Read Beauty and the Werewolf for Free Online

wouldn’t waste an apology on that one, and even the bastard son of a King gets only as much rank as the King permits. He should count himself lucky that he has the position that he does.”
    Bella looked up at the tiny windows and realized with a start that the light had the distinct reddish tinge of sunset. She realized to her chagrin that she and Granny had spent at least two or three hours over the book, and then far too much time talking about the Gamekeeper and the Duke. “Bother. I’ll be going back in the dark now,” she said, with a twinge of irritation. “On the other hand, atleast I know more about the Gamekeeper, and I should be able to give him something to think about besides tormenting servant girls.”
    They both got up; Bella collected her cloak and the empty basket, and Granny saw her out. “At least there will be a full moon,” she pointed out. “And it’s due to rise a little after sunset. You should have no problem seeing your way.”
    Bella kissed the old woman on the cheek and shooed her inside before she caught a chill. It was with no little regret that she turned away from the warmly glowing windows of the cottage and headed into the darkening, cold woods. She rather wished she could stay the night, and Granny would have put her up on the trundle bed if she asked—but if she did, it was odds-on that she would return in the morning to find quarrels in the kitchen and everything behind time.
    She pulled her cloak tightly around her and snugged her scarf around the hood at her neck. There was a bit of a wind picking up; the fire in her room was going to feel very welcome.
    When the moon rose, it was a lot easier to see. The silver light poured down through the bare branches and reflected off the snow, and if it hadn’t been so cold and lonely, she would have stopped more than once to admire how pretty it was.
    However, it was tremendously cold; already, despite the two pairs of socks over her feet and the fleece of her sheepskin boots, her feet were like ice. She wished she could run, but the snow was deep enough that running was a bit difficult. But I could run a bit, then walk awhile—that would warm up my feet, too— she thought, vaguely.
    But her thoughts were shattered by the howl of a wolf.
    All the hair on the back of her neck tried to stand up, and an instinctive chill went down her spine. No use trying to tell herself it was a dog, for no dog ever sounded like that. She rememberedwhat Ragnar had said about “hungry beasts” coming down into these woods.
    She stopped on the road and listened, hard, hoping to hear others respond to the first howl. She knew, thanks to Granny, that she had nothing to fear from a pack. Wolves in a pack were strong enough to take down their normal prey; they might go after sheep or even cattle, but they would avoid humans.
    But there were no answering howls, barks or yips. This was a loner—and loners were dangerous. Old, diseased or the wrong-headed young males that refused to fit into a pack, they could feed themselves well enough in spring, summer and fall on mice and rabbits and other small game, but when winter came, they began to starve. Something had to be wrong with a wolf if a pack wouldn’t allow it to at least hover at the fringe and glean scraps. A lone wolf in winter was generally a wolf with an empty belly, and a wolf with an empty belly forgot he wanted nothing to do with human beings.
    She lurched into a trot, just as the wolf howled again—
    Nearer.
    She had to fight herself not to run. Right now, running wouldn’t do anything but get her exhausted and make her easier prey. Instead, she dropped the useless basket and scanned the snow on both sides of the road for a fallen branch of manageable size. What she needed was something like a weapon.
    The wolf howled again, nearer still. Clearly he had her scent. She couldn’t tell if that was a hunting howl or not, but it