Read Online Beast (The Submissively Ever After Series Book 1) by Kim Faulks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kim Faulks
Tags: fairy tale romance, horror thriller, Paranormal dark werewolves & shifters romance, ghost suspense thriller, dominant and submissive dark fantasy, gothic forced fairytale romance captive ghost
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fingers, wanting to feel the hard line of his jaw. Wanting to feel the flesh. Lord Bête shifted and his eyes settled on mine. The gaze flooded me with a heat I felt to my core.
"You didn’t frighten me, Anna. Do I frighten you?"
My trembling hand felt so heavy, mere inches from his face. My chest was tight, too tight. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. This man terrified me, and yet I was helpless to stop myself from sliding into whatever dark hole this madness was.
Amber eyes twinkled, but didn’t disguise the look of dominance. Something inside me howled with defiance, needing more, yet terrified of being the focus of that single-mindedness. In the beat of my heart the moment broke.
"If you want the man, then you’d best be prepared to face the beast."
The warning seared my mind.
He broke our gaze, settling on those around the table. His voice was huskier than it had been when he’d spoken before. "Well, the contract is binding and without the presence of your father to break our agreement, I suggest we end the squabbling and get to know each other. Belle, can I offer my hand for a stroll around the gardens before diner is served?"
Hesitant stares reached across the table, fumbling like lovers’ hands for a grip. Mark’s gaze was stony, not giving anything away, focused on Belle. She gripped the table, her eyes silently pleading as she rose. A surge of smug satisfaction washed away the remnants of my fear. I stepped back at the scrape of the chair and watched our host take Belle’s hand.
I felt their touch like a kick in the pit of my stomach. A flash of anger surged, burning away any sorrow I’d felt for her. My lips slid back from my teeth in a snarl. I was getting too wrapped up here, losing myself in this twisted game of show and tell.
I closed my eyes, willing the feelings away and shuffled backward. I’d lost my anchor and these fucking visions were killing me. I grabbed my wrist, not caring about the bone-grinding ache, and searched for that familiar line.
My thumb slid over the smooth skin, searching for the razored track. The sound of my heart was deafening—a derailed train—all that was left to experience was the crash.
I twisted my hand, my thumb still searching, still needing. The pale skin and faint purple veins were all I could see. I yanked my arm higher, my gaze searching. The scar was gone.
No.
My grip eased. I twisted my right wrist over. That’s not the wrist I cut. "It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t...."
My right wrist was bare, not a mark, not even a blemish. I swallowed the sob in the back of my throat and turned back to my left arm. It has to be here. It has to be. The skin was bare. The road I’d traveled had been erased as though it’d never existed at all, as though I never existed at all.
It’s just a dream, remember?
I jerked my chin up, nodding as the unspoken voice whispered. It’s just a dream. This wasn’t my life. I wasn’t this ghost, trapped by a sadistic piece of shit. An icy chill cut away the layers. The breath of winter seized me. False smiles cracked like the shattering of glass as Mark tipped the bottle. Blood red wine splashed inside the crystal glasses.
"A toast," he muttered, never once taking his eyes off Belle’s sisters and their spouses. "To the lovely couple."
Beatrice leaned forward, knocking the bowl with her ample bosom. "You don’t believe any of this, do you? Father would never have gone to such lengths, unless...."
Mark held her gaze. His pupils seemed to swell until the inky darkness swallowed the blue. "Unless? You can say it, Beatrice. You’ve heard the rumors, and believed them, I assume."
She blanched. The bowl rocked back into place as she straightened. "I’ve heard, but believed is another matter entirely. What you and my sister do behind closed doors is of no consequence to me, as long as you aren’t interested...."
"In the money?" Mark whispered.
Beatrice’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open slightly,
"You didn’t frighten me, Anna. Do I frighten you?"
My trembling hand felt so heavy, mere inches from his face. My chest was tight, too tight. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. This man terrified me, and yet I was helpless to stop myself from sliding into whatever dark hole this madness was.
Amber eyes twinkled, but didn’t disguise the look of dominance. Something inside me howled with defiance, needing more, yet terrified of being the focus of that single-mindedness. In the beat of my heart the moment broke.
"If you want the man, then you’d best be prepared to face the beast."
The warning seared my mind.
He broke our gaze, settling on those around the table. His voice was huskier than it had been when he’d spoken before. "Well, the contract is binding and without the presence of your father to break our agreement, I suggest we end the squabbling and get to know each other. Belle, can I offer my hand for a stroll around the gardens before diner is served?"
Hesitant stares reached across the table, fumbling like lovers’ hands for a grip. Mark’s gaze was stony, not giving anything away, focused on Belle. She gripped the table, her eyes silently pleading as she rose. A surge of smug satisfaction washed away the remnants of my fear. I stepped back at the scrape of the chair and watched our host take Belle’s hand.
I felt their touch like a kick in the pit of my stomach. A flash of anger surged, burning away any sorrow I’d felt for her. My lips slid back from my teeth in a snarl. I was getting too wrapped up here, losing myself in this twisted game of show and tell.
I closed my eyes, willing the feelings away and shuffled backward. I’d lost my anchor and these fucking visions were killing me. I grabbed my wrist, not caring about the bone-grinding ache, and searched for that familiar line.
My thumb slid over the smooth skin, searching for the razored track. The sound of my heart was deafening—a derailed train—all that was left to experience was the crash.
I twisted my hand, my thumb still searching, still needing. The pale skin and faint purple veins were all I could see. I yanked my arm higher, my gaze searching. The scar was gone.
No.
My grip eased. I twisted my right wrist over. That’s not the wrist I cut. "It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t...."
My right wrist was bare, not a mark, not even a blemish. I swallowed the sob in the back of my throat and turned back to my left arm. It has to be here. It has to be. The skin was bare. The road I’d traveled had been erased as though it’d never existed at all, as though I never existed at all.
It’s just a dream, remember?
I jerked my chin up, nodding as the unspoken voice whispered. It’s just a dream. This wasn’t my life. I wasn’t this ghost, trapped by a sadistic piece of shit. An icy chill cut away the layers. The breath of winter seized me. False smiles cracked like the shattering of glass as Mark tipped the bottle. Blood red wine splashed inside the crystal glasses.
"A toast," he muttered, never once taking his eyes off Belle’s sisters and their spouses. "To the lovely couple."
Beatrice leaned forward, knocking the bowl with her ample bosom. "You don’t believe any of this, do you? Father would never have gone to such lengths, unless...."
Mark held her gaze. His pupils seemed to swell until the inky darkness swallowed the blue. "Unless? You can say it, Beatrice. You’ve heard the rumors, and believed them, I assume."
She blanched. The bowl rocked back into place as she straightened. "I’ve heard, but believed is another matter entirely. What you and my sister do behind closed doors is of no consequence to me, as long as you aren’t interested...."
"In the money?" Mark whispered.
Beatrice’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open slightly,
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