A Kiss From a Wolfman (Kiss From a Monster #5)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

CARYSSA

F or the last sixteen years, I’ve been a captive in my own home.

If ever there was a chance to escape my royal prison, now would be the time. It’s been over a month since I aided my brother’s would-be bride, Laurelle, in escaping my family. It’s the least I could do after I watched countless girls come and go, never to be seen again—all falling victim to my brother’s cruelty.

Cruelty that he’s inherited from our father.

Their shared temper had been on full display once I returned to the palace, bringing news of Laurelle’s escape. Carysen, my brother, had been drunk. His rage had turned his face a few shades lighter than a plum. After his and my father’s initial inquisition, I avoided him at all costs. Once they had been satisfied with my assessment that Laurelle had indeed overpowered me to flee, I was sequestered in my room with a host of guards stationed outside my door at all times.

Though they may have believed my tale, they still weren’t entirely convinced of my innocence.

That is why I’ve spent the past month toiling away inside these stone walls. My mother comes to me every so often—the only visitor I’m allowed beyond my ladies’ maids. She tells me my father is growing more irate by the day. My brother has been dispatched to bring Laurelle to us, and I pray she has made it far beyond his reach.

She lives; I believe it in my soul. Yet that same sense of hope alludes me as I think about my future. My mother has become tense on her visits. I take her in now at the edge of my bed. An aging queen—her wrinkled face is pinched, and her blue eyes are too large.

As the guards resume their position outside the door, I make my familiar plea, knowing there is very little she can do to help me.

“Mama,” I say softly, not to startle her as she stares out my third-floor window. “Can you please ask Father to release me from this room? I am growing restless. It has been a month, surely?—”

“Your brother is dead.”

My mother says it casually as if she is announcing that it may rain later today. My heart stumbles in my chest, and the needlepoint in my hand clatters to the floor.

“What?” The word is barely above a whisper. “Has someone sent word?”

Her face turns, and our matching eyes meet, yet they spark without recognition. Life inside this palace has made her a prisoner as well. The steel bars of her mind keep her contained—the woman she once was has long since perished behind them.

“Your father believes all of this is your fault.”

Bile races up my throat.

“I—”

“You will be married—within the month. If you refuse to comply, you will be sent to the dungeon to live out your days with the rats.” Her lids lower as her bony hand cups my cheek. “If I were you, I’d pick the vermin.”

With one last pat on my cheek, she rises in a swirl of glittering skirts. Knocking once on the heavy wooden door, it opens and exposes the guards stationed outside. Like a ghost, she slips between the small opening and is gone—as if she had never been here. As if she was merely an omen of my forthcoming demise.

My hands begin to tremble as I play back her words. Moisture burns my eyes. Has my life been reduced to this—two miserable choices being forced upon me? I won’t do it.

I think of Laurelle—of her curly hair and easy smile. When presented with the opportunity to flee and seize a future of her own choosing, she did not hesitate. Wherever she is now is better than any life she would’ve led shackled to my heinous brother. If I am going to survive, I will need to be brave like her.

The future I want is mine for the taking, and I will not pass up an opportunity to claim it.

Yet, the longer I stay in this room, the more I can feel my chances of escape sifting through my hand like grains of sand. Rising on stiff legs, I make the short journey to my door and try the brass handle. Giving it a tug, I’m met with familiar resistance as the lock holds fast.

A sigh slips from my lips, and I release the handle as if it has burned me. Even if the door had been unlocked after my mother’s departure, the guards would ensure I didn’t make it far. A dull ache pounds at my temples—my frustration slamming its fists against my skull.

Tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to let any glide down my cheeks. I will be strong. I will escape. I will not let them steal my life and shackle me to some cruel man.

Even if it will take a miracle for me to get out of here.

Dark gold hair blows into my eyes from my loosened braid. I tuck it behind my ear and glance out the window, wondering if it has let in a draft. This room has been stifling my entire time in confinement. Another soft breeze tickles my cheeks, coming from the direction of my solid stone wall. I lower my brows as I take a tentative step closer.

It’s not long before the wind picks up, causing the pieces of parchment on my desk to crinkle and thrash from the invisible force. The sweet smell of blooming flowers perfumes the air. This is all rather curious. I should be alarmed, but I feel a strange sense of calm and a bit of…hope.

Perhaps I have truly gone mad in this room.

I remain still as the fragrant breeze disturbs the inside of my room with its quiet intensity. The wind whips around me, blowing my hair and tugging at my clothes. A force more significant than my understanding is at play, and I am powerless to do anything but bear witness to it and hope it’s here to aid me.

With wide eyes, I watch the heavy wooden door to my room swing open on silent hinges. A fresh breeze from the hall rushes in. I wait for the guards to storm in and demand to know what I’ve done—to punish me and remand me to the dungeon below.

Yet, as I wait to hear their clanking footsteps, none come. It is utterly still beyond my opened door. A gasp slips from my lips as I watch another improbable feat occur: the old dark cloak I have hanging from a peg in my room floats towards me. It lands gently on my shoulders. Invisible hands give me a reassuring, almost affectionate squeeze.

My mind immediately goes back to Laurelle. Could she have a hand in whatever is unfolding in front of me? Or have I succumbed to my despair in this room and am now hallucinating this whole thing?

Despite my confusion, I still tie the clock around my shoulders.

Without hesitation, invisible hands carry an old satchel I had resting against the wall towards me. The doors to my wardrobe peel apart, and various clothing items are carefully stuffed inside until the old leather is stretched to bursting.

All I can do is watch—the urge to scream and cower never comes.

The bag flies towards me, and the long strap loops over my head and drapes itself across my body. The weight is comforting and brings me back into my body. This is real and happening.

Finally, a coin purse made of sturdy brown fabric floats towards me. It hovers in midair. Glowing golden orbs swirl around the bag before solidifying into pristine golden coins. My jaw unhinges as I watch the coins fill the bag until it sags under their weight. There must be at least a hundred in there.

It glides toward me, and I manage to raise my hand. The heavy pouch settles against my palm—the weight a delight. This will be more than enough for what I have planned. Quickly, I tuck the bag away, not daring to question this wondrous gift.

Lifting my eyes, I survey my room one last time. I won’t miss it, nor my life here, but I want to commit it to memory. My eyes lock on an open space in my room—nothing is there, yet I swear I can see something. A faint shimmering—a pulsing of air that makes me feel like whoever is responsible for this assistance is watching—waiting for me to claim this gift they’ve given me.

Squaring my shoulders, I inhale sharply.

“Whoever you are—whatever you are…thank you.”

A gentle breeze blows over my cheeks in acknowledgment. The floral-scented air invades my lungs and strengthens my resolve once more. I don’t have much time. Without a second look, I turn and quietly exit the room.

The hallway is eerily quiet, spurring me to walk faster. I move through the palace with a singular focus. I can taste my freedom—it coats my tongue like honey. The stone walls around me blur as I sail down flights of stairs and back corridors, careful to avoid lingering servants on their rounds.

I travel deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle. With an arm wrapped around my leather bag, I’m careful not to let the gold coins jingle and give away my location. While I may be a princess, I’ve never had money of my own. My father and brother keep their coffers firmly locked. This money will buy me the future I’ve longed for.

Taking a sharp left, then another one, I rely solely on memory to navigate this labyrinth. I am far enough down that I should just have to pass by the kitchen, and then I’ll be able to cross into the courtyard.

Pushing through another set of doors, I can smell the fresh scent of grass and?—

Someone rounds the corner. A girl. She’s young, draped in the white smock most of our scullery maids wear. Her face is gaunt, and a strand of reddish brown hair clings to her brow from underneath her handkerchief. My heart drops as she looks up, a sharp breath parting her pale lips.

If she makes a noise or alerts the guards in any way, I will be found out. Icy fear licks up my neck as I consider the punishment I will receive if I am discovered.

This young girl holds my whole future in her callused hands.

She pauses a few paces from me, bobbing into a half-hearted curtsey. When she rises, she takes me in from head to toe, from my fraying cloak to the bag strapped across my chest. Her eyes widen, and her dark brows lower.

“Please.” It’s the only word I can muster.

My heart pounds in my ears. Seconds pass, but they feel like years. Each shallow breath she takes causes my stomach to sink further. She twists her small hands into the front of the dress. Quickly, she glances over her shoulder before looking back at me.

“Through there leads to the garden.” She uses a slim finger to point to a wooden door nearly concealed by the crumbling stone wall. “Go now. The cook is only a few paces behind me.”

Gratitude floods me as I quickly reach into my satchel. If this girl is discovered to have aided my escape, she will suffer a fate worse than death. It is dangerous to linger here, but I must reward her kindness.

“Here,” I say, dropping five gold coins into the front of her smock. “Leave here as soon as you can. Use these for safe passage.”

Her eyes widened once more.

“Thank you,” I whisper. She nods, her eyes shining.

Without risking exposing either of us more than I already have, I turn from her and yank open the hidden door just as footsteps approach from the end of the hall.

Once outside, the setting sun momentarily blurs my vision. The sweet, earthy scents of the garden swell around me. The damp grass soaks my silk slippers as I trudge through the greenery.

Quickly glancing around to make sure I am alone, I hurry through the tall hedges and underneath the swaying willows. The sound of sea birds calling overhead encourages me. It’s not far now—I should still be able to make it.

As I pass underneath the final tree, leaves brush my cheeks and hair. The sight before me is glorious. Vast blue water as far as the eye can see. The orange sun is dipping below the horizon as pink tendrils coil in the darkening sky.

Glancing up, I stare at the top of the watchtower, only to find the loan guard on patrol asleep with his helmet off under the waning sun. Luck favors me once more as I travel down the sandy beach.

The wet sand makes it hard to keep my footing, but I manage it. The last rays of sunlight slip away as I reach the small dock. It is weather-worn, crumbling from time and seawater. Gruff voices of men can be heard as I approach. Heavy dragging sounds echo down the dock as various objects are hauled aboard the vessel.

It is a large ship with blinding white sails and a polished deck. A couple nods to a man standing before a ledger before slipping aboard. I make my way over to him. The worn wood of the dock presses against my feet where my slippers have split.

The man before the ledger is older—with a graying beard and a deeply wrinkled face. His red captain's coat has seen better days as I take in its faded sleeves and worn buttons. He doesn’t look up as I approach.

Clearing my throat, I wait for his eyes to meet mine.

“I’d like to buy passage on this ship. The further it can take me from here, the better.”

The old man scoffs before slamming the ledger closed.

“We’re all out of rooms.” His eyes trail down my body, taking in the sorry state of my clothes and hair. “Besides, you couldn’t afford it anyway.”

With trembling hands, I reach into my bag and riffle around before producing what I need. I drop the ten gold coins atop his closed ledger.

“I’ll take a private suite,” I say, with more command than I’ve ever heard in my voice.

The old man raises his graying brows but says nothing as he sweeps my coins into his coat pocket. He opens his ledger and dips his pen into a small ink pot.

“Very well,” he says. “Name?”

“What?”

“A name,” he says, letting out a deep sigh. “Your name—doesn’t need to be your real one. I just need something to put in the manifest.”

Why did I not consider this before? I can leave no trail of my former self lest my family try and locate me. I wait for sadness to hit me, but it doesn’t.

Instead, I feel unbridled joy at being able to shed this shackle of my past.

Princess Caryssa is no more—she died in that old room in the castle. I look up towards the darkening sky, and the first stars appear. They twinkle down at me in encouragement.

I think back to my first meeting with Laurelle—that innocent question she posed me in the carriage—now means much more.

A smile pulls at my lips.

“Stella,” I say. “My name is Stella.”

It is a name of my choosing—one that I will use happily to craft my future. Stella has no past—she is no one—a blank slate. My destiny belongs to me.

“Welcome aboard, Stella,” the captain says. “Cabin three will be yours for the duration of our journey. We sail pretty far north—our final stop will be about two months from now.”

I nod and walk towards the deck of the ship. It bobs before me, teasing me with its promise. A ship hand waits on the other side—a young boy with a round face and pale blonde hair.

“Miss?” he asks, extending a sunkissed hand towards me.

I take it and my first step towards freedom without hesitation.