Historical Fiction || Werewolf

How beautiful she looked as sleep overcame her, with her lips parted by a sweet breath-soft, pink lips that would taste heavenly under his, he was sure. Her locks, a rich golden caressed by bronze, spilled over the bed, like ink forged out of sunlight. Her soft cheeks were flushed a faint red, a rosy color on her pale pallor. Miles of milky white skin was highlighted by the moonlight casting its glory upon her, this fair maiden.

Édouard gripped the bedpost tighter as his head slightly spun on its axis. Her beauty, yet again, caused his breath to leave his lungs in a panic, for no one could ever breathe with her in their presence. Everything about her was sinfully divine, from the delicate arch of her heel to the curve of her swanlike neck.

Édouard had visited the chambers of Rosalie Delcour for many weeks now, watching as her small figure curled into those soft satin sheets. He had stayed for only a few minutes or so, afraid at being caught. He could not bear it if he never saw her again; if she were parted from him. But tonight...tonight he felt bold.

Her window, on the first floor, was easily scaled by Édouard, the local thief, for there was no feat he could not overcome. The Delcours were the richest family in their humble French town, but Édouard had never possessed the inclination to steal from them, for that would ruin his chances of getting Rose's hand in marriage.

And how he wanted her hand, those slender fingers between his own gruff, calloused ones; her hands in his long hair that curled at his nape; her hands everywhere on his body, his face.

But a thief could never marry such an exquisite gem and heiress. He could only watch her, hoping one day she would see him as well and want him as much as he wanted her. Until that day came, he would watch her chest rise and heave in slumber, watch those eyelashes that hid forests and oceans.

It was too late he realized those eyes had flashed open and were regarding him with absolute terror. His own midnight skies dueled against her oceans. For a moment, the entire world seemed to gasp in anticipation of what was to come. Édouard swore that, as their eyes met, it was meant to be--until she opened her throat to scream.

The shrill noise cut through the air, shattering it. A twin scream followed soon after when the air in her lungs had been extinguished after the first. She shrieked and screamed and wailed. Still, Édouard could not swallow the sense of betrayal he felt towards her, for trying to expel him out of her presence, by summoning others to aid her.

It was the cause of this betrayal that kept him still, unable to escape from the danger that was certainly hurtling towards him now. He could hear the clack of footsteps, like the thunder of horses. Yet, all he could do was watch those soft, quivering lips of the fair maiden in front of him, wishing he could pull her into his arms and soothe her. She needn't be scared of him!

"Please...please don't harm me. Please leave." Her French was soft and lilting, and timid. So timid---like a little fawn.

He dropped onto his knees near the foot of the bed, reaching for her. She shirked away.

"I would never harm you, oh so sweet, Rosalie. You are the very reason I live, the very reason that" he pressed a palm to his chest, "my heart beats. It beats for you, and only you, Rosalie. You are mine and I am yours. One day, you will see that, Rosalie."

"Non, non." Tears silently rolled down her cheek. It was yet again too late he realized that she had her hand grasped around the handle of the jug on her bedside table; too late he realized that the silver metal was hurtling towards his face.

But Édouard was no ordinary thief with ordinary reflexes, and he ducked, the silver crashing resplendently on the floor.

A rage like no other consumed Edouard's being, his entire world pulsing a furious red. Betrayal stung like scorpions.

"How dare you! How dare you, how dare you, how dare you! How dare you throw that at me, when I am to be yours. You cannot treat me like that!" He jumped on the bed, crawling towards her like a rabid dog and she slithered away, crying. The door suddenly crashed open and the four burly men entered the room, took in the sight of a furious Édouard on the bed crawling towards Rosalie, whose nightgown had hiked up her small slender thighs. Édouard froze at the intrusion.

All four men's face turned sour when they took in the scene. In seconds, their bodies were twisting this way and that. The sound of bones cracking could be heard, tiny pops of joints. They had Turned--four wolves, right there in the bedchamber--glowing irises, brown glinting hides, sharp fangs.

Édouard could not breathe as he watched the beasts growling at him. He gaped at them, unable to speak, as those beasts caused fear to trickle down his spine.

But when a small snarl came from beside him, he turned to find a fanged Rosalie smiling at him. Her slender hands, the ones he had fantasized were fisted in his dark locks, had long talons elongated instead of her regular crescent-shaped nails.

"You chose the wrong woman to steal maidenhood from, thief. I know you have been watching me for weeks, waiting for your opportunity. But I have been waiting as well, waiting for you to do what you wished to, just so I could have a reason to kill you. My brothers and I, in this full moon night, are in our true forms, the one we hurt best in." She batted her eyelashes at him.

"I could kill thy in my human form, but it is not as fun. Besides, I would be imprisoned, and a jailhouse is no place for a woman such as I, oui, monsieur? But if you were to be torn apart by wolves...no one would ever question it." She leaned forward, tilting his chin up with her nails for him to meet her eyes.

But her last words had been drowned out by Édouard's ecstasy that roared in his ears. She had seen him waiting and wanting her, though her claim of him stealing her maidenhood was wrong. He would never do such a thing!

Oh, but she knew who he was, the thief! Nothing else mattered.

She seemed to be a monster now, and he did not understand how one could be a man one second and a beast another. He had heard the myths of the wolf-men, but who cared if she wasn't a fragile human thing? All that mattered now was the sweet, sweet Rosalie knew his name and had seen him.

She pushed him down with her elongated nails, his back easing onto the duvet. She straddled his hips, her nail touching the rim of his jaw, her blue eyes glowing.

She smiled down at him, and all he could think was that she was so beautiful. And it seemed she wanted him, even if she looked a little frightful right now, even if there were large man-beasts prowling around the room.
And even then, it was too late he realized the claws that had come swiping at his chest-right where his heart lay beating for her.

"The wait was worth it, monsieur, for this kill, is very satisfactory. It has been too long since I killed a human that dared to mess with me." Those were the final words he heard as the world edged into the black.

His blood gurgled in rivulets out of his chest as the other wolves and Rosalie, now a Turned, tore into him. Yet, there was no concern for himself, for his death. All he could think was:

My heart is finally Rosalie's.

A/N: I do not know where my sudden love/obsession of werewolves came from, but I am channeling it as much as I can. This is my first entry for the great Wattpad Write-off, a short story competition. Wish me luck that I make it into the next round. Any critiques to improve this piece are greatly appreciated!

This is a slightly different venture for me--writing from a delusional, hopelessly and crazily in-love, slightly senile kind of character, but I hope I did it justice. Comment your thoughts <3

Word Count: 1350

Picture prompt: Above