Page 34 of Rescued By the Beast
Mark settles me into a car seat with disconcerting care. He checks every lock, adjusts the belts, making sure I'm securely fastened. The sound of the door closing with a sharp click echoes in my ears, sealing my helplessness.
Seconds later, the engine roars and the car begins to move. Fear is a crushing weight on my chest. I am being driven away by someone who has no idea who I am. And I can't say anything to change that.
After what feels like an eternity, but must have been only a few minutes, the car slows down.
My gaze fixes on the cul-de-sac that unfolds before us, a quiet area on the edge of the forest. The neighbouring houses are ordinary, with well-kept lawns and standardised facades, but there is something different about the gate that stands at the end of the street. It belongs to his property. The house itself cannot be seen from outside. To enter, he rolls down the car window and types a password into the panel next to the gate. A mechanical click sounds and, with a smooth movement, the gate opens automatically.
As the car moves forward, I sense something in the air. It's almost palpable, like electricity. A wave of energy runs through my body, making every hair stand on end, but instead of cold, I feel a comfortable warmth.
Magic.
It seems to be a protective spell. Or at least, I hope it is. Because if it's something to keep me trapped here, well, then we have a problem.
I peek through the windscreen and finally see the house appear on the horizon. It's a cabin surrounded by nature, with tall trees protecting it like sentinels. I don't know why I'm surprised; he looks like he lives secluded in the middle of the woods.
Mark parks and gets out, opens the back door and picks me up, with the same gentleness as before. I try not to think about how disconcerting this is, considering his size.
Considering hisreputationfor being dangerous.
I am carried along the path that leads to the cabin, the scent of fresh wood and a slight hint of smoke filling the air around us.
My eyes scan the place as we approach: the wide, inviting porch with carefully polished wooden steps; the large windows adorned with dark curtains that hide the interior; the peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of our movements and nature. It is an isolated but beautiful space.
My head rests against his arm as he climbs the porch steps with firm, careful steps. The movement should be reassuring, but all I feel is a strange mixture of vulnerability and discomfort. My body is on its side, with my stomach facing down, so that the wounds on my back are not pressed.
"Welcome to our home, kitten," he says in a deep, casual voice. "I hope you like it here."
I meow in response, meaning that I won't be staying long enough to like or dislike anything. As soon as he puts me down and gets distracted, I'll...
But then he enters the cabin, and my thoughts cease.
I am faced with a space so cosy that, for a moment, I find myself thinking that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay here for a few days.
The living room spreads out in front of me, dominating the ground floor with a rustic charm that looks like something straight out of one of those winter films. A huge leather sofa occupies the centre, facing a stone fireplace that, even when unlit, exudes a feeling of warmth that I can almost feel.
Between the sofa and the fireplace, a warm-coloured rug covers the wooden floor, and just above it rests a plush pet bed.
It looks so soft...
So comfortable.
My tired body almost surrenders to the idea of curling up there. Maybe a few hours of rest wouldn't hurt. Just enough for me to regain my strength... and get out of here.
"I didn't have time to prepare much for your arrival, but we have the essentials," he says as he enters the house, still carrying me in his arms.
He's the type who talks to pets. My mind races with this realisation.
It would be lovely... if I were just an ordinary kitten.
But I'm not.
I don't want conversations. The less he talks to me, the less I'll know about his life.
Isn't that how victims have a better chance of surviving?
The thought of him discovering the truth about me makes my stomach churn. I can't let that happen. If I know too much about him, things I shouldn't, and then he finds out what I really am...
No, I won't let it get to that point.
