Things did change after their dinner.

For one thing, the Beats disappeared, but not before filling the shelves in her room with books that sent her mind spinning.

Literature was fine, and Kat sometimes missed the simple stories about pirates and maidens, but learning about the world and the kingdom gave her much more satisfaction.

And she longed to discuss her findings, her new knowledge, even if it may have sounded basic to him.

But, alas, the Beast didn't summon her to dinner the following two days and she didn't run into him inside the castle.

He ate the food she left him, but that was the only indicator that he wasn't dead.

But still, there was a general shift in the atmosphere. The portraits were more joyful, more doors stood open and she felt a sense of freedom she hadn't before. Why exactly, she was unsure, but she liked to believe it had something to do with her.

As she was having dinner at the end of the third day, half-focused on reading, half on eating, the Beast stomped into the kitchen.

"Your father is well," he announced.

Her head snapped up and she gawked at him, at the indifferent expression on his wolfish face. "Excuse me?"

"I promised you news of your father, did I not?" he said, sounding annoyed that she hadn't had the smarts to pick that up the first time. "I have enquired and he is alive and well. He has recovered from his sickness and is currently trying to rally enough distraught villagers to storm my castle and rescue you."

"Thank the gods," she breathed.

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere as darkness seemed to settle over him. "If they set foot on my grounds, they're dead, you do know that, right?" he growled.

She bit her lip and allowed herself to hate him for a few seconds. For ranging between terrifying and good company and for threatening to kill her father if he proved his love by coming after her.

"I meant thank the gods that he is alright. And if you must know, no one will follow him. He is too unpopular and the villagers fear the forest and the castle too much."

They would follow Donnie, but she really didn't want to think about him, let alone explain his existence to the Beast.

He tilted his dead wolf-head as if he could tell she was holding something back.

"I hope you are pleased."

"I am." But her tone let him know she wanted to thwack him over the head for being a murderous, raging wolf-man instead of a reasonable host she could discuss interesting things with.

"Hateful little minx, aren't you?" He sounded amused now, as if her hatred fueled him, and she wanted to thump him harder. "I will be expecting you to join me for dinner tomorrow evening." And with that he left in a flutter of billowing black cloak.

Kat glared after him, wondering if she could find rat poison to put in his food. It would probably just give him indigestion, but it felt worth it.

But once his heavy presence was gone, joy filled her as the news finally sank in. Her father was fine! He would manage, and she could continue to learn and bide her time until she could escape. Yes, all would be well.

The feeling didn't disappear over the following days. The Beast asked her to join him for dinner every other evening and bombarded her with growled questions about what she'd learned. She gave detailed answers, explaining her thought process and her conclusions on most matters. It shocked her, and him as well, even if he never openly admitted it, that they seemed to agree on most things.

"The ban on magic is ridiculous," the Beast grumbled one evening. "It won't stop the faes or witches using it since they don't care about the rules. It only stops benevolent magic from being used in the kingdom."

"And by witches, you mean magic wielding humans," she said, just to make sure she remembered the information right.

"What else would I mean?" he said, displeasure in his voice.

She wondered if he counted as a witch, though he was hardly a wielder of magic. His curse was the one controlling him, turning him into this unpleasant creature. And not for the first time, she wondered what he'd done to deserve this.

"The fae won't stop," he mumbled from the dark.

"You're living proof," she said before she could stop herself.

"I guess I am," he said with a huff. "A victim of unwanted fame and bad politics."

"Do you remember your former life?" Kat plunged on bravely.

"Of course I do. I wasn't cursed that long ago. But a lot of details do fade. As do social graces. Being alone can make a man go mad."

"You're not alone."

"Trust me, it's the only reason you're still alive."

She'd meant the talking portraits, but just like she'd found little comfort in them, apparently so had he. She chose to ignore his ever-present rudeness. Truth was, that if he weren't so rude and scary, she would have warmed up to him a long time ago.

If she was completely honest, she was warming up to him even in spite of those things. He was too intelligent and seemed to appreciate and encourage her every time she was rude in return and showed off her smarts.

Her behavior would have driven Donnie insane. The Beast couldn't get enough of it, and she'd never felt more like herself than she did in his company. The thought was a little scary, so she took another sip of wine to drive it back. This one was sweet and strong, bringing a light buzz to her head.

"I like this wine."

"I thought you would. It is also good wine, but not as appreciated as the rougher ones."

"Why should I appreciate something that is not to my liking?"

He gave no answer to her bold statement, but she could feel him shifting in the shadows.

"Why don't you come into the light? I love our conversations, but I'd like it even more if I could see you."

More pause before he finally said, "I'm not exactly pleasing on the eyes."

"I don't care about looks. I think you're--"

He groaned, interrupting her. "We're done here. Go to bed."

She wanted to protest, but his voice was distorted and strained, and she'd learned it was an indicator to obey.

It was never the anger or rudeness that had her backing off, but the chill that scared her to death, the one she associated with the growling and the appearance of the strange animal. With the sound of cracking bones.

So she nodded and left the table right away, not even picking up the plates.

Heart stuttering, she strode to her room, but stopped with her hand on the handle. She hated how that had ended, with her not even wishing him a good night. He wouldn't be angry about that, would he? It would be an innocent few seconds he could spare.

On the tips of her toes, she turned back, but halted at the top of the staircase. He'd left the dining room too and now stood in the portrait hall, leaning over Joey's frame, his body in tremors.

"You're doing fine," Joey said, his voice low and soothing.

"Bullshit." The Beast's voice was still distorted, and his teeth clattered. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to control it? Not to give in and tear her to shreds?"

Kat put both hands over her mouth to stop any whimper from coming out. Here she was, thinking he enjoyed her company, and all he wanted was to end her.

"That bad, huh?" Joey asked, as if his master's murderous tendencies were a good sign.

"You have no idea. I can barely stand to look at her most days."

Even through the fear, Kat couldn't help but feel a little insulted. She wasn't ugly. Why couldn't he look at her? Was she picking her dresses wrong? Doing her hair wrong?

"Down, boy," Joey said with a laugh.

"Do you have any idea how hard this is? It's been eight years. It feels like eight centuries. I don't even know how to be human anymore."

"I've noticed that when you decided to throw innuendos at the dinner table."

The Beast growled. "Why did it have to be her?"

Joey let out a bitter huff. "Tell me about it. I'm impressed she's not already dead. How do you even do it?"

"I-- I think I found a loophole. But she has to hate me, Joey. Like really despise me. Or fear me. And as long as she does, she should be safe."

"I don't think she despises you, Cage."

Cage. His name was Cage. Kat took a tiny step closer, completely enthralled by their conversation.

"I don't think she does either," he said with a pained sigh. "Which is why I must try harder. It would be so much easier if I didn't like her. If I didn't feel like every harsh word I throw at her is stabbing my chest."

His words sent her heart into a convulsive dance she couldn't quite understand yet.

Joey let out a long sigh. "I don't think like is the right word anymore, my friend."

"Shut up, Ashley." He groaned, flicking his own muzzle as if it annoyed him. "If only she wasn't so..."

"Gorgeous?" Joey supplied.

The Beast-- Cage-- huffed again. "Smart, fiery, kind. Funny. Independent. Trust me, her beauty is the least impressive thing about her. And that's saying something."

"Maybe you should take her to the western wing."

Cage froze, his posture clearly indicating that the subject was to be dropped immediately. "Why would I do that?"

"Because she'll need to know eventually."

"No. I need her to hate me, fear me, not understand me. I don't want her to pity me."

Joey heaved a sigh. "I don't envy your position at all, my friend. And that's saying something."

Cage mumbled another few words Kat couldn't hear, but she noticed him moving away from Joey's portrait, so she hurried back to her room. The moment she closed the door as silently as possible, she felt stone cold sober.

The Beast liked her. She'd had her suspicions seeing how, in the end, all he did was take care of her, but hearing him say it out loud was completely different. It made her heart sing for some strange reason. It's the victory. Yes, it was knowing she would win. She would leave and he'd let her go himself.

The western wing of the castle. That was where all the answers were. And she needed them right then. So she slipped her shoes off and moved lightly back to the landing. He was gone.

Silent like a cat, she hurried to the staircase leading to the west wing. Before that night, she'd obeyed his order and never set foot on the first step. But now, she danced up them, her heart pounding with fear and anticipation. He usually retreated to his work room after dinner. Today had to be no different.

Cage. His name was Cage. She pondered on it. It was a little peculiar, especially for a duke. Their names were usually more elaborate, less straightforward.

She froze on the landing of the next floor. A sliver of light drifted into the dusty hall from a room to her left. From the way the light flickered, she guessed it came from fire. With careful steps, she approached the cracked door.

Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart stopped. Staring at her was the dead wolf head. She opened her mouth, but the scream of dread refused to leave her chest. It took her a few seconds to realize something was wrong. The Beast's head was too low and was... She tip-toed closer, squinting. It was placed on top of a vanity table. Just the head.

Before she could even process what she was seeing, a body blocked the doorway. There he was, with his back to her, naked from the waist up.

Her jaw hit the floor, lost in the dust on the rug. He had no fur, just smooth golden skin marred by a wide variety of scars. Lashes. She'd seen enough men being punished to recognize them. Her eyes followed their intricate progress up his back, to his neck where he no longer had any. And then, a mass of tousled, jet black hair covered his head, much shorter than the current fashion, but long enough for it to curl a little at the nape of his neck.

She swallowed heavily as she watched him take off his gloves to reveal normal, human hands. The wolf head rested on the table, a grotesque mask of horror. A mask. It was just a mask.

Kat studied it, trying to come to terms with the fact that her captor was not a wolf-man, but an ordinary man. Her eyes drifted back to him just as his hands moved to the belt of his trousers.

Heat shot to her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. She had to get out of there before he turned around and caught her spying on him.

As fast as she could, she scurried back down the stairs and into her room, closing the newly repaired door behind her and locking it for good measure. The crazy rhythm of her heart made her much dizzier than the wine had.

He was human. The wolf head was just a mask, and that was why it never moved. He was human and he wore a mask. What could his face look like if he chose to hide it behind something so hideous? Was it filled with scars, like his back? Did it even matter? She wished he would have turned around.

No, what am I doing?

I need her to hate me, fear me, not understand me.

This shouldn't be happening. She shouldn't be feeling so much curiosity and anticipation. She shouldn't be feeling this much fear. She should want to escape and go home.

Instead, all she felt was the need to understand. But if he was right, understanding would mean her death. But the novelty burned through her, refused to allow her to heed his warning. She couldn't hate what she longed to unravel. A mystery of her own.

For the first time in weeks, she fished out her secret notebook and wrote to K.

Pacing, pacing, pacing? How's the pacing? All this makes sense to me, but I want it to make sense to everyone. That they would evolve like that, that she'd be fascinated by him.

That he'd been so drawn to her.

I think he's making more sense at the moment what with knowing more things then her 😅

What did you take from the conversation with Joey?

Also, were you expecting the ending? Did it surprise you in any way? Why do you think he's using the mask? What's wrong with his face?

Thanks for reading. I do hope to have a new chapter up soon and give you more twists.