Part II: Fanged Beast

I lean back in my seat and prop my feet on the table, balancing the chair precariously on its hind legs. I savor the stretch and release of tension in my stiff muscles, and turn the page in the book I'm holding aloft. Outside, the sunny afternoon has transformed the leaves into shimmering, wavering gemstones that cast light about the whole bedroom. My injuries have stopped being so irksome, but I still can't walk without limping. With any luck, I'll start running again soon.

It's been a week since the dinner. Bianca is currently busy with the task of cleaning out Bela's closet to accommodate more of my clothing. Apart from the eldest daughter declaring my old suite a lost cause regarding repairs, I didn't feel safe staying there alone anymore. Over the course of the week, I've asked Bianca to bring my things to Bela's room – Bela herself aiding in the task when not snarling at another servant to help – leaving only my makeshift weapons alone within the hidden crevices.

They're not much, mostly small knives I've crafted out of knitting needles, dried bars of soap, and some long hairpins. With Bela having retrieved my only knife, it isn't really the end of the world if they're left, and later discovered.

A part of me felt guilty asking Bianca, given the trek it takes from my old room to Bela's, but the scullery maid seemed more than content to helping, with or without the eldest daughter shadowing her back.

Not much was said in the conversation of me moving in with Bela. I wonder if it has anything to do with what we'd done, or if she's just as cautious as I am. Either way, I don't mind. It'll be nice to have some company, though it would be a lie if I said I won't miss my solitude . . . and my own bathroom.

When Bianca wasn't occupied trekking back and forth, she and Bela took turns attending to me — the eldest daughter often reading aloud to me long into the night. When I finally do sleep, my dreams were filled with archaic words and long-forgotten faces, with jars that glow yellow and hum with life, with Mother Miranda, and with a lycan army summoned from the realms of hell. Upon waking, I do my best to forget them—especially the monsters.

The doorknob clicks and my heart leaps into my throat. Could it be Lady Dimitrescu coming to declare I start getting back to work? But it isn't, Bela either, not even a servant. The world stops when Cassandra enters instead.

I almost fall out of my chair as I remove my feet from the table, and wince at the pain that shoots through the wound on my ankle. I am standing in an instant, but when I open my mouth, I have nothing to say.

Especially when I realize she's holding one of her hands behind her back.

Suddenly I'm all too aware of the large slits in the skirt of my nightgown that trail all the way up to my thigh, exposing my hips.

"How are your injuries?" she asks. Her voice is soft—and I realize she isn't staring at the amount of skin I'm showing, but rather the bandage wrapped around my ankle.

"I'm fine," I say, though unable to keep the snarl from my tone. "The bandage is just to elicit sympathy now."

Not a total lie, but I will not be caught off guard if she were to try and slice my head off with her sickle. It's a losing battle either way: I lie, and she attacks, or I tell the truth, and she attacks. At least I can try and keep her cautious.

Cassandra nods, her lips pressed tight, and suddenly I gape at how . . . awkward, she seems. As if she truly did wander in here without a clear purpose.

The second eldest daughter looks about Bela's room, as if it was the first time she'd set foot in here. In my periphery, I can see Bianca hiding behind the open doors of the armoire, trembling. Cassandra notices her too.

She lifts a perfectly groomed brow, her lip slightly curling in disgust. "You can leave."

Bianca looks between us, and I give an inconspicuous nod. That's fine. Better to have to leave than to be used against me. Sisterly-pack or not, I still don't trust the second eldest daughter – or the youngest daughter, for that matter – with everything they've done before to try and make my life a living hell.

Bianca closes the door and scurries her way towards the doors, head down, her black hair rippling in the sunlight like liquid ebony. When the doors are firmly closed, Cassandra looks back to me, her hand still behind her back. "So you'll be living with Bela from now on?"

I steel my spine and keep my face neutral. "I can't go back to my old room, can I?"

Cassandra gives me a sharp smile, seemingly eager to play the game. She snorts, "Good to see you haven't lost any of your charm, Erika."

Hearing my name on her lips . . . it's odd. I wonder if it's the first time she's said it.

"What do you want?"

Her mouth opens, but she hesitates – hesitates – before clamping it shut. Something in Cassandra's face seems to waver, and she shakes her head, clearing away whatever tangling of thoughts had been forming. She sighs, "I wanted to give you this."

She brings her hand out from behind her back, and I startle as she holds a sword that looks as if it had been crafted from the night sky.

The scabbard gleams with polished obsidian, ornate engravings and vines and leaves trail down its middle to a black-tipped chape. The guard had been forged with similar intent, the metal patterned like wood, the pommel carved to look like a blooming rose. Dark brown leather wraps around the handle.

It's a beautiful piece, almost ornamental looking – enough so that I glance between it and Cassandra. "You're joking," I accuse.

"I'm not. Take it."

"Why?"

"Because you'll need something to protect yourself."

"Why do you care?" I snap. "I don't give a shit what little sisterly-blood-promise you made with Bela. You have done nothing but make my life a living hell. I don't trust you."

"That was before the whole seemingly grand scheme of things. People can change."

I survey Cassandra. "Not people like you."

The second eldest daughter bristles, her golden eyes glittering. "I don't remember you being this openly lippy before."

"That was when you were the biggest threat I had to face. Now I have bigger."

"Which is why you should take it." She gives the sword a firm shake, pressing her lips together. "A lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into this thing."

I don't doubt that for a minute.

"It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

"What, you're not going to use it?"

Casandra says coolly, "Not in the ways that you would."

There's no way she had this crafted just for me. I'm more inclined to believe it was a piece she'd requested for herself – probably to be used down in the castle dungeons – but still, why give it to me?

I hadn't picked up a real sword since my father had passed. I would always train with a wooden one, and when switched to real steel, it was always in his presence, his ever-monitoring eyes. It was rather amusing to watch my father train in private, because it looked as though he was still trying to figure out the ways of the blade as I was. He'd held plenty of combat style knives when in service, and seemed more comfortable wielding a bayoneted gun. Most of his knowledge had been gathered through books he'd rent from the library, as well as expanding on the knife-wielding techniques he'd learned from the service.

I stare at the sword like it was a black viper.

After a moment's hesitation, blow out a long breath and pick up the blade. It is light, but perfectly balanced. I draw it from its sheath, the blade singing, metal shining in the dim light.

Damn, it's gorgeous. Simple, yet impeccably made.

I shake my head, chasing away the clinging cobwebs of memories. I can't help it. I take up a defensive stance and swing the blade, mindful of any weight on my ankle.

I spin the sword in my hand, turn, and strike at an invisible opponent. I strike again at the shadows, shuddering at the beautiful song of the sword slicing through air.

Yes, it is perfect. A remarkable feat of craftsmanship.

Cassandra chuckles. "You almost look impressed."

Ignoring the red flushing to my cheeks, I sheath the sword back in the scabbard. Placing it flush with my back, I begin to adjust the strap so it fits comfortably across my chest.

"Why?" is all I ask.

Cassandra folds her arms. "If Miranda and Heisenberg are plotting something, or at least the priestess is. Should she seek to harm you . . . again . . . you should have a weapon."

"Doesn't mean you're obligated to give me one."

Cassandra rolls her eyes, grinding her teeth, "You could just be grateful, and say thank you, you bitch."

I bat my eyes and smile sweetly. "Thank you, you bitch."

The second eldest daughter bristles. She pauses for a moment, then purses her lips. "Do you even know what Bela confided to us?"

"No, and it's none of my business, unless she tells me."

"Well you should at least understand that it means enough to me and Dani to want to help you."

Once the strap is secure and comfortable, I bounce a couple of times on my ankles, lifting myself up onto my toes. Pretty secure. "And, what, I'm just supposed to forgive you for everything else that you've done to me?" I loosely gesture to the scar next to my eye, then turn my back to her as I limp towards the armoire. "Were it not for Bela, you probably would've killed me. I'm grateful to her, not you. And your pretty little gift isn't going to ease anything, either."

Cassandra adverts her eyes and mumbles, "It wasn't supposed to."

I sling off the sword and stuff it into the closet, tucking it into the back corner behind my boots. I shut the door and turn back towards her, folding my arms. "Look, I don't trust you, or Daniela. For damn good reason. If you're looking to change that because you've had some kind of sisterly epiphany, fine. But my trust comes with action. Words mean bullshit in our little world. So once you've proven yourself to me, maybe I'll start forgetting about all the shit you've done to me."

"How the hell am I supposed to that?"

I shrug my shoulders. "You're a big girl, figure it out."

She fists her hands with another snarl, and I fiddle with a gathered piece of my hair. Thankfully, there's a knock on the door and the castle healer – Sandra – walks in with a small backset of supplies. She gives a cheerful greeting when she finally beholds the room, and the Dimitrescu daughter.

"Oh," she says, her voice like gravel coated in honey. Sweet, if aged through the years, "forgive me, I didn't realize you were visiting, Lady Cassandra. I'm here to check on Erika's bandages, I shouldn't be long."

"Don't worry," she spits. "I was just leaving."

With that she turns and stomps out of the room, startling Bianca who as returned with my lunch tray.

I look towards Sandra and wink. "By the way, you're timing – impeccable."

She smacks the side of my arm with her old-woman strength, giving enough of a sting that I actually have to rub my arm to dull it. "Don't think you're getting out of anything because Lady Cassandra was here. You still shouldn't be putting much weight on your ankle if you want it to heal properly."

"Not like I was expecting her to visit."

"I can't believe she gave you a sword." Bianca chimes, near breathless as she sets the tray down on the coffee table.

I limp over to her, Sandra following with a guiding arm. I plop down on the couch, relieved to be off my feet. Sandra sits on my left, Bianca my right as she slices a small loaf of bread.

My lunch consists of a thick mushroom soup, bread, and a plate set with slices of steak. A second tray I didn't see her being in holds desserts. My stomach growls ravenously as I butter a slice, the loaf still warm from the oven.

"Maybe don't mention that to any of the other maids." I ease as I take a bite.

I don't like Bianca's answering impish grin. "I wasn't going to anyway, but now I'm curious as to why."

I devour the first slice and butter a second one. I give Sandra a nod of acknowledgement before she starts to do her routine inspection of my ankle. "Because I don't need any more gossip about me going around the castle. I feel like I'm already on a lot of people's bad sides."

Bianca tucks a foot beneath her thigh and furrows her brows at me. The afternoon sunlight casts lights and shadows along her beautiful satin skin, smoothing her features into ethereal. Her black hair spills over her shoulder as she tilts her head, "What makes you think that?"

"With Kathryn spewing her venom day and night, and with some of the maids sleeping in those rooms, I'm surprised they haven't said anything to any of the Dimitrescus to try and, put a target on my back."

I bite back a grunt of pain as Sandra ties the new bandages too tight. She gives a quiet apology.

Bianca snorts. "They're too scared to do that; because if they're caught lying, it'll be their heads rolling along the tiles. But I understand. I can also confidently say that not everyone thinks of you that way. In fact, I think they might rely on you."

"What –? Ow!"

"Sorry." Sandra repeats.

We pause our conversation as she gives her diagnostic: hopefully I'll be able to at least walk around the gardens of the castle by tomorrow, but running will still be another week away. That's fine, as long as I'm able to hunt again. I'll still have to be mindful of my weight on that ankle, and I can easily hide myself in some foliage rather than climb a tree.

With that, Sandra bids an unrushed farewell, taking a piece of chocolate candy from the dessert tray as payment. Once the doors are closed, Bianca and I wait five minutes to ensure she's not listening – I gulp down a few spoonfuls of the soup in the meantime.

"What do you mean you think they rely on me?" I finally ask over a burp.

Bianca rests her elbow along the back of the couch, propping her hand against her cheekbone. "Well, you seem pretty popular with the Dimitrescu family, so much so that they haven't really been paying much attention to everyone else; or well, Daniela still comes by sometimes, but it's a blessing compared to what it used to me. It used to feel like there was someone dying almost every single day beforehand." She hooks a section of her ebony black hair behind an ear. "Then when you came along, you did something to spark their interest, and now we're actually able to, relax, a little bit. We're not constantly looking over our shoulders, waiting for one of the sisters to chop our heads off."

"No. Instead it's me."

"I know that sounds selfish –"

"No, no. I-It's okay. Kind of makes me feel, good."

I shrink at the pity that etches across Bianca's smooth features. "Why?"

"Well, it's nice to know not everyone hates me because they think I'm getting special treatment. And if I can shoulder the burden of the sisters' attention for everyone else, then fine. I can handle it."

Bianca says softly, "It's not your burden to bear, Erika."

I pause my eating, letting the spoon become sink into the creamy broth like swallowing quicksand. "Better than them thinking I'm the reason a maid had died."

"You know you're not."

I do – I've been told repeatedly by Bela, but it still doesn't ease the sting. Perhaps her sisters did it at that time to try and mess with me head, and I hate to say they've succeeded.

Bianca helps herself to a slice of bread and meat, a corner of her full lips curling up. "I think a lot of the women here admire you too, and not just the maids."

I try to fight the warmth that steals along my cheeks. "How do you mean?"

"It's, a little more selfish when thinking about it, and putting it into words. But most of the women here admire you for your strength and abilities. It's not too often we encounter a woman who can hold her own against a man, let along any of the lords."

My hand lifts to my freshly bandaged shoulder. "Yeah well, those abilities certainly didn't help me while growing up. I was always treated differently by the other villagers – probably because my father sought to embrace the kind of woman I would be, rather than confide me to the traditional ways, unlike my mom."

"You speak very highly of your father." Bianca smiles, pouring herself a cup of tea. With the cup and saucer in hand, she snuggles deeper into the couch.

My own warm smile stretches across my lips. "I owe him a lot. Without his teachings, I wouldn't have been able to feed my little sister."

"Has he passed?" Bianca asks gently.

"Has been for two years now."

She gives an apologetic wince. "My condolences."

"Thank you. At least it was in the more, peaceful ways. He died in his home, surrounded by his family."

"You mentioned your mother as well, what became of her?"

"She's still alive. Probably fucking some random stranger right now."

Bianca's onyx eyes widen, pink stealing over her tan cheeks as she takes another sip. "Sorry." I say, finishing my soup. I move to the plate of meat next. It smells of garlic and cilantro. "We . . . haven't been on good terms since my father's passing. She got buried in grief, and, never came out of it. I wanted to give her enough time, but we were beginning to starve, and she was spending all of my father's insurance money on sex and alcohol. Once the food was officially gone, I took to hunting to keep us alive, and bring in a little money."

Bianca's mouth pops open in an O, and she carefully asks, "You were, actually poor?"

"Yes, and no. We had my father's insurance money, but since I didn't know how much my mother was spending, I didn't want to take any chances using it, unless it was for emergencies. So I hid it away from her while I got things settled with Luiza."

Bianca's face suddenly brightens. "Oh, Luiza is still around?"

I lift a brow. "How long have you been working here?"

"Not too long, a couple of years now. She just always seemed old to me. I guess I half-expected her to be gone by now."

I catch her eyeing my plate, so I hand her my fork and allow her to take a slice. She gives an appreciative smile, if a bit impish – as if she knew I couldn't say no to her. "Anyway, I took a couple of jobs from her, as well as selling the animals I'd hunted. And once I'd gotten her as my sister's legal guardian, that's when I came here to make some more money."

Bianca is quiet for a moment, resuming her tea. After a couple of sips, she says, "You mentioned how your father embraced who you were, but not your mother. Were you on, good terms, before his passing?"

I shrug my shoulders, depositing the now empty plate to the tray. Without hesitation, Bianca lifts the lid of the dessert tray and immediately pops a caramel drizzled chocolate in her mouth. I grab one myself, but sour when I taste the coconut shredding along its top. "I think she, tolerated me; because my dad loved me. Truly, loved me, and she truly loved him. She wanted me to be a women of high class, and while I love dresses and dancing, what she wanted me to be felt so . . . forced. She criticized me of everything I ever did; only made worse when my father started to train me."

I think back to the many arguments I'd overheard from them, feeling wrought with guilt for doing something that I loved, at the time. I was willing to do anything to please my mother if it meant I wasn't getting between their marriage.

My lids lower, and my gaze goes distant as I feel the shadows of my memoires drifting towards me like tentacles of shadow. My tone is deep and grim when I say . . . when I admit, "I don't think she ever accepted me as her daughter."

"What about your little sister?"

Another shrug, "My mother actually loved her; because she enjoyed all the tea parties, and the social gatherings and such. It suits her, too. I thought it was the one thing we had in common – keeping my little sister safe – until she left her outside in the cold."

Bianca swears colorfully. "I'm, sorry you had to endure all of that. Even more so for the villagers who, look down upon you."

I snort. "That's a nice way of putting it. My mother's late-night get-together's left a bad image for me."

And that's all I say. And that's all Bianca needs. Understanding flashes over her onyx eyes as she grips her teacup. She averts her gaze from me. "I've had similar encounters too. And I think it's because of my skin color."

My blink is my only sign of surprise. "Don't feel like you're obligated to share anything. I'm used to my life being so, public now. It's nothing personal. Not anymore."

"No, it's fine. I want to." She lowers her cup to her lap. "When we moved here to the village, it was supposed to be a brand-new start. But growing up, I never really, saw, other people who looked like me. When I got older, there were some, but of course far and few in between. It felt comforting knowing I wasn't, alone. But still with so little of us, it always felt like there was a target on our backs. I can't tell you how many times I'd been cornered or intimidated."

"I won't even try to guess." I mutter.

"It's one of the reasons why I came here. Being surrounded by women, even if our time together is . . . limited." She sets her teacup aside. "I appreciate their time, and their company."

I fold my lips in. "That's, very brave of you. It must've been hard having to leave your family behind."

She shrugs her shoulders, spilling over a section of her hair. "I was an only child, so I know it probably hurt them, and made them worry out of their skins, but, with me gone, at least my mother has my father. Don't get me wrong, my parents loved me as the day is long, it's just –"

"You felt like a burden?"

Her eyes light up in such a way that she almost mimics a goddess. She nods, and I nod back.

I could understand her predicament – she's probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And part of that is because she's different, not just by skin, but by personality.

The two of us, strong in a world that expected us to be weak.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that prejudice."

"Same to you, but at least it gives us something in common."

I give a shy smile. "Have you talked to your family lately?"

She wavers her hand. "I've been able to send letters to them during the holidays. I know they miss me, and seeing the letters at least lets them know I'm alive."

I cringe. "Thank you for, letting me talk. I'm sorry for dumping my whole life story on you."

"No! Not a problem. I've been told I'm a good listener." Bianca smiles, and it's a smile that could rival Bela's in validity and pure beauty. She lifts to her knees, and takes the two waddling steps to me before placing her hand on mine. "I'm sorry for what you went through too, and I must say that, I'm proud of you."

The words hit like an arrow to my heart.

She envelops my hand in her own – so soft and smooth, likely never picked up a dagger in her life. It almost feels sacrilege to have my callus scrap against it. "I'm proud of you for what you did for your sister; for your bravery in coming here; for holding your head high and remaining true to you despite everything. It's truly admirable." She gives another smile. "Lacy seems very lucky to have you for a sister, and your mother will regret not acknowledging you as her daughter."

Tears stream down my cheek before I realize it.

I don't think anyone has ever said that to me before.

I'm proud of you.

Bianca doesn't hesitate to wipe my tears with her thumb, inching closer to wipe the other one away. In the back of my mind, I remember the tip of Bela's tongue along my skin, and I shake my head.

"Thank you," I barely get the words out before Bianca's arms wrap around my neck. I nearly tip back, but I'm able to hold us up – thankfully with the help of the back of the couch and the fluffy pillows at my back.

More tears slip from my eyes as I wrap my arounds around her. I try not to think about the pressure of her breasts against mine, of the silken feeling of her hair spilling along my shoulders. I nestle against the crook of her neck, closing my eyes and just enjoying the physical touch. I hadn't been hugged like this since Elena – since I left.

And with everything that's happened, I don't stop the tears that flood my eyes. Nor do I try to control my body as if shudders from the sobs that soon have me hitching and choking down air.

Bianca gives a soft giggle, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron as she peels off of me. I take it and turn away as I blow my nose.

"Thank you," I mutter through the cloth, earning another giggle. "I didn't know I needed that."

Bianca shrugs. "Everyone needs a hug."

Before I can respond, she leans in and kisses my cheek, and it feels as though a glittering veils drapes over me. And I feel . . . comfort. Gladden.

Bianca pulls back, but only so far. I'm taken aback as I stare into her onyx eyes, seeing little flints of gold swimming within their color – like a sea of golden stars.

"Um . . ." My voice is nothing more than a breath.

Behind us, someone clears their throat.

We both whirl to find Bela Dimitrescu standing there, arms folded.

And she doesn't look too happy.

She lifts her chin, looking down her nose at us in a glare that I haven't seen for a while. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Without hesitation, I say, "Sandra came and examined my foot. You were busy, and I wanted company."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

The clock on the mantel rings one, and Bianca sighs. "Well, I must be getting back to the kitchen. I'll double check with you, Lady Bela if I should bring her dinner, now that Sandra has deemed her capable enough to walk."

Bela doesn't answer

I stick my tongue out at the eldest daughter, hiding my surprise at how calm Bianca is. I'd only ever seen her among the other maids in the kitchen, and whenever a Dimitrescu entered, I was always so focused that I was never able to consider her own reaction. If she cowered like the rest, or if she held her chin up with square shoulders.

Bianca gathers her things before departing, sparing a quick, "I'll see you later, Erika." As well as a polite curtsey to Bela.

Once she leaves, the eldest daughter doesn't say anything. She approaches the couch and says, "She seems, nice."

I shrug, "She's been taking good care of me this past week."

"What was that all about?" Bela jerks her chin towards me, as if she can still see me and Bianca, arms twined, and the scullery maid kissing my temple.

"We just got into a personal conversation about each other's lives, and she offered me some comfort."

"What did you tell her?"

"Same thing that I've told you."

I hide my smirk at the relief that softens her features.

"So, did you need something?" I ask.

Instead, Bela heads straight towards the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

Surprisingly, her silence doesn't bother as me as much as I expected.