Beast (MC Fables #1)

Chapter 40

CHAPTER 40

B EAST

Eight Years Ago

"Adam Vale, what are you doing here?"

My fiancée’s eyes widen the moment she opens her bedroom door and sees me on the other side.

She quickly closes it so I can only see her face.

"You know you're not supposed to see me until I'm walking down the aisle tomorrow, it’s bad luck."

"It’s not midnight yet, my love. Besides, I don't believe in bad luck."

“You might not, but I do. You know I am very superstitious.”

“Just one of the things I love about you,” I say, placing a kiss on her shiny lips.

Jennifer breaks it off and looks at me coyly through her long lashes. "Tell me you love me."

"You know I do."

"That’s not good enough," she teases. "Make me feel special."

Jennifer likes to be reassured. It’s not a lack of confidence that makes her seek it out because she is the most confident girl I know.

No, her need for reassurance comes from wanting confirmation that she is special.

The best.

Number one.

And I find myself indulging her time and time again.

"You're marrying the club prince tomorrow. And one day, when I am the king, you'll be my queen."

Her luscious lips curve into an arrogant smile. "Tell me I’ll be a beautiful queen.”

“No other beauty will ever be able to compete with yours,” I say, planting another kiss on her lips.

The kiss deepens and I groan, looking forward to tomorrow night in our marital bed.

Again she breaks it off.

“Don’t get me all worked up,” she says breathlessly. “I’ll need a cold shower if you keep kissing me like that, Adam.”

“Or you could let me in so I can finish what I’ve started.”

She presses her palm into my chest. “You’re a sex fiend.”

“Can I help it if my fiancée is so desirable I can’t keep my hands off her.”

I’m indulging her again, and she grins, enjoying the compliment.

“Tomorrow night you can have me as many times as you like. But tonight I need my beauty sleep.” She gives me a coy smile. “Sweet dreams, my husband-to-be.”

“Sweet dreams, my princess.”

She closes the door and I can't suppress my grin.

A year ago, I was appalled by the idea of marriage. I was too busy with the spoils of being single to want anything serious. I liked to work hard and then fuck harder when the lights went down, and in our clubhouse there was no shortage of beautiful women ready to oblige.

But my father, the club's prez, reminded me I would be club president one day and needed to focus more on the club and less on the variety of pussy I was enjoying.

I would need a wife if I was to be prez, he said. And now was the time to find one. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

Jennifer worked at one of our clubs. I'd flirted with her enough times to know she wasn't easy to impress, and she made me work a lot harder for her attention than I'd ever had to in the past.

When she finally agreed to a date, I already knew she was going to be the woman I would marry. Within a month, we were engaged.

I don’t know what to expect from being married. But Jennifer likes to fuck and to be the center of the attention. Even if I’m still not a hundred percent sure I want to do this, I know she will be a good old lady.

Leaving her bedroom behind me, I make my way through the old castle that is the Knights of St. Boniface clubhouse. As I climb the grand old stairway, a howling wind whistles through the old structure and a cold shiver runs down my spine. I pause on the steps and listen to the storm whipping through the castle grounds outside. A strange sensation coils in the base of my belly and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s almost as if the wind whispers my name.

Then I laugh and tell myself to stop being such an asshole.

Shaking it off, I bound up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

My bedroom is on the second floor in the east wing. A large cobblestone room with high ceilings and stained glass windows.

Inside, a roaring fire keeps the chill away. I remove my leather cut and hang it over the back of a winged-back chair by the fireplace. I unbutton my shirt but get no further before a female voice stops me.

"Such a perfect specimen of manhood."

I spin around to see Guinevere, an older club girl, standing in the shadows by the four-poster bed.

"Guinevere, what are you doing in my room?"

Guinevere was my first experience inside a woman. I was a teenager when she took my virginity—in this very room. Older and more experienced, she became my sexual teacher and I was her willing student.

For months we fucked in my bed, learning and exploring each other’s bodies. She taught me how to touch a woman to get the reaction I wanted. A gentle caress for a moan. The flutter of my tongue against a sensitive bud of nerves for a whimper. A slow thrust of my cock to make an orgasm last longer and the cries louder.

After a while, I wanted to experiment with other women, but Guinevere had fallen in love with me and wanted me to commit to her. I was a teenager with a permanent hard-on, and I didn’t want to commit to anyone.

She cried and begged me to marry her. But I was too young and too naive to realize how strong a woman could feel those things, and I cast her aside so I could indulge in all the club pussy I could get.

And I indulged a lot.

"So the prince has claimed a princess," she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How wonderful for you both.”

There was no joy in breaking her heart. But there was also no remorse for doing it either. I was young and self-absorbed and my inexperience made me cruel.

Years later, I realize how much it must have hurt when I rejected her.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, trying to figure out why my ex-lover would be hiding in the shadows of my bedroom on the eve of my wedding.

"I know, but how could I resist saying farewell?"

"You're leaving?" I ask.

She looks wistful and nods. "Tonight."

"You're not staying for the wedding?"

“No, it’s time for me to move on. But I thought we could share a drink before I leave.” She gives me a self-conscious smile. “Call me a sentimental fool, but I thought it would be nice.”

I don’t want a drink. I also don’t want Guinevere in my room. Jennifer is the jealous type, and if she finds out my ex-lover spent time in my room the night before our wedding, there’s going to be trouble.

But I’ve done enough damage to Guinevere’s pride and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

I figure there’s no harm in a quick goodbye drink.

I accept a glass of wine from her.

She holds hers up to toast. “To Adam and his bride.”

Our glasses clink and she takes a drink.

I hesitate but then take a sip.

It’s good wine.

It’s the berry wine from the vineyard on the edge of town.

My favorite.

I take another mouthful.

Then another.

Guinevere smiles. Somewhere in her forties now, she’s very beautiful. Long strawberry blonde hair. Legs for miles. Tits a man could spend hours licking and sucking.

“So where are you going?” I ask, ignoring the tingle beneath my skin telling me to beware.

“To stay with family out of town.”

“Out of town where?” I ask, taking another mouthful of wine.

When we used to fuck, she would tip wine on her belly and have me lick it off her smooth skin.

“Far away,” she says.

Her answer is cryptic. But I’m suddenly very tired and decide not to pursue it.

Slow down with the wine.

But it’s a warning I don’t heed, and when she tops up my glass, I don’t stop her.

“Listen, Guinevere…when we broke up, I didn’t behave like I should have.”

“Oh? How do you mean?”

She’s being gracious about the fact that I discarded her so carelessly.

“You had feelings, and I didn’t consider them. And I’m sorry. A man shouldn’t treat a woman that way.”

Her eyes momentarily lose focus but come back just as quick. “Of course, you were young and foolish. I understand completely.”

“You’re letting me off too easy. I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

Again she smiles, but it lacks truth.

She’s still hurt. All these years later.

Of course she is, you broke her heart, asshole.

“Jennifer is very lucky to receive your chivalry when I did not.” She doesn’t try to hide the iciness in her voice and I don’t blame her.

I take her hand. “I’m sorry. Really I am.”

Her hand is cold to touch. At first she lets my hand linger over hers before she pulls it away. “Well, I’ll certainly toast to that.”

We clink glasses and both take another mouthful.

I smile at her over my glass, feeling excited for the life ahead of me. I have a lot to be grateful for. I’m about to embark on a new journey with a woman who is going to make a good club queen. At least now I can move on without the guilt of what I did to Guinevere lingering in my gut.

Yet, something isn’t quite right.

I’m starting to feel… strange .

“I should call it a night.” I try to say the words but they come out alien.

My lips are numb.

I frown.

“I need to lie down.”

Something is wrong.

The wine glass in my hand crashes to the floor and shatters, sending blood-red wine spattering across the floor.

I walk toward the door, but a wave of dizziness makes me stumble and I collapse onto the edge of the bed. “What have you done?”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she watches as I haul myself further onto the bed so I don’t fall onto the floor.

I collapse against the pillows. My vision is blurry and I’ve lost all sensation in my arms and legs. “What have you done to me?”

She approaches the bed and climbs on, crawling across my body and settling on my groin. She straddles me. I don’t want her on me but I can’t move to stop her.

“What are…you doing..?”

It’s getting harder to talk.

I can’t move my lips.

“I put Wolfsbane and a little something else in the wine.” Her smile is dark. “I took the antidote earlier so it wouldn’t affect me. You see, I need your attention, Adam. I need you to stop and finally fucking see me. I mean, what was I meant to do? I’ve tried talking to you and that doesn’t work. I’ve tried getting your attention in many ways but you’re so blinded by that slutty wench you don’t even notice me.”

“Guinevere…” I try to say her name but it only comes out as a gurgle.

“You think you can shove me aside to marry that vapid bitch without any consequences,” she says in a low, dangerous voice I don’t recognize. “You think you can use me up then cast me aside just so you can have some fuck girl who only dropped her panties so she could trap the club prince with her rancid pussy. I’m not going to be overlooked like that, Adam. We had something special. We were meant to be together, but you don’t seem to get it.”

She produces a knife from behind her. A long kitchen knife. I don’t know where it came from because everything has turned fuzzy.

“I’m taking you with me into the afterlife. But so you don’t use this pretty face to leave me again once we get there, I’m taking it from you first.” She leans her face closer so I can see the evil in her eyes. “They call you Beast as an affectionate nickname due to your unusual size. But I’m going to make sure you die looking like one.”

I struggle to understand what is happening.

My vision has curled at the edges and become hazy.

Everything is warped.

I want to tell her to stop, but I can’t move my tongue or my lips, and my voice is gone. I can’t even blink. All I can do is stare up at her, my heart pounding rapidly against my ribs as she lowers the blade to my cheek and begins to slice into the skin.

The pain is horrendous but I can’t move to stop it.

I try to scream.

But all I can do is stare up at her as she cuts into me with the knife, over and over and over again.

I wake up on what would be my wedding day, with my face throbbing beneath layers of gauze and bandage. Jennifer weeps beside the hospital bed. I reach for her hand and she sobs louder.

"What happened?" I croak.

My wrists also throb and I have a vague memory of Guinevere slicing them open.

"That bitch tried to kill you, then she killed herself."

"She's dead?"

"They found her in a pool of blood by the fireplace in your room. She drugged your wine before she attacked you. Then she slit her wrists and died watching you bleed out on the bed. She wanted you to die together... Some sick fantasy no doubt, where you'd be together in the afterlife." She shakes with more sobs. "Crazy bitch."

It’s a lot to absorb when my face is throbbing with this fucking pain and my thoughts are hazy from all the drugs.

"That witch, I'm happy she's dead," Jennifer says with a sob.

I look at my fiancée’s tearstained face and ache to take away her tears.

"It’s going to be okay." I have to mumble because I can' t move my face.

"Today was supposed to be my wedding day," she cries. "That old hag always hated me and she decided if she couldn't have you then no one could, especially me. She hated that I was so much younger and prettier than her."

I decide I'm too high on drugs to apply any logic to the situation. Jennifer is hurt and angry and not making any sense, and I feel like I'm about to crack open from the inside out with all this goddamn pain.

I close my eyes and drift back into a sweet darkness where there is no more pain and I can't hear Jennifer's anguish anymore.

"I'm sorry," Jennifer says, unable to look at the fresh crisscross of scars on my face as she strikes the fatal blow into my heart. "But I just can't do it."

She puts the diamond ring in the palm of my hand.

She’s leaving me.

Feeling destroyed, I’m ready to beg. "Jennifer, please don't leave me."

It’s been two months since I left the hospital. I've had six surgeries to repair my wounds since the horrific night Guinevere took to my face with a knife. But with each operation, my hope fades. One side of my face is still a mass of scars and it’s not going to get much better.

Jennifer has tried to love the new version of me. Tried to hide her revulsion when I touch her. But she can't.

I'm losing her and the pain of it might actually be the thing to finally fucking kill me.

Since I left the hospital, she hasn't let me kiss her or make love to her.

I thought she just needed time to adjust.

But apparently not.

"I'm still the same man you wanted to marry," I say through the cold ache in my throat.

"But you're not. The man I was going to marry was...different."

"You mean he looked different," I say darkly.

She doesn't try to deny it.

"It’s not my fault," she says, still not looking at me. "I can’t help it if I don't feel the same way anymore."

I feel my heart die and turn black in my chest.

Jennifer leans down to pick up the overnight bag she’d packed earlier. "I'll be back to collect the rest of my things later when you're not here."

My gut twists with agony.

"But I love you," I rasp.

She looks ashamed. "You shouldn't. I don't deserve it because I can’t love you back. I can’t even look at you." She lowers her lashes. "It makes me shallow and probably cruel. But I accept that about myself. You need to accept it as well."

She lifts her long lashes to finally look at me, and I see the pity in her eyes. Pity and…repulsion.

She’s repulsed by me.

She adjusts the strap of her bag over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Adam.”

And without another word, she leaves the room and walks out of my life forever.