The Beast Within

Nine Lives Part 8

Selena jolted awake in an unfamiliar bed.

Her vision was obscured by a sea of soft, mismatched blankets that had been tucked around her body.

Where am I?

Selena held her breath, listening for any indication of another presence in the room. Somewhere nearby a fireplace crackled loudly, but she heard no other sound.

Aware that her chest had begun to burn, Selena released her breath and slowly shifted her body to adjust the covers below her line of vision.

She was in a rustic cottage, much older than her family's cabin. The walls around her were a patchwork of grey and light brown stone and heavy, round beams supported the timber ceiling.

An unusually large fireplace, recently fed with kindling, radiated warmth across from the bed. Its mantle was adorned with a wreath of dried rosemary, bordered on each side by assorted books, leather-bound, with aging covers.

Selena raised herself to a sitting position and squinted slightly against the sunlight that flooded the room.

What time is it? How long have I been here?

Light steamed in from two large windows, occupying adjacent walls in the corner of the room. On the window sills Selena could see small clay pots with peppermint and lavender plants, basking in the autumn sun.

It would have been cozy, maybe even romantic, had it not been a stranger's bedroom.

Beside the bed was a solid oak nightstand, the surface of which was distressed and grooved with age. On top of the stand someone had carefully placed an earthenware plate with a thick slice of buttered, crusty bread and, beside it, a sturdy mug, filled with a tart-smelling, burgundy liquid.

Selena nervously eyed the food, wondering if it was safe to eat. Her rumbling stomach implored her to take the chance and she reached for the bread, turning it over in hands.

If someone wanted to hurt me, they would have done it already...right?

Maybe this is the cottage of a nice old lady who wants to help me.

Or maybe she's like the nice old lady from Hansel and Gretel, she answered herself, morbidly.

Drawing the conclusion that she needed to keep up her strength, she took a small bite of the bread, rolling her eyes in delight at the taste of fresh, creamy butter.

She devoured the rest of the bread in three large bites, reaching next for the mug. Its contents were still hot in her hands.

Gingerly, she took a sip of the liquid, a spiced wine that immediately filled her chest with warmth.

Someone was in the room recently. Where are they now?

As if to answer her question, she heard a muffled clanging downstairs, like the impact of a spoon on the top of a pot.

Setting aside the mug, Selena quickly moved the covers and slipped her feet down to the floor below.

As she transitioned her weight to stand, a stabbing pain shot through her right foot and, glancing down, she saw that it had been heavily bandaged with white gauze.

Lifting her foot, she saw that a slight trace of blood had already seeped onto the wood below.

Selena suddenly recalled her dream of being chased, and caught, in the woods and her heart began to hammer in her chest.

Muttering an obscenity under her breath, she considered her possible means of escape. With no idea what lay beyond the bedroom door, the windows seemed to be her safest opportunity to flee undetected.

Glancing nervously at the door behind her, Selena limped toward the windows.

There were no curtains to obscure her view and Selena could see clearly into the garden below.

Though the large plot was mostly empty, planting trellises lined the exterior walls beneath the windows. Though they did not appear sturdy enough to help her balance on the way down, they definitely seemed sharp enough to cut her, should she slip.

Selena doubted that, with her injured foot, she would be able to jump past the trellises.

Even worse, she still wore her thin camisole and lounge pants from the night before and, should she make it through the garden, she would have to find her way home without a coat and shoes.

Turning back to the door, Selena accepted that her only option was to face whatever was waiting for her downstairs.

Seeing no potential weapons to bring with her, Selena retrieved the mug from the night stand and hobbled toward the door. She doubted throwing the mug would stop an attacker, but facing her doom with a mug of wine seemed better than facing it without.

Selena slowly opened the bedroom door, grateful that it did not creek on its hinges like the doors at her grandmother's cabin.

The moment she tiptoed into the hall she was met with the smell of something delicious cooking below, urging her forward as she crept toward the stairs.

Pausing at the top of the landing, she hoped to see an exterior door at the foot of the steps. Crestfallen, she saw only a stone wall and a standing coat rack, adorned with a leather, hooded jacket.

I don't think the old lady from Hansel and Gretel would wear that, she thought with a smirk.

Her amusement faded when she realized that she would not be able to leave the home without passing whoever was beneath her.

Creeping down the stairs, Selena moved as quietly as possible, testing each step for noise before transferring her weight and crouching down to maximize her view though the wooden balusters.

With each step the kitchen below came more fully into view.

At first, she saw only a large, rustic maple table, set for two. A couple steps lower she could see that several small, inverted bushels of herbs had been hung from a wrought iron rack above the table to dry.

Beyond the table, she could see a cast iron, wood-fueled stove, on top of which was a pot filled with steaming liquid. The pot disbursed the soothing aroma of vegetables and beef throughout the room. 

Selena had rarely cooked for herself prior to leaving Ohio and, except for the chicken she'd had the night before, she had barely eaten since her arrival.

Her eyes drifted slightly closed as she relished the smell of a home cooked meal.

No sooner had she relaxed then she heard a soft rustle to her far right, beyond her line of vision. Before she could decide whether to retreat, a man stepped sideways into her view.

Stifling a gasp, she prayed her had not heard her.

The man kept his back to her, seemingly unaware of her presence, as he glanced down into the contents of the pot.

Slightly wavy, dark brown hair touched his collar. It looked so soft, she briefly wondered what it might be like to run her fingers through it.

A dark flannel shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and muscular back, which tapered into a tight waist.

Why does he seem so familiar?

Her gaze drifted lower to his tight jeans, which did little to hide the powerful, sculpted body beneath.

Selena's eyes widened with the humorous realization that she would recognize that perfectly contoured ass anywhere.

A sudden rush of relief flooded her body, but before she could say his name, Callinan addressed her in a low, sensual tone, "Selena, who told you that you could get out of bed?"