Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I never imagined I’d find myself in an actual castle. Much less locked in a tower.
Correction: locked in a cage inside a tower. Floor-to-ceiling bars mark the boundaries of my prison.
Wind whistles around the turret, setting my teeth on edge. The sound is un-ending, along with the cold. Winter came early this year.
I tuck my feet under me, but it’s no use. The flagstones are freezing. It rained a little last night, and the water that seeped in froze before dawn.
Things got a little better when the sun got high, but now it’s sinking again. Along with my hopes.
I press my forehead to my knees, shivering. I should’ve worn something thicker than leggings and a light sweater. My chest feels hollow and my head aches. The start of a cold or something more sinister? My immune system isn’t strong at the best of times, and the stress of the past few days and this chill isn’t helping.
My only hope is the brutal Beast, who dragged me here in the first place. But he’s obviously a few bats short of a belfry.
Why am I always so sure I can fix things? That people will listen to logic? Life isn’t a science problem. You can’t always come up with a logical hypothesis and expect people to react in predictable ways to achieve desirable outcomes. Even science rarely works that way. Some problems take decades and longer to solve. There’s too much chaos in the world.
And the Beast is the perfect expression of chaos made flesh.
A heavy step on the stair makes me lift my head. The Beast appears, his mask firmly in place. What does it hide? I wish I had my glasses. His hair looks thick and lush, but I could be wrong. I’ve never seen him clearly.
When he catches me staring, his dark eyes flash. He glares back. But I’m used to it.
The key clinks in the lock and the door slides against the flagstones, admitting a shiny pair of shoes. The Beast dresses well, at least. Tailored slacks, expensive sweater over a dress shirt.
Jailor-chic.
I remain curled in a ball, unwilling to give up any of my body heat to greet my guest.
He sets a tray down on the floor a foot in front of me.
“Dinner is served.” His voice is deep, slightly raspy. Somehow familiar. I search my memory but I’m cold and tired and on my best day I’m not good at placing names and faces. Besides, no one I know is as big as this guy, wears a mask, or is completely psychotic.
I peer at the food he brought—some bread and a bowl of water. There’s a skim of ice on the water’s surface.
The blurry face of the Beast studies me a moment. Waiting for me to beg for mercy?
Holding my gaze, he slides the door shut. The lock clicks home.
“You think this will break me?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I can handle cold and hunger. But if the temperature drops much more, I might not survive the night.” I can list the exact effects of exposure on the body, but I bite my tongue.
“I won’t let that happen.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust a word you say.”
“I’m not the one who’s broken my word.” He starts to turn away.
I launch myself at the bars, wincing as my fingers close around the cold metal. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is!”
He stops with a foot on the stairs. “I want you to be the girl you once were. One who keeps her promises.”
“I keep my promises. All my life, all I’ve ever done is what I’m supposed to do.” What my father expected of me.
“You did what they wanted you to.”
“Is that so wrong?” I throw my hands up in the air. “My research will save lives.”
“Not if I destroy your company.” His lips curl under the mask. Such a cruel smirk. So why does his mouth mesmerize me?
He descends a few more steps. I slump to the floor. “You want me to become someone I never was. My father shaped me to follow in his footsteps. Continue his research. You want someone who was pure, untainted? You should’ve met my mother.”
“I did.” He hasn’t moved, hasn’t descended any lower. His face is on the same level as mine.
“You knew her?” I press my face against the bars, ignoring the chill. “Tell me how you knew her!” It’s been years since she’s died, but I’m hungry for any memory I can get.
“She was kind to me. When few people were.”
“She was like that.” I try to study his features behind the mask. “Wait. Were you in love with her?”
His forehead creases. He takes a moment to answer, as if considering my question. “I loved her as a child loves a mother. As a prodigal son loves the parent who welcomes him home.”