Beastly Intentions Ch. 01

"Hurry up!" his growl reverberated throughout the bed chamber.

She rushed up to him, book in hand, her small satin slippered feet scurrying up the steps that led to the huge, ancient bed in the center of the dark stuffy bedroom. Sitting upon the edge, she lifted the book, showing him the front of it and waiting quietly.

"Go on!" he growled, his temper foul.

"Once upon a time," she began opening the old book, for that is how all good fairytales begin here and everywhere in the world. "There was a girl born on the edge of a small village of poor people..."

****

Marissa was a beautiful girl, full of love and laughter, and always a kind word to say to any who needed it. She lived with her parents, her father a slightly bewildered farmer whose crops never amounted to much more than what the family needed.

Her mother, once a carefree woman, took in mending and made clothing for the family's more affluent neighbors to help make ends meet.

When it became known that the big manor house outside of the village was being cleaned out, that an owner had been found and would be moving to the country for health reasons, her mother sent her to inquire about work, Marissa was old enough to be a maid.

She dressed in her nicest dress, a muted green that made her hazel eyes shine with gray green flecks and brought out the gold in her blonde hair. She pulled her long tresses back from her face, catching it up in a tail at her nape that fell to the small of her back. She'd blossomed into a beauty in the last days of her eighteenth year, her figure filling out the bodice of the dress nicely, leaving small mounds of flesh to draw the eye. Her hips were slender but ripe, her buttocks pleasing to watch as she walked to the manor house and rang the bell.

"Yes, miss?" said the older gentleman who opened the door. He was thin to the point of leanness, his head bare of hair except for the tiniest bit at his ears. His arms seemed almost too long for his body and his nose filled his face overly much making him one of the homeliest men she'd ever seen.

"My name is Marissa, sir. Marissa Turner. I come from the village seeking employment." Her voice was breathless from nerves, her cheeks were burning and she knew they must be bright red.

The gentleman opened the door wider, ushering her into the foyer of the huge manor which was still full of cobwebs and dust. "My name is Jeffrey, Miss Turner. I will let the master know that you be wishing to work here." He turned, hesitated a moment and turned back toward her.

"The master is a sick man, Miss Turner. His illness has taken a toll not only upon his body but upon his manners as well. He isn't...an easy man to be around. But he is a good man and a fair master most of the time." His ears turned red and he stammered out the order to stay put, as if he were embarrassed by what he'd just said.

He was back before she could get even more nervous, waving her ahead of him, guiding her to a room at the back of the manor house. "He will see you, Miss, but I must warn you. Today is not one of his better days. Do not be offended by anything he says. He's not himself."

Marissa nodded. "Thank you, Jeffrey," she said, bobbing him a small curtsey and taking a deep breath as he opened the door and waved her in.

She entered the room. It had once been a grand library, with shelves over all the walls that were now empty of books and covered with dust. A fire roared in the fireplace sending a wisp of smoke back into the room and causing her to cough lightly as she looked around.

"Well," a voice roared from the shadows. "What are you waiting for?"

"Sir?" she asked, her hand rising to her throat as nerves tried to overtake her.

"You want something...Spit it out girl."

"A...A job sir, that is all that I want," she said, speaking up loud enough for him to hear. "I will work hard for you if you will but hire me."

"Undress," he growled from his hidden corner.

"But..."

"Do you want the job or not, girl? Undress or be gone."

Marissa stood indecisive. Her mother had told her to not return home without the maid's job. But to undress in front of a strange man, could she do such a thing? Her hand rose to the buttons on the front of her gown, her face and chest burning with embarrassment.

She heard the rustle of material shifting as she slowly pushed the small disk through its hole, staring everywhere but the corner where she could just make out the darker shape of a man. The second small button was undone before she could think and then the third, showing a goodly amount of dark cleavage between her lush and bountiful breasts.

She was on the fourth when her fingers faltered and her hand fisted, holding the two sides of material together. Her chin dropped and she stared at the floor, unable to even glance at the figure in the corner.

She heard his growl, low and menacing, a beast that was denied its feast, and a small cry sprang from her lips before she could stop it.

"You wish for a job, you come in here, looking for money from me. Yet you are unwilling to disrobe for me to decide whether you are worth the price of a fuck?"

His voice started low, growing louder and crueler with every syllable.

A single tear slipped down her now pale cheek. "Sir, I came for the maid's position. I do not even know what a f-fuck is," she said, stammering over the unfamiliar term.

"Come, come! A girl with a face like yours in a village in the middle of nowhere and you have no knowledge of sex? That is unthinkable." He snarled, though it sounded almost as if he were laughing. "Come closer girl."

Marissa closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to step closer though she still refused to look at the form of the master as he stepped into the light.

"Don't you wish to see the monster?" he sneered, his hands coming out to grasp hers and pull them away from the front of her gown. "Don't you wish to look at my face and then run and tell them all in the village just what I am?"

She felt his hands on her skin, his fingertips brushing against the inner curve of her breast and causing her to inhale sharply. The movement caused her curves to swell, as if she wished for him to touch her more.

His low growl sounded unnaturally loud in the now silent room and she peeked through her lashes, staring down at the hands that held the sides of her bodice open. She'd outgrown her only chemise, her mother deciding to wait to make her a new one until she'd finished growing so that she was bare to the waist under her gown. Her breasts were clearly seen in the light of the fire, and she could feel his eyes upon their supple and lush curves.

Then, to her surprise, he slowly buttoned the gown, though she swore his hands shook as he did.

"Tell Jeffrey to hire you," he growled. "You can start in here and unpack the crates when they come." He turned from her, making his way slowly back to his seat in the shadows.

Melissa glanced up, seeing only his back. He was coatless, his shirt almost startling white in the light. His shoulders were wide tapering down to lean hips and long legs that seemed well muscled in the leather breeches that he wore. His hair was black, as black as sin, as her mother would have said; adding under her breath that it probably mimicked his soul. It was pulled back, the tail curling down to between his shoulder blades.

She couldn't see his face now, and curiosity ate at her.

"I said go, or have you changed your mind about undressing?" he snarled, though his tone wasn't as cruel as it had been before.

"N-no, no sir, I will let Jeffrey know." She bobbed a quick but graceful curtsey and hurried from the room.

That night, her mother was pleased enough to smile at dinner, though the fare on their table was lean. She came close to rubbing her hands together in glee when told the amount Jeffrey had told Marissa she would make every week. She would work from sun up to sun down, and be granted two meals a day. The work would be difficult, but Marissa was not afraid of work, she'd been doing it her entire life.

In the morning, she hurried down the small, rutted road, rushing past the old cemetery that always seemed spooky no matter what time of day it was and through the huge gates that heralded the manor.

Jeffrey met her at the door of the servant's entrance, holding out a small gray gown with a white apron.

"This will have to do until I can get the village seamstress to make up others," he said with a small smile.

"My mother is the seamstress. If you wish, I can take her your order when I leave tonight. She will be happy for the job." Marissa beamed, for that would make her mother even happier.

Jeffrey left her alone in a small room off the kitchen with an order to hurry along with her changing.

She slid off her own gown, a serviceable blue one that she wore when she worked with her father. Pulling on the gray uniform, she gasped at how tight it was across the bodice, the buttons gaping when she moved her arms. The apron, which pinned at the neckline of the bodice, helped to conceal the glimpses of her skin between the buttons and she breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do for the dress to come undone and show off skin, especially after what the master had done the day before.

Putting on her own small slippers, she couldn't help but note that the gown was too short, showing off her shapely ankles and part of her calves, but it couldn't be helped. She would just do the best she could.

Jeffrey glanced at her as she came out of the room, his eyes widening at the sight of her legs. Marissa heard him clear his throat and saw him avert his eyes. She was glad that only a few members of the staff had been hired as of yet. She was the first that would be on the floor. She watched as Jeffrey made a note to have her uniform made first.

"The master wishes you to work on cleaning out the library, Miss. He has books that should be here today that he will want uncrated after the shelves are clean. I hope you can handle heights, for the ladders in there are quite tall."

Marissa nodded, going to take the pail of water and rags from him. She followed him into the library, nodding as he closed the doors behind him and left her to her work.

She hummed as she cleaned, wiping off the accumulated layers of dust and cobwebs, using the beeswax that Jeffrey had left with her to give a beautiful shine to the hard wood shelving. She did the lower shelves first, working methodically and getting a lot accomplished in the early morning. Jeffrey returned before the noon hour, drawing her away and into the chef's pantry where he'd set up a meal.

He shared it with her and they talked during their lunch.

After lunch, Marissa felt Jeffrey's eyes upon her. "I hope my work so far has been satisfactory," she said quietly.

"Oh yes. You've been a wonder so far Miss. You bring a breath of fresh air into this dismal place." Marissa saw the smile that came upon his face and felt a rosy blush infuse her cheeks.

"Thank you," she answered, smiling brightly and dropping a quick curtsey. She could feel his eyes upon her as she turned, heading back to work, humming a catchy melody.

****

Nathaniel James Belmont, Earl of Jaspershem, sat in the partially cleaned library staring at the empty shelves. His books would be brought in today, ridding him of the tediousness of his days of imprisonment. He couldn't leave during the week of his affliction, for he would scare any who saw his face.

It became worse every month, beginning with itching so deeply ingrained in his skin that he wondered if he could rip the flesh off his face with the scratching. Then the hair would grow, long, thick, fur like hair, sliding from beneath his skin, covering his body everywhere. His teeth seemed to grow sharper and his nose longer, the pain of his bones growing was so intense that he howled through the night. He found no relief, not even with the strongest of barbiturates.

His eyes grew sensitive to the suns harsh rays, leaving him with little choice but to hide himself in darkness. His nails grew sharper and he had to take care with how he touched things, for even the heaviest of materials ripped with ease under their lethal edges.

His longing for meat grew until he felt as if he must go and stalk his own, digging his teeth into the freshness of rich, red meat, blood still flowing, pumping thickly throughout. This disgusted him the most, the longing for raw meat, for blood. He worried that if the sickness grew worse, he would have to be locked away, like his father had been before him, or else go insane and kill heedlessly throughout the countryside.

If it weren't for Jeffrey and his loyalty, he'd have gone berserk long ago.

His ears seemed to pick up and his nose lifted, scenting the air only seconds before the door to the library opened and she came through it. His eyes roamed over her, noting everything from the stressed buttons to the too short skirt. His heart picked up speed, his nose actually felt as if it twitched.

She was so beautiful, young and naïve, as he'd discovered when he'd told her to undress the day before. He'd never forget the sight of her tender breasts, so full for someone so slender, the tips a perfect pale pink, and soft.

The sight of them made him long to nuzzle against her rounded curves, to lap at those sweet buds until they blossomed for him. He wished to suckle her, devour her every scent and taste, reveling in each one. He wanted to see if the scent of her arousal was as sweet as the acrid aroma of her fear was sour. The scent still lingered, teasing him with the wonder of its freshness and its salty sweetness.

He heard her humming, something soothing and soft. Closing his eyes, he let the tenor of her voice flow over him, feeling it deep inside. It seemed to sink into him, calming the furor of just seconds before.

Marissa climbed the first ladder, letting the bucket of water rest on one of the shelves just below her. She was glad that she was alone, for the view she would be giving anyone below her would have her mother seeing red. A small laugh escaped her, for her mother had pushed her hard into getting this position. Would she force her to leave if she knew of how she was dressed this day?

Nathaniel heard her laugh and opened his eyes, seeing her standing on the ladder. She rose up on the tips of her toes to reach the top shelf. He saw the ladder jiggle and heard her sharp intake of breath. He realized what was happening and with the swiftness that was part of his monthly illness, he was at the ladder before it could tip, steadying her before she could fall.

"Are you all right?" he growled, his hand holding on to her thigh. He made the mistake of looking up; his eyes taking in the long length of her leg, the shadowy depths of her skirt no obstacle to his sharp vision.

It brought the hunger back, the ravenous desire to taste her, to feed off her arousal, to lick the sweetness of her juices off of his fingers. The feeling was so strong, so imperative that he touch her, he had to force himself not to pull her from the ladder right then.

"I...I'm fine, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here." Marissa blushed from the knowledge that he could see up the bottom of her skirt and the feel of his hand on her thigh, even if the touch was through the fabric. She could only be grateful that she hadn't yet gotten to wiping out the smoke covered globes of the lamps and the room was dimly lit.

"Come down from there," he growled. "Jeffrey will hire a boy to clean those top shelves. You shouldn't be on the ladders."

"B-but it is part of my job, sir. I cannot afford to lose this position because I am afraid to climb a ladder. Please, sir. Give me one more chance. I can clean these shelves and not fall from the ladder." She cringed, "My mother would be angry if I were to lose this job."

He growled and yanked on her skirt, averting his face from her as she fell. He stepped back, Marissa landing in his arms. Before she could blink, he set her to her feet and stepped behind her so that she couldn't see his face. He held her steady as she gained her balance, never releasing her.

"I said that Jeffrey would hire someone else to do the top shelves, girl. You will do something else. Do not argue with me." His voice grew deeper and he felt an urge to howl that was almost irresistible.

"No, sir," she said quickly, only to stutter, "I...I mean, y-yes sir, I won't argue."

"Good." His hands dropped reluctantly from her shoulders, only to return them quickly when she tried to turn. "No!" he shouted, holding her still. "You can't see me!"

"What?" she asked him, her head turning in her confusion. "Why shouldn't I see you?"

"I'm ill. It is not a pretty sight, Marissa. Not one for your eyes to have to see."

"I am made of strong stuff, sir." The sympathy in her voice made him feel as if he could trust her.

"You would have to be made of more than strong stuff." He closed his eyes with a sigh, inhaling and drawing her scent inside of him. It triggered a reaction, his cock hardening, his body growing tense. She smelled like spring flowers and sunshine, a hint of the roast beef that Jeffrey had served for lunch and something else, something feminine and sweet with just a hint of spice that tangled his senses into a knot. He was pressed close to her back, a scant inch separating him from the rounded curves of her buttocks. He had but to pull on her shoulders and she would be touching him.

He could see it in his mind's eye. Her back to his front, her head against his chest, for she wasn't a very big thing and he was a large man. She would be pressed against him, able to feel the bulge of his cock as it pressed against her curves, desperate to get out and bury itself inside of her.

His hands could slide under that concealing white apron to those gaping buttons, one small pull and they would come apart, leaving her bountiful breasts as open prey to his hands. He could even imagine how they would feel, warm and soft, the flesh under her skin firm and resilient as he kneaded and played with those full curves.

He could almost feel them under his hands. He flexed those hands now and heard her gasp.

"Sir?"

"I don't mean to frighten you, Marissa," he whispered, moving just a touch closer, drawn to the feel of her warmth, the scent of her body. "I don't wish for you to be disgusted or afraid of me."

"I could never feel disgust at an illness, sir," Marissa said. He could tell her mind wasn't as much on her words as it was on the heat of his body behind hers. He had but to take a tiny step forward and he would be pressed against her. What would it feel like?

His laugh was rueful and full of self-loathing. "This would," he growled. "I'm going to release you and return to my seat. Please promise that you won't turn or look until I tell you too?"

"I...I won't," she whispered, and he heard the disappointment in her voice that he was willing to just release her. His hands slid down her arms and she shivered at the strange sensation of fur against the skin of her wrists before he dropped them.

For just an instant, his body brushed against hers, her gasp of surprise turning into a low moan.

He heard her gasp and then her moan and stopped dead in his tracks, his feet no longer listening to his mind. Instead they pressed forward, coming to rest on either side of hers, his body pressing intimately against hers, his hands coming up to rest upon her stomach, pulling her back further.

"I have to do this," he growled. "Close your eyes and don't open them."

"Sir?" she whispered.

"Do it, girl. Now!"

She did as he instructed her, his hair brushing against her neck. His hands rose from her stomach, but didn't release her, climbing over the small bones of her ribs, his fingers brushing against the buttons that had come undone in her fall.