The Beauty Within the Beast

Chapter 2

Her eyes slid open. It was dark and silent. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be there.

She sat up. Slowly she became accustomed to the blackness.

She was lying on a very old sofa, in the middle of an average-sized room. She stood up, careful not to move too quickly and dizzy herself. She slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling for her phone. It was gone.

Eleanor limped towards the door. And then noticed a tall, slender man standing in the entrance.

Memories of last night came flooding back. She backed away from him, fear in her face, in her throat, in the painful pulse of her panicked heart.

He stepped into the room and switched on the light. It was dim, but it still made her blink rapidly. He didn't say anything, just regarded her through half-closed, hazel-gold eyes.

For a moment, all thoughts emptied from her mind. All she knew for that instant was his eerie, unearthly beauty. Shaggy hair fell untidily into his face, reaching to his shoulders. He looked dishevelled in an intentional way. He was tall and lean, and his skin was a pale-golden tan colour. His lips were slightly parted, revealing white teeth and pointed canines.

He gave off an aura of savage joy and an untamed spirit. His entire body seemed to laugh at her.

"Wolfgang," she remembered.

A smile flitted quick across his face, dancing gently in his eyes.

"Yes."

He came towards her, and the fear stirred again, but she squashed it down.

He held out a hand for her to shake, unable to control it, she pulled away.

"I'm sorry," she said, tucking it safely behind her.

His eyes flashed bright amber for a moment. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light?

She chose to ignore it.

"I understand," he said. "And I apologise for your unfortunate and unpleasant experience."

"Not your fault," Eleanor said, a little too brightly.

He didn't answer.

"Thank you for helping me," she said, next moment.

His eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way she'd said 'helped' and not 'saved' or 'rescued'. To get his own back, he said,

"I killed that man, you know."

"No, you didn't," she said. "Something attacked him. It wasn't you. And I don't think he died."

"Well," he seemed to realise something. "I set my dog on him. My dog killed him."

He gazed smugly back at her, an expression of lazy self-satisfaction in his strange yet beautiful features.

"That was not a dog," she said.

"Yeah, he's a brute. Sometimes I think he's got some other DNA spliced into him."

She looked at him disbelievingly, he stared back, expression defiant, daring her to argue.

Changing the subject felt like a very good idea.

"What time is it?" she asked, going to the window. She pulled back the heavy brocade curtain.

"Dawn," he said, dramatically, which drew a smile.

Sure enough, pink tendrils of light were spreading their way across the horizon. The faint grey glow seeped through the gaps in the trees. It was breathtakingly beautiful.