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The forest had always been forbidden. Thick with ancient pines and shadows that moved when nothing should. But Isabella was never one to listen to warnings.
At twenty-two, she was too beautiful for her own good long raven hair that fell like silk to her waist, skin pale as moonlight, full lips the color of ripe berries, and eyes the deep green of summer leaves. Men in the village called her Beauty behind her back, and sometimes to her face. She hated the name. It felt like a cage.
That afternoon she had wandered too far, chasing the sound of water. The path disappeared. The trees grew closer, their branches twisting like fingers. Then she saw him.
The beast.
He stood at the edge of a clearing, taller than
