The Beauty Within the Beast

Chapter Three

Dinner was served in the huge dining room, and Wolfgang insisted on sitting directly opposite her. He had made lamb curry with rice and vegetable samosas.

"I don't like vegetables," he told her, his mouth full of food.

"Why'd you make them then?" she asked.

"For you," he said. She was pleasantly surprised that he’d thought of her.

This small talk was making her feel strangely uncomfortable. And so was the fact that he wouldn't stop staring at her.

"I only like meat," he answered, still staring. He drew his red tongue across the tops of his teeth.

She shivered, even though it wasn't cold.

Neither of them spoke for a while; Eleanor resolving to leave him to his daydreaming.

"I don't daydream by the way," he said. He had the unsettling and uncanny ability to guess what she was thinking. At least, she hoped he was just guessing.

"What were you doing then?" she asked.

"I was thinking about how beautiful you are," he said.

Her first reaction was to think 'Which constitutes daydreaming,' but then her mind processed his words and she blushed a deep crimson.

No one had ever, ever told her she was beautiful. Clever maybe, or shrewd, or perhaps even pretty, but never beautiful. And why would they? She was too tall, and rather thin, with minimal curves, and there was nothing remarkable about her features. She would most likely be considered quite plain.

"I'm not beautiful," she said, and not because she wanted him to contradict her; it was simply because she didn't believe him.

"I think you are," he said, and then pushed his plate away from him, standing up. It was already empty.

"I'm going out," he told her. He seemed agitated and kept scratching viciously at the skin of his hands and neck.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, feigning concern. In truth, her heart thrilled at this news.

"No," he said absentmindedly. "I just...I have to go out...and do something...I won't be back anytime soon, so don't wait up for me."

'I wasn't going to anyway,' she snarled silently in her head, forcing her lips not to curl upwards in contempt. 'In fact, I'm not even going to bed.'

Out loud she said sweetly,

"Ok," and took their dishes into the kitchen.

He followed behind her, still acting strange.

"I usually do that," he said, flustered.

"It's ok, I'll do it, you go and do whatever you need to do." She made it sound kind, but being considerate was the last thing on her mind.

He blinked gratefully at her, a weirdly animal gesture.

"Thank you El," he said.

'Don't call me that!'

She smiled, although she was sure it looked more like a grimace of pain.

He stepped towards her, an unclear intention in his amber eyes, and her body went rigid with fear. She froze, anticipating his next action. His hand came out but then he appeared to think better of it, and he withdrew.

"See you in the morning," he said, and his voice was deep and guttural.

She glanced at him sharply, but, with his customary silence, he was already gone.

Eleanor washed the dishes at her own leisure, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the huge, lonely house. It was a relief to not have to worry about Wolfgang.

She found her clothes in the tumble dryer, tucked them under her arm, put on her slippers, and tiptoed to the door.

To her surprise and delight, it was open.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and opened it, stepping out into the cool, black night.

She allowed herself a small smile as she began to walk away from that vast, silent house and its eccentric owner. Relief began to flood her brain, but with it came the same fear she’d felt last night when she was being chased through the trees. She took her phone from its hiding place in her bra and started to call Luke. Perhaps hearing his voice as she walked would soothe her.

Suddenly, with a growl like thunder, a large creature burst from the trees beyond the path. In one long leap, it cleared the space between them and pounced on Eleanor.

It was a large, silver-grey dog. She vaguely recognised it.

It knocked her backwards; she screamed. Her phone flew from her hand and smashed against the wall. And then the world went even darker as she hit her head on the concrete doorstep.

***

Eleanor awoke in her pink bedroom-well, not her bedroom of course.

She had a splitting headache, and it took around ten minutes for the room to stop spinning. When the world was back to normal, she tried standing up.

Blacking out had made her hungry.

She made it to the top of the stairs, and then she tripped. She screwed her eyes shut as the floor came rushing up to meet her; she would surely not survive this time.

Abruptly, her fall ended. She opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into Wolfgang's. He grinned at her.

"I saved you," he said triumphantly.

"That you did," she admitted.

He hefted her up into his arms.

"I take it you're looking for some food," he said.

She smiled at him.

"Yep."

"I made you breakfast already," he said, proud.

"What did you make?"

"Porridge." He said it like he'd made her a gourmet three-course meal.

"Oh."

"Don't you like porridge?" he seemed concerned.

"No, I do, it's just...I thought you only liked meat."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, where he set her down. He'd carried her easily like she weighed nothing.

"I do. But you don’t."

She smiled again, but couldn't help feeling suspicious. He was being uncommonly kind this morning. And he kept looking at her with a strange expression in his face. Something like worry...

"You remembered," she said, hiding her sarcasm.

He slung one arm across her back, under her arms, and helped her into the kitchen, sitting her onto one of the stools. He placed a steaming bowl in front of her.

"What are you eating?" she asked.

He grinned, showing his gleaming, white, fang-like canines.

"Eggs and sausages."

She grinned back.

"Astonishing," she said.

She must've taken quite a knock to the head; she too was feeling rather serene today.

"You hurt yourself pretty bad last night," he said, not meeting her gaze.

On instinct, she reached up to touch it; he caught hold of her hand before she could and returned it gently to the tabletop.

"Leave it," he said. "Touching will only make it painful again."

She conceded without comment.

"Once you've finished, I'll take you to my operating theatre," he said, flashing her a mischievous smile.

Surprise filled her eyes.

"What do you mean?" she almost touched it again but remembered just in time.

Guilt flooded his features. She didn't understand why. What had he to do with her banging her head?

"The cut is quite deep," he explained. "You will probably need a few stitches. And I didn't get a chance to clean it last night."

That only further confused her.

"I don't remember getting back inside. Did you take me back to bed?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, inexplicable remorse forgotten for a moment as he seized another opportunity to boast.

"Weren't you cross with me for trying to get away?"

His expression darkened.

"So that's what you were doing?" he asked. Then he laughed. "That'll teach you," he said, with a cruel smile.

To get back at him, she swayed in her seat, almost falling off. He caught her, just as she knew he would. She didn't know how she trusted him today. She was gratified to see the concern in his hazel gaze.

"Are you Ok?" he asked, voice soft, looking down at her with such strong and sudden warmth it frightened her more than his anger.

She straightened quickly and brushed him off.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, with her head held aloof.

She carried on eating, allowing herself a small smug smile which she hid behind her hair.

They finished and cleared the things away, and then he took her into the room she'd first found herself in.

He made her lie down on the red sofa.

"Stay there," he said and disappeared.

He returned a few moments later with a large bag in hand.

"This may hurt," he said, crouching at her side and unzipping the bag. "But it'll be worth it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said.

He handed her a mirror.

"Take a look."

Above her left eyebrow was a two-inch gash, encrusted with a dark mix of blood and dirt. Fresh red liquid oozed out of the gaps.

"I see," she said, swallowing.

He nodded, too busy preparing dressing and cleaning equipment to answer.

"Can't you make it not hurt?" she asked, biting her lip. She wasn't very good with pain.

He laughed like she'd made the most absurd suggestion he'd ever heard.

"I'm afraid I don't keep a stash of anaesthetic in my kitchen cupboards," he said. "But you could try something else."

"What?" she asked, perking up a little.

He grinned.

"Alcohol. I have some strong whisky somewhere. Plus, it could be fun."

She gulped. She wasn't sure that was a risk she was prepared to take when she was alone with a strange man in a strange house. Who knew what liberties he might take?

"No thank you," she said. "I think I'll pass."

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."

She paused.

“Unless you’re drinking with me of course.”

He smiled.

“I don’t really drink,” he said.

“Why not?” her curiosity was piqued.

“I’m not sure about what I might do.”

She regarded him for a moment, wondering exactly what he might mean. She wished he could just give her a straight answer to something, anything.

He tipped some clear liquid onto a white cloth, and then pressed it to the wound.

She hissed in pain as he rubbed away the dirt and blood.

He shushed her. Then he took out a long, hooked needle.

"You're well prepared," she laughed, her voice tight.

He didn't answer, he was concentrating hard.

He threaded a special surgical thread through the eye and then placed a hand on her face.

"This is going to hurt a lot. Bite on this," he pushed a piece folded piece of thick material into her mouth.

She bit down hard.

He sewed it up quickly and efficiently; by the time he got to the last stitch her face had gone numb and it no longer hurt.

She looked in the mirror. Where the ugly gash had been, there was now a neat row of stitches.

"Thank you," she said, her tone defying her pale face.

He grinned.

"You're welcome," he said, so gracious.

He passed her a mug of coffee.

"Drink that up," he said, patting her knee. "I'll be back in a moment."

He disappeared again.

He was gone quite a while. Strengthened by the sweet beverage, she stood up and went in search of him. To make sure she didn't fall over she kept to the walls, using them to steady herself.

At last, she found him in the garden; he was just walking back towards the house. When he looked up and caught sight of her, he uttered a wordless sound of exclamation and rushed to her side.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I told you to stay in there-on the sofa-what are you doing? You could seriously hurt yourself. You probably have a concussion already!"

Eleanor laughed and allowed him to take her arm and lead her back to the kitchen.

"You sound like an old lady," she told him.

He didn't answer, he was too busy trying to manoeuvre them through the back door at the same time, as well as attempting to not hit her in the face with whatever he was holding.

Once he'd accomplished this, he sat her down on a stool and stood in front of her, hiding the something behind his back.

"I have something for you," he said.

Eleanor smiled, confused but also intrigued.

"What?"

He produced a bunch of flowers from behind him. It was full of daffodils and wild roses; he wasn't much of a florist, but they looked fresh and bright and pretty.

Eleanor took them from him with an involuntary sigh of pleasure. She buried her face into one of the flowers and inhaled deeply, the clear smell chased away her worries.

"I cut all the thorns off," Wolfgang told her. He seemed so proud of himself.

She smiled at him again. She could begin to like this side of him.

"They're lovely," she said.

"I know. Like you."

Which made her blush.

He was still watching her with that anxious look in his eyes.

He took her hand; his was large and warm and dry. It engulfed hers.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Surprise filled her face.

"Sorry for what? You're being so...kind."

She couldn't help that hesitation. It would serve to remind him that she hadn't forgotten; she still wanted to go home.

"Sorry about last night. Sorry you hurt yourself."

She frowned, confused.

"But what has that to do with you? How could you be to blame?"

He looked away, and she saw him close his eyes briefly, his shoulders lifting in a barely perceptible sigh.

"I... I guess I should've been there, that's all."

And he would say no more.

"I think that dog needs to be caught, by the way. It must be rabid, and it needs help," she said, to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"What dog?" he said, with genuine surprise.

She laughed, not quite believing his ignorance.

"The one that knocked me over last night and almost killed me," she explained.

His bright eyes clouded over with remorse. Then he shook his head as if to physically clear it of that feeling.

"I don't have a dog," he said. "I hate dogs."

Eleanor frowned.

"What? You said…” she was visibly confused. “But, the other night-the dog,” she couldn’t get her words out fast enough, it rattled her, the way he’d switched the story so fast. When she looked at him though, he showed no signs of deceit. He believed every word he was saying. There was no point her trying to convince him.

He took her into the piano room, and she placed the flowers in a vase on the window sill. She pressed her face to the glass, enjoying the cool feel of it on her forehead, and gazed out.

There was a small building at the back of the stone courtyard, which she hadn't noticed before. It was concealed by a large blackberry bush, its branches climbing and curling up the walls. Only the door was visible through the vines.

"What's that?" she asked.

"What's what?" he said, absentminded, too busy tuning the instrument.

"That little house?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen.

"Never mind," he said.

Which she found suspicious.

"Why? What is it? What's in it?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about it."

Eleanor decided to let it drop; she could always investigate further the next time he left her alone in the house.

"And Eleanor," Wolfgang continued.

"Yes?"

"Don't ever go in there, do you understand?" his voice was not raised, it was low and very cold and it invited no questioning.

"Yes Wolfgang," she said, in a deliberate, robotic way, and made her face go completely blank, hoping to make him feel guilty for talking to her like that. It didn't work.

"Good," was all he said.

"I'm going to lie down," she said, her face impassive, and left the room.

Moments later she heard the strong notes of the piano, wafting up the stairs.

She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. She pulled her phone out, and stared at the shattered screen, wishing it back together. It didn’t work of course.

It was almost funny how her feelings could change so quickly. Right then, to hear Alex shouting at her would have been sweeter than music to her ears.

Wolfgang, for unknown reasons, did keep a large stash of codeine in his kitchen cupboards. He had given her a dose to help with the intense pain in her head, and Eleanor now fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

He found her a few hours later, on the roof. She was lying flat out on the concrete, with her hands behind her head and her eyes fixed on the cloud-filled sky as if looking for inspiration. Inspiration for her escape plan.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Wishing I could fly," she said. It was the truth for once.

He c****d his head to one side, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. Then a deep, glorious laugh erupted from his chest.

"What would you wanna do that for?"

Eleanor scowled and crossed her arms.

"What? Haven't you ever dreamed of flying?"

"No. I don't need to," he said.

"Why?" she said, in a drawl. "Because you're hiding a huge pair of wings under your shirt?"

"Of course not," he retorted, but his expression said 'I have a whole lot of more important things to hide.'

He didn't explain, and Eleanor didn't ask him to, because she knew he'd simply evade the question.

"So why were you daydreaming about being a bird?" he asked, unable to smother the smirk on his face.

"So I could get away from here," she answered, and braced herself for his anger.

However, he chose to surprise her this time.

"Come on," he said, almost tenderly. He held out a hand to her. "You're obviously bored. Let's go down to the library."

Which didn't sound quite as interesting as he made it out to be. But she conceded, taking the offered hand and letting him help her to her feet.

They went down into the large library. There was a big cushion in one corner of the rectangular room, and the long wall opposite the door was lined with shelf upon shelf of books.

"They're all alphabetically ordered, you know," he said. He looked at her like a proud schoolboy.

"So that's what you do in your spare time," she said.

There were curtains pulled back from the books and sliding ladders that reached all the way to the top shelves.

"It looks just like the library out of beauty and the beast," Eleanor said, delighted. "Why didn't you show me this before? I love it!"

Wolfgang grinned happily back at her, pleased he had found something she admired.

"Come, come," he said, grabbing her wrist and running with her to one of the ladders.

"What are you doing?" she asked, laughter in her words.

"Trust me," he said, and then gestured for her to climb on. He pulled the ladder right to the beginning of the shelf and then gave it an almighty shove. She was flung away from him with a small cry of alarm, which quickly changed to pleasure.

"This is so cool!" she laughed, throwing her head back as she sailed past, her hair streaming out behind her like blazing fire.

He ran along beside her, laughing. He caught her at the end of her ride and pushed her back the way she'd come, this time jumping onto the ladder too.

"Again, again," she begged when the ladder came to a stop.

"No more," said Wolfgang, panting for breath. "I'm tired."

She didn't believe him. He had the physical stamina of a man twice his size.

"Ok," she said, pouting a little. "I suppose we should use the library for what it's meant to be used for."

She was standing at the shelf marked 'A'. She picked out a book, not quite knowing why; its spine was not very attractive and wasn't marked with a title or author.

It was an album. She flipped it open, Wolfgang hadn't noticed which book she had chosen; he was too busy pretending to get his breath back.

The first picture was of a boy she recognised as Wolfgang straight away. He looked pretty much the same, except his hair was darker and he wasn't so tall and muscular. He was smiling, and she saw that his eyes danced even more then than they did now. It struck her again, how beautiful he was.

He had recovered from his make-believe fit of breathlessness and now stood at her shoulder, looking down at the photograph.

"You still look like him," she said, pointing at the 11-or-so-year-old boy.

He smiled, but the expression was kind of sad.

"I know," he said. "I haven't looked at these for ages," he said, almost to himself. There was a wistful note to his voice.

The next photo was a family portrait. There was a man and eight children, all of varying sizes and ages. Half were boys and half were girls. The smallest of them stood at the front, he was the same boy as the one in the first picture. In this photo, however, he was scowling. He was also the only one who didn't have jet black hair.

They were all slender and a little above average in height. Wolfgang was only around eight years old here, but he was still tall for this age. He had a shock of long, dishevelled silver-grey hair, which made him look like he'd just got out of bed.

"Tell me their names," she asked.

He scowled, ready to refuse. But he gave in with a small sigh of defeat. They sat down together on the oversized leather armchair.

"Ok. This is my Dad," he said, pointing to the tall man who stood at the very back of the group. "His name was Keyon SoulSong and he married my mother, Adrienne, when he was 20 years old and she was 19."

"Wow. Where were they from?"

He shrugged.

“He was Japanese, Mum was Irish and Norwegian."

"Oh. I thought they’d be Irish royalty or something, considering they had this place.”

“No,” his expression was serious, it seemed like he’d never spoken this aloud to anyone before. “My father brought it cheap when it was nothing but a broken, haunted ruin. He and my mum did it up together, it was their little DIY project. They both worked full time while they did it too.”

“Wow. That’s really cool.”

He smiled.

"Yeah, I guess it is,” he pointed at the girl who stood beside his father. “Anyway, their eldest child was this one, Aniya. She is 21 in this picture. Next is Cortez, who is 19." This was directed at a tall, hulking boy who stood in front of the first two. "Then Genevieve and Jayden, the twins, 16, then Cara-13, then Elisa-11, then Thaddeus-9, then me, and I'm 7 there."

She looked at them, amazed at how strange they were, how they seemed to come from another time, another world even. They were all wearing black suits, but Wolfgang's shirt was rumpled and un-tucked from his trousers, he'd pulled them up to his waist, and his collar was sticking up, his cuffs undone. She saw how he must have felt, in this family of people who all looked the same, and he was so different.

"They have very posh names," she said, for lack of anything else to say.

He snorted.

"Yes, my parents were very old-fashioned."

"Were they mean to you, for being different?"

He laughed. It was a hard, cold, dark laugh.

"They didn't dare to be," he said, his eyes flashing amber, his fang-like canines showing in his smile. And she believed him.

"I take it you didn't like your family much?" she asked gently, fearing that this would be a rather insensitive question.

It didn't bother him.

"Not really," he said. "They were all stuck up and boring." But she saw the glitter of sadness in his eyes.

Eleanor remembered something.

"What did you mean when you said that you were the only Wolfen in your family?"

He glanced at her, a strange look on his face.

"I said that?" he asked.

"Yes, you did," she said.

"Well, I'm sure I don't remember what I meant."

She didn't respond, unsure of whether he was just brushing her off or if he was being honest. Instead, she flipped the page over.

This picture was of a large grey wolf.

"Cool!" Eleanor said, unable to suppress the thrill of fear that went through her. She was struck by how like this wolf the dog that jumped out at her last her night had looked. But this wolf had weirdly human hazel eyes.

"Did you take this picture? Are there wolves in this forest? Ho could there be? There haven’t been wolves here for centuries."

Wolfgang didn't seem at all interested in this topic.

"Oh, I set up a camera trap once, that's all. It's no big deal."

She rolled her eyes at him, without him noticing. Then turned to the next photo.

Before she could see it, he slammed the album shut and snatched it from her.

"That's enough of that," he said so sweet, returning it to its’ place on the shelf. "Photos are boring. And besides, its lunchtime."

He took her hand and escorted her to the kitchen.

Eleanor, feeling much more at home now, went straight to the fridge and opened it, peering inside.

"Meat, meat and more meat," she complained. She pushed the door closed. "Don't you have any fruit?"

He wrinkled his nose.

"Fruit? No."

"Why not?"

“Because I don’t like it.”

She stared at him.

“I actually don’t know how you are a strong, healthy human being.”

He grinned.

“Oh, so you think I’m strong?” he said. “Did my muscles give me away?”

He curled his arm and flexed his bicep.

“Shut up,” she said, unable to hide her smile.

He looked angry for a second, then relaxed.

“Can’t you buy some from the local farms?”

“No.”

"Why not?"

"Because...well...the farmers...they don't really like me."

She couldn't help thinking that this wasn't surprising. She couldn't quite put her finger on what made him seem so...dangerous. And insolent.

"Why not?"

His eyes flashed.

"Well I don't know!" he said. "Maybe I should just waltz up and ask them? Maybe I should just let them shoot my brains out!"

Eleanor blinked in surprise at this unexpected outburst but decided against asking him to explain. She was learning well how to deal with his irrational nature.

“Maybe you should,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes flashed in that terrifying way, and his fists clenched. Then he bent his head, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard.

When he looked up his pupils were dilated and his irises back to normal.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow I will take you into town, and we can buy vegetables and fruit, and seeds from the farmers’ market.”

Eleanor was surprised he’d remembered about the seeds.

"What's for lunch then?" she asked, cheerfully changing the subject.

"Corned beef sandwiches," he said, not meeting her eye, no smile on his lips. His voice was sulky.

"Yum," she said, with a fake, bright smile.

“Can I have peanut butter again?”

He smiled.

“Yes.”

He took it out and handed it to her.

"I love peanut butter."

He grinned.

"Me too."

"I thought you only liked meat?"

"Peanut butter is an exception."

She smiled at him; the tension dissolved; the air easy to breathe again.

He passed her a plate, she took it with a grateful look, and he touched her arm in response, so gentle, which made her shudder.

Food had never been such a pivotal part of her life before.

"How old are you Wolfgang?" she asked on an impulse.

He glanced at her; his expression wary, hostile once more.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I just wondered. I can't seem to figure it out myself."

"I'm older than you," he bragged like it was by some skill of his own that he’d been born before her.

"How old am I then?" she asked.

"Fifty," he said, with a straight face, but he laughed when she did.

"Seriously?"

"Ok. About nineteen."

She thumped the table, disappointed.

"Exactly right."

He smirked, gazing at her with this smug look in his eyes. She had the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

"So…you must be about thirty-two?" she asked, feigning innocence, knowing he would take this hard.

She was right about him, for once.

“What? Do I really look that age?" he asked, glancing down at himself as if his shirt could make him look older. "Are you serious?" He patted himself down as if thirty-year-olds often had parts of their bodies missing.

She stared at him long enough to make him anxious, and then let her face relax into a smile.

"No. I was just teasing."

He glared at her.

"That wasn't funny."

"Are you gonna tell me or what?" she asked, ignoring his invitation to another argument. Quarrelling with him always made her feel shaky.

"Nope," he said, setting his jaw.

"Ok," she sang, finishing off her sandwich. As usual, she'd left her crusts. Trying to be discreet, Wolfgang tugged her plate towards him and started eating them.

"Wolf..."

He looked up at that, surprise in his suddenly warm hazel eyes. Eleanor coloured. She was already on familiar terms with him. Was it really that easy?

"Yes?" he asked. It seemed to make him hesitate, answering to the name.

"You said your family moved away years ago. Do you know where they are? Have you heard from them at all?"

His expression darkened. This was not a subject he liked to dwell on.

"No," he answered. He was finding the crumbs on her plate very interesting.

"Do you even know if they're alive?" she asked, unable to comprehend how one's entire family could abandon you forever. But then, her Dad had done that, hadn't he? She pushed that unwelcome thought aside.

"No. Except for one. Cara. I know she's dead," his voice was low and ominous; he looked up at her through his dark lashes, his eyes smouldering, but not yet amber.

"How do you know?"

His gaze burnt into hers.

"Because I killed her," he said, not sounding in the least bit remorseful, an expression almost of fiendish delight in his ferociously beautiful face.

Eleanor went cold right down to the tips of her toes. She didn't for a moment think to disbelieve him.

“Why?” she whispered, barely able to speak around the lump of fear in her throat.

He looked up at her and smiled brightly, belying the darkness in his words.

“Because she made me mad.”

Eleanor took one look at the vicious snarl printed across his grinning face and fled. Too bad the furthest she could get from him was one floor up.

***