Beauty and the Werewolf by Mercedes Lackey Page A

run about his woods when the King obviously knew what he was and that he was a danger to others, fury at the King for sending her here— why? —fury at the situation itself.
    I will not lose my temper, she told herself, clenching both hands ather sides until her nails bit into her palms. It won’t do any good. Bella had had plenty of practice in keeping her temper, given that Genevieve was incapable of controlling her own, and she employed every bit of that willpower now.
    â€œErm,” the young man said, diffidently, “I’m horribly, horribly sorry. This should never have happened. I’m supposed to be locked up over the full moon, and I’ve never gotten out before. I don’t know what went wrong. Eric has strict instructions… I was in the special chamber long before sunset, and I remember hearing the bars drop into place. And then the moon came up, and the change started as it always does, and well, the next thing I knew, I was waking up, lying in the kennels, outside, where I wasn’t supposed to be.” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose, nervously. “I don’t know if you believe all this, but I swear it’s all true. And I didn’t know I had bitten anyone until the King’s messenger arrived an hour ago to say you were being brought here and to tell me what to expect.”
    Bella took a deep, deep breath. “My ankle hurts where you bit me,” she replied forcefully and resentfully. “I was abducted from my bedroom by the King’s men. I haven’t even had a glass of water, much less breakfast, I am hungry and thirsty and—”
    â€œAnd I beg your pardon!” the young man said, looking even more hangdog. “That last, at least, I can do something about. Please, follow me. I’ll try to explain more when you are feeling comfortable.”
    When she hesitated, looking at the trunks, he added, “The servants will take care of those. Please, if you have gone this long without food or drink…” His voice trailed off, as if he had no good idea of what to say next. They stared at one another for a long and uncomfortable time.
    A more charitable—or perhaps impartial—part of her noted that he didn’t look much like her mental image of a Duke. His hair, a sort of streaky brown, was a bit shaggy and unkempt. She really neverthought of spectacles and noble together. Spectacles were something scholars wore. His brown tunic, shirt and trousers, while certainly quite good, were not anything special—no gold, no braid, not even any trimming. He was someone she would have taken for a scholar, actually.
    His features were even, but not especially handsome, and in this Kingdom at least, most of the nobles were dazzlingly good-looking. There was none of the unconscious arrogance in his expression that she was accustomed to see in the few nobles she had met. All of the girls that the twins associated with, for instance—one and all, they carried with them an air that said, If I choose to order you, you will obey. This young man’s expression said, Please don’t stab me with a fork, especially a silver one. “I…I can’t help but hope that if I ply you with the pleasures of my table, you will feel a little more kindly toward me. Or at least, if you don’t hate me too much right from the start, you will be more willing to listen to me. I do apologize very well. Lots of practice.”
    She considered this. The situation was not going to change, no matter what happened in the next few hours. And without knowing everything involved here, there was no way that she could change it.
    And her ankle hurt, and she was, frankly, starving. She raised her chin. “I doubt very much that the so-called pleasures of your table will sway me in any way, Duke Sebastian, but if someone doesn’t tell me exactly what is going on here in the next half hour, I will see to it that your scale model of a