf came and bit through the umbilical cord, but I don’t believe that. They said that the moonlight burnt my hair silver, and the forest whispered its song into my soul,” his features blazed with savage joy at this idea. With the red, dying rays of the sun on his skin and hair, Eleanor could believe anything about him. He looked like a creature from another world.

“I’ve had the Wolfen blood since I was born. I started shifting fully when I came of age. Apart from those stories, no one knows why. But the fight of it killed my Mum.”

She heard the raw sadness in his voice, saw it smoulder in his frowning gaze. It made her want to take him in her arms, it made her want to heal all his pain.

“Can it be cured?” she asked.

“No!” he snarled, his face ugly with fear and utter disgust. “Never!” His expression filled with softer grief. “It’s all I have left.”

And Eleanor knew that without the Wolfen blood, Wolfgang Soulsong would’ve gone mad a long time ago.

He looked so crushed and broken and angry, she wanted to bring back his laughing smile. So she said,

“I want to be Wolfen too.”

He grinned half-heartedly.

“They say Wolfsbane produces similar effects for humans.”

“Wolfsbane is poison,” she said.

He grinned harder.

“There you go then.” As if only in death, would she ever feel his power.

“What does it feel like?” she asked, on an impulse.

He didn’t answer for a moment, just looked at her with his liquid gold and fire eyes.

“Like being in love,” he answered finally, his intense gaze making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She tore her glance away, so he wouldn’t see her heart flutter.

“Are you hungry?” she asked brightly.

“Yes,” he said, getting up and stretching luxuriantly, like a cat. His shirt lifted to reveal his stomach and back. No matter how many times she’d seen his glorious skin, it still made her heart beat faster.

 “And I’m bored with stinky chicken broth.”

“Good,” she said. “’Cause I’m almost out of chickens.”

He laughed. It warmed her in-side-out; she decided she hated him when he was sad.

“I’ll get you some more,” he reassured her.

“You’d better.”

“What’s the difference between a cat and a chicken?”

She pretended not to know what he meant.

“Plenty of difference,” she answered, and hated him for reminding her how cruel he was. It made her feel like a monster for loving him.

She almost gasped out loud, for the shock of admitting that to herself.

Wolfgang noticed. His Wolfen senses heard her every breath. She was sure he sometimes amused himself by listening to the sound of her heart.

“What is it?” he asked.

She didn’t know what made her do it. She didn’t understand why.

“I love you,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

And being him, he understood.

But because he was part pig as well as wolf, he pretended not to hear.

Which was OK. Two could play at that game. Eleanor would just pretend she’d never actually said it.

Suddenly, Wolfgang spoke.

“I am going to have my revenge, you know,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her heart filled with dread at his words. If he did something stupid, they would both suffer the consequences.

“Those farmers. I’m going to teach them what happens when they mess with Wolfgang Mozart.”

She giggled. She couldn’t help it, it just slipped out.

His head snapped round so she could see his scowl.

“What’s so funny?” he said.

She pulled her lips together to hide her smile.

“Nothing,” she said.

“I’m not joking.”

She nodded. She knew that.

“Just don’t kill anyone,” she said.

He grinned.

“I’ll try not to,” he said, and then disappeared out of the house.

Eleanor waited around, bored, listless, for him to return.  She was startled out of her daydreams by a shrill ringing sound. It took her moment to realise it was a phone ringing. She hunted around for it for a few minutes before finding it tucked away in a kitchen cupboard. Wolfgang must’ve hidden it there.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Eleanor,” It was Luke. His was voice was familiar and warm.

“How are you?”

“I’m Ok, been busy working,” he said. “I was just calling to check if everything’s good with you.”

“Yeah, I’m good, everything’s good.” She was pacing now, for some inexplicable reason this line of questioning was making her nervous.

“How’s the job hunt going?”

She laughed, trying to keep it light and carefree.

“Slow,” she said.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” She could hear his concern. “Because…like, who is that guy? I’ve never seen him before. Where did you meet him?”

“Wolfgang is a friend. I’m safe here.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Eleanor froze.

How’s that any of your business?!

“I don’t have to answer that,” she said and hung up.

Just in time, because Wolfgang had walked in. She kept her head down to hide the colour rising to her cheeks.

His white shirt was covered in blood, and he was carrying a small carcass.

“A lamb,” he explained, and she looked away, frightened by the staring eyes and gaping mouth. He had already skinned it.

“What did you do?” she asked.

He glanced into her eyes, and the joy and laughter in his took her breath away.

“Are you afraid?” he asked. Taunting her, mocking her.

She decided to tell the truth. Because there was no point in pretending.

“Yes. I’m scared you’ll get us both killed.”

He grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I just wreaked a little havoc.”

But he looked away and wouldn’t meet her gaze, and she didn’t believe him. She had the feeling that when he was in a certain mood, he had no control over his actions.

After he finished preparing the meat, he went upstairs to sleep. She cooked for him. He seemed to trust her more now.

***

Wolfgang shoved his chair away from the table and stood up.

Eleanor looked up at him. A sudden, inexplicable and involuntary fear filled her heart. The floor of her stomach seemed to fall out through the soles of her feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice low and tight.

He looked at her like she was simple.

“Out of course. As always.”

She shook her head.

“Please don’t,” she said.

His eyes flashed.

“Why not?”

He abhorred the idea of her trying to control him. It made his whole body shudder, inside and out. It made him always burn with rage.

“Because I’m scared the farmers will come. They know where we are. You’ve made them angry. What if they come here while you’re gone?”

“They won’t,” he said, and walked away from her, putting an end to the matter.

She followed him, and as he reached the door, grabbed for his arm.

“Please stay here with me,” she said.

He snatched his arm away.

“Let go!” he snarled, angry at her for trying to contain him. She was just like his family; she didn’t understand him.

He shoved her out of his way; she fell to her hands and knees. He wrenched open the door, without looking back, and, shifting, loped off into the night. His clothes fluttered to the ground.

Eleanor sat back and almost laughed out loud. He had left the door open behind him.

She slipped out after him, barefoot, her hair streaming out behind her as she ran to catch up.

She didn’t know why she didn’t head straight for home. Her curiosity got the better of her. She followed him on his haphazard path through the trees. He ran seemingly without purpose or direction, and it took all of Eleanor’s strength and resolve to keep his hindquarters in view.

His tail lashed the branches and brambles in savage ecstasy. Burrs clung to his silver legs; thorns scratched at him. But he felt nothing; his body was protected by his thick mantel of fur.

Eleanor was not so well adapted to this hostile place. Nettles stung her bare feet and ankles, whip-like branches assaulted her skin. She tripped many times, unable to see the ground beneath her. But she ran doggedly on, refusing to give in.

An owl hooted, low and soft, above her. She looked up and caught a fleeting glimpse of its pale, ghostly glory.

And yet Wolfgang was king here. No other predator would question it. He ran with his head up, his ears swivelling back and forth to listen.

He stopped suddenly, and it was all Eleanor could do not to fall on top of him. She was far from silent; she knew he must hear her, smell her, taste her foreignness in his perfect forest’s air. But he paid her no attention, didn’t deign to acknowledge her with so much as a tilt of his beautiful head.

His nose came up, she heard him draw in his breath. Then he crouched, his belly brushing the ground, and stalked on.

Eleanor made to follow, her toes sending roaring crackles through the leaves underfoot. His head turned back quickly; he gave a quiet warning growl.

She knew what it meant. If she ruined his hunt with her clumsy noise, he would kill her. She didn’t dare to doubt him. His burning amber eyes were full of hate and anger. She meant nothing to him out here in his kingdom of darkness and moonlight.

He crept forwards. She copied him now, moving with painstaking care, testing each patch of earth before she set her foot down. Their progress was agonisingly slow.

As they emerged from another group of trees, she spotted the object of his ambush. A small roe deer was grazing alone a few metres off. Eleanor watched it in wonder. It was beautiful, its huge, moist eyes darting this way and that as it ate.

The wolf exploded away from her with such sudden force that she gave a cry of alarm. He cleared the last gap in a single leap and landed with his huge front paws around the deer’s neck, his jaws clamped around its head. He wrestled it to the ground.

Eleanor looked away, shuddering inwardly as the poor creature let out a high, strangled wail, and its last breath rattled out of its mouth. Wolfgang was growling and snarling grotesquely, his teeth crunching through fur and bones. He settled down more comfortably and began licking the carcass rigorously, to split open the skin.

She turned back to him and stepped closer.

He froze and looked up, his blazing eyes fixing on her face. His muzzle and forehead were covered in blood. He bared his fangs in a silent snarl as if to say ‘Stay away. This is mine’.

She saw the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunch up and knew he would pounce for her in the blink of an eye.

Foolishly turning her back on him, she fled. Again, it did not occur to her to run for her house; instead, she headed in the direction of the mansion. To her, in this wild, frightening night, it was a beacon of safety; her home.

Within seconds the rain started. It fell in blinding sheets whenever she passed under a gap in the trees. It drummed on the leaves making terrifying music. It ran down her face and the back of her neck, soaking her right to the skin. She was shivering so hard when she got back in that she couldn’t undo her buttons and get changed. She only managed to drag herself upstairs and wrap up in a few blankets.

Wolfgang came back a few minutes later.

He was in a rage. He slammed the door behind him and thumped up the stairs, knocking aside anything in his path.

“You i***t!” he stormed, crossing the room in a few long strides. “You stupid, stupid i***t! Why would you follow me? You could’ve got yourself killed!”

Eleanor was too busy staring at his bare calves and trying not to look any further.

He pulled the blankets off her, making her shiver and curl up.

“You’ve still got your wet things on!” he said, looking angry enough to hit her.

“I...I... tried,” she struggled to explain, but her trembling lips wouldn’t make the words. He silenced her with an angry glare.

Roughly he undid the buttons of her shirt and pulled it off. He was so angry he didn’t seem to notice her nakedness, nor that she was blushing deeply. She quickly covered herself with the blankets.

When he’d finished helping her undress he disappeared. He came back with a nightdress, a thick soft dressing gown, her slippers and a pair of trousers.

He hadn’t realised that he needed some clothes too. She forced herself not to look, her gaze fixed doggedly on his face, her fists clenched at her sides to keep from touching his glorious skin.

He made her a mug of hot chocolate and brought a hair dryer. She held the mug in her shaking hands and sipped it slowly.

He dried her hair for her. His fingers slipped in and out, curling around each lock. He didn’t speak, just stared and stared.

He gave a low moan of pain, and his hand clenched against her scalp, his nails digging in and drawing blood.

Eleanor cried out and twisted away.

His face was very pale in the lamplight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “It takes all my strength to stay like this. It hurts, every second. The wolf wants to come out.”

He threw back his head and his face twisted up in a grimace. She watched in fascinated horror as silver-grey fur crept up his throat.

He bellowed in pain, his mouth hanging open, his canines long and gleaming.

Eleanor shuddered with fear at being so close to this beast. She wondered for a fleeting instant what it must feel like to have an animal inside you. One that neither you nor anyone else could control.

“You can go now,” she told him softly, giving him a grateful look.

He didn’t answer. Just stood up, and shifted.

The ferocious beauty of him took her breath away. She saw the wolf clearly for the first time. He turned his liquid hazel eyes to hers; she was surprised at how warm and almost human they were. Then he fled the room.

She heard his howl moments later, the ancient song carrying up to her window, and then on to the sky.

Curling up, she quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***