Free The BBW and the Beast: A Shifter Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 1) by Sylvia Frost Page A

could see fear in his eyes. “Now you understand why I didn’t want you writing my biography.”
     “But werewolves can’t… werewolves have…“ Why were words, the one tool she was most comfortable with, failing her when she needed them the most?
     “Mates,” he said softly.
    Oh, God . Bel’s hand flew to the small of her back. The patch of fur there was hot and pulsing, even through her coat. “So that’s my — “
    “Your mate mark, yes.”
     It should’ve been a relief. But it wasn’t. Bel wrote stories; she didn’t participate in them! In fact, the whole reason she wrote, the whole reason anybody wrote, was to take the monster and make it manageable. To play pretend. It wasn’t supposed to be real. This isn’t what I wanted.
     “Christ Almighty.” Bel’s hand flew away from her back, as if it had burned her. “I know the stories. But what does it mean?”
     “It means that I’ll do anything to protect you. That I love you. And that one day, I hope you’ll bear my children.”
    Bel gasped. Samson had said his declaration so plainly, like his love for her was just a fact. Her mate mark burned even hotter, her blood singing with desire. But her heart felt cold.
    Samson must’ve noticed, because he didn’t move any closer. “It will take time for you to process your own feelings, I know.”
     “My feelings? You lied to me for three months! You just told me you’re a werewolf,” Bel mumbled through her teeth. They would start to chatter soon. While she had thrown on a coat, her pants were too thin for the weather. “I need to go home.”
     Mud squelched underneath Samson’s feet as he stepped toward her. “Then let’s take you home. You can ride me.”
    “R-ride you?”
    “There are some upsides to being a werewolf,” he said. Bel got the sense it was supposed to be a joke, but he wasn’t smiling, and she was a million miles away from laughing.
     “There’s no way—”
     He ignored her worries, and instead brought one of his calloused hands to her chin, tilting it upwards. By the time she realized what he was doing it was too late; she was caught in his orbit.
     “Bel,” he whispered. It was the first time he had ever called her by her nickname.
    Bel just stared, decoding the secrets of the face she only now recognized. The slight slant of his gold-flecked eyes, the wideness of his mouth, the wiriness of his beard. She could see the beast in him. His monster had a name. Werewolf.
    But it was more than that. As his right hand slipped away from her chin down to the side of her arm, sending a warm flip of pleasure rippling through her, she realized he was holding her like she was a snowflake melting too quickly. Like he knew he had to let her go. Like he had always known.
    “Please, let me take you home,” he said.
    His breath was warm against her cheek, and smelled like firewood, whiskey and high summer. She knew which home he meant, and she knew that if she went back to his glorious mansion in the woods, she might never be able to leave again. Their bond would ensure it.
    She managed to shake her head and say, “I can’t, Samson.”
     He didn’t ask why, but his grip did stiffen. “It’s not safe out here, and with the cold -- ”
     “No, I mean I can’t go home with you. I need time to think.”
    Her heart clenched as she waited for his response, for him to say too bad, she was his now. She knew how mating worked; being apart would be physically painful for both of them.
    But, eventually, he simply nodded and turned away.

16
    B el had started walking back to her father’s house when a fancy black car pulled up. It was his brother, Rex. He said nothing as he drove her home, but she got the sense that he was far from happy. Unhappiness was soon a feeling Bel became well acquainted with.
    With every mile farther away from Samson, the pain in her chest increased. Even after her father had welcomed her back with open arms, she couldn’t muster a smile. As days