Fated to the Beast: Steamy Shifter Romances, #1

Chapter

One

Fiona

I pull my cloak closer about me and shudder with more than winter's chill when I think of Lord Fairchild. I know my father means well and he only wants to make sure I'm taken care of when he's gone, but I do desperately wish he would stop trying to set me up with all these rich old toads.

I'm not a vain woman, and of course I know the ways of the world for women of my ilk. I know the best hope for women of my social standing is to marry a well-to-do man. And it's not like I'm asking for the most handsome man in the world, but I'm filled with repulsion every time I think of a man who's older than my father putting his wrinkled hands all over me.

I know that's the way it is around here, though. Most of the young brides are married off to men old enough to be their fathers because they're the ones with all the money to afford a young, beautiful bride.

I don't want to marry at all. If I have my way, I'll spend the rest of my days alone in a little cottage here in the forest. I'm smart enough to take care of myself. My father taught me basic survival skills, and Greta taught me all I need to know about what herbs and foods are safe for consumption. I know how to set a trap too, so I could catch me a hare every now and then and some other little critters to eat.

I don't need or want to be chained to a husband. Convincing my father of that is another story, though. He already worries about me not having a mother figure to guide me.

My fingers move up to my neck in a habitual movement to grasp the amulet she gave me before she died of sickness when I was only eight years old.

I frown when my fingertips brush bare flesh and I realize I forgot to wear my necklace today. I never forget to put on my amulet, but I was so distressed when I heard Lord Fairchild's voice floating through the walls that I was in haste to make a quick escape.

When I emerged from my room to find the overbearing gentleman sitting at the table with my father, I came up with the excuse that I had to go gather berries.

It's not exactly a lie. I've gathered at least enough berries for a blueberry pie. But the main reason I came up with that excuse is because I knew there was no way Lord Fairchild would offer to accompany me.

A stout gentleman with a potbelly, he's not keen on exercise. The one time he insisted on accompanying me on one of my excursions through the forest, big, disgusting beads of sweat rolled down his face when we were only five minutes into the walk. His pudgy chest had huffed and puffed with exertion, and he'd bid us go back before he became more winded.

No, Lord Fairchild prefers to sit indoors, preferably over a mug of ale and a bowl of meat stew.

It's not just that Lord Fairchild is old and gray and fat either. We have absolutely nothing in common. He prefers to be indoors, whereas I prefer to be outdoors. He likes to sit idle, whereas I like to keep busy.

Oh, there have been plenty of younger candidates who've come sniffing around too, wanting to put in their offers for my hand in marriage. Some of them are quite handsome. But still, no one has caught my fancy in that way and made me eager to lose my status as a maiden.

My fingers trail over my bare throat as I mindlessly reach for my amulet again.

The stone has never glowed either.

I'm starting to seriously doubt if it ever will.

At this point, it's fine by me if it doesn't.

Being married isn't about what I want anyway. I know that. It's about my father securing my future.

I scowl as I bend down and savagely pluck some more berries from a vine I find stretching across the ground.

I hate the inevitability of being married off to the highest bidder.

I instantly chastise myself for my unkind thoughts. I know that's not fair. My father isn't trying to make the most money he can off me. He truly does have my best interests at heart. I just wish he would listen to me when I tell him I have no desire to marry. Instead, he just nods at me in that fatherly, condescending way of his like he's humoring a petulant child who doesn't know what's best for her.

You're young yet, Fiona, he always says, but trust me when I say you'll thank me when you have a warm hearth and plenty of food in your belly when you're married to a man of substance. A man who can give you more than your old dad ever could.

You're just as beautiful as your mother was. Tears always shimmer in his eyes when he talks about her. Father has never wed again. He loved my mother so.

My heart aches at the memory of her. If I ever do get married, I want to marry for love like she and he did, but my father will hear nothing of that.

You're so beautiful, Fiona. You've got options. You don't want to make the same mistake your poor mother, God bless her soul, did. She married me, a pauper, for love. And look where that got her.

He always looks so heartbroken when he admits that, and it hurts me when my father talks like that. I know he still blames himself for my mother's death.

When she came down with the sickness, we didn't have the money for doctors to treat her. My father has convinced himself that if he hadn't been so selfish when they were courting, if he'd let her go, that she would have married a richer man and she'd still be here today.

Maybe that's true, but would she have been happy? At least while she was here, she was completely in love.

I sigh again, and the sound seems to echo all around me.

I suddenly notice that all the chirping of the birds has died away, and there's an ominous chill in the air. I look up and see that I've wandered farther into the forest than I usually do. I was so lost in my thoughts I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going.

I look to the left and the right, my brow furrowing as I try to remember which way I came from.

Everything seems forebodingly quiet here—like there's a hush in the air. The trees are so dense and thick that they block out all the sunlight, casting the mossy forest floor in gloom and shadow.

Prickles of awareness cause the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. A shiver runs down my spine as I suddenly sense that I'm not alone.

I hear a low growl rumble behind me, and I turn around slowly, my heart thumping steadily in my chest.

My eyes widen as my head tilts up.

I gasp and take a step back, the basket slipping from my grasp.

Berries spill across the ground, and I feel them squelching underneath my boots as I squash them in my hasty retreat.

Their purple juices leak out to stain the hem of my dress, but I pay it no mind.

My eyes are locked on the creature looming over me, and fear holds me in its sharp grasp as I realize I'm in deep trouble.

It's the Beast of Boding.

Chapter

Two

Broderick

The tiny little female in front of me drops the basket of berries she was stealing from my land and gasps as she looks up at me.