Winter's Beast: A Beauty and the Beast Novel Read online

  “Well then, you’re in for a treat. The Parisian men are to die for and are known to be great lovers.” Faith sighs this time and falls back into her seat. Here comes the freak I mentioned. “Which is probably why your mom kept an eye on you.”

  Faith is in her forties. Which she says is peak sex drive for a woman. I can tell. She’s short with tight curves and men seem to enjoy her company, so it works out for her overactive sex drive.

  She loves all things men and sex.

  “Is that all you think about? Men and sex?” I roll my eyes at her.

  “No. I also think about getting you from point A to point B smoothly and what you can do next to generate more revenue and build your popularity. The men are just a bonus. Besides, don’t you want to find a man that can make your toes curl, since they’ve never been curled before?” She looks at me waiting for a response.

  “No,” I say stiffly.

  “Uh…huh. In any case, what can I say? I’m a normal healthy forty-year-old woman with an equally healthy appetite for sex, looking for her dream silver fox. Tatted up and in a suit. A bad boy with good intentions,” she smirks at me.

  I know she thinks I need to lighten up. She’s told me on numerous occasions in the year since I employed her that a good old roll in the hay would probably cheer me up. That would be great if I were sexually open and curious. Okay, I am curious to find out what the big deal is. I slept with my former manager, who shall not be named. He was my first, and it was not good…ever. If that’s how sex is for everyone, I can’t see why it’s such a thing.

  Or maybe I just suck in bed, which is why he cheated. He did call me vanilla on many occasions. Oh yeah, and that one time when I caught him cheating, and he called me a corpse. He said, and I quote, “If having sex with you wasn’t like having sex with a corpse, maybe I wouldn’t have cheated.”

  That was a double blow, considering I’d been called a corpse several times, due to my melanin-deficient skin and hair.

  Wonderful. I suck in bed and look like a cadaver while doing it.

  I blame part of it on my mom and my upbringing. She sheltered me too much. Worried that my art school and their liberal ways (Sex. Meaning sex.) would corrupt me. She browbeat me with the Bible, the virtues of purity. Warning me about being fast. Making me feel ashamed of my thoughts and my sexuality until it affected my relationships with men.

  Shrugging off the negative thoughts, I notice the sly smile that spreads across Faith’s face.

  “Winter? Have you ever thought about finding a nice and considerate older man to lay down the law on your lady parts?”

  “Faith!” I gasp prudishly.

  My ex was old enough, and he didn’t do it for me. The fact that I even let him take my virginity is a miracle in and of itself. I felt guilty the whole time. Like God was shaking his head disapprovingly at me.

  “You need to lighten up, Buttercup. You have the voice of an angel and the most generous heart I’ve ever seen. You deserve to be pleasured every now and again.”

  “I grew up surrounded by adults in the Arts. Everyone was liberal and open about everything from politics to sex. Nothing was off limits. Which was so different from what my mother taught me or wouldn’t teach me. So after listening to them, I built up sex in my mind, thinking it was going to be glorious. It was not.” I frown.

  “That was one man, who didn’t know his dick from his pinky finger. I bet you’d feel differently if you gave it another shot.”

  God, I hope that’s all it is.

  Since my mother wouldn’t teach me anything about sex, I gravitated towards the artistic, free spirits at my schools who talked about their great loves and amazing sex. It was hard for me to make sense of the differences between what my mom said to what they were saying. My mom almost made sex sound dirty. At least if it wasn’t between a husband and a wife. While everyone at school talked about premarital sex as if it was the best thing since sliced bread.

  Then the one man I let into my life, that I let slip through my defenses, didn’t live up to the hype. Then again, neither did I. I’m a prude, and I know it.

  The ground crew finally connect the stairs to the airplane and opened the door. I practically fly out of my seat to disembark. I hate being cooped up for so long. Which was every flight. The flights we’d taken to and from Australia nearly killed me.

  It’s morning in Moscow, so the cool, crisp air hits my face as I step out of the plane. After checking the weather, I expected it to be cold, but the chill still sends a shiver down my spine. Something feels off. I’m pretty perceptive about things, and for some reason, I feel a sense of foreboding.

  Lord only knows. We are in Russia.

  I may have skin and hair as white as a sheet, but I’m obviously black. And it’s no secret that Russia isn’t all that welcoming to black folks.

  Please, don’t let me get egged or have rotten tomatoes thrown at me on stage.

  “There’s our car.” Faith points to a black town car waiting on the tarmac. “It’ll take us straight to our rental for the next month unless you want to stop and get breakfast first.”

  Our driver/bodyguard for the month steps out of the car and opens the door for us as we make our way down the stairs.

  “How about we pick up some grub and take it back to the new house? I feel gross after that flight and don’t want to be around polite company.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll let the driver know, and maybe he can suggest a good place.”

  We walk down the metal steps onto the pavement and get into the car. Faith barely looks up as she chats with the guard about where to get Moscow’s best breakfast food. She’s too busy checking emails on her phone. I smile at the man through the rearview mirror in apology.

  “Oh, by the way. Your charity event raised 7.3 million dollars for the Happy Faces Foundation. That’s the most so far that you’ve ever raised.”

  “That’s not bad. I just wish it was more. When it comes to medical expenses for surgeries, $7.3 million doesn’t go far. That’s only a couple of kids that can get their faces fixed. One day, I’m gonna find a way to get to the one-hundred million dollar mark,” I say with determination.

  I was bullied my whole life because of my albinism. Something I can’t change. But for the kids who have facial disfigurements, theirs can at least be corrected so they can lead normal lives. I can’t stand to see someone bullied. I’ve gotten into more fights than I can count, defending myself or others from being picked on. Now that I’m an adult, I can’t go around beating people up. But I make a lot of money and have some influence, so now I just fight in a different way.

  “You’ll get there.” Faith says with a small smile. “But for now, just rest yourself and your voice. You’ll be going on stage tomorrow night, and you need your voice to be perfect.”

  I rest my head back against the seat. No more talking for me. I look out the tinted window and watch as the city passes by.

  That strange feeling in my gut still there, nagging me.

  Chapter 2

  “Don’t worry, Skotina. You’ll love it. It’s not the regular opera. It’s an opera singer performing all of the classics. Like a concert.” Ivan tells me.

  I just grunt. Not like I ever do more than that anyway.

  Opera is not exactly my thing, but Ivan has a date for the evening, and since I’m his most trusted bodyguard, I have no choice but to go to protect him. Plus, he’s been desperate to see this opera singer. Hoping to add her to his collection.

  We’ve been in Paris the last couple of years, building up Ivan’s new venture. It is coming along nicely. But he has just a few more pieces to add to his rare collection. Which is why we’re here in Moscow. I personally thought we could wait until she comes back to Paris (Ivan has tracked her and found that she has a vacation scheduled in Paris after she leaves Moscow), but Ivan refuses to wait. He can be a bit impatient when he really wants something. He would’ve approached her when she was performing in Paris a couple of months ago, but we had been
out of the country on business at the time.

  I also would not mind waiting for her to get to Paris because being back in Moscow fills me with memories I’d rather forget. Working for Ivan since I was eight has taken me all over the world. He’s a powerful, wealthy, and dangerous man. Dangerous because of me. He has a few ties to the underground crime world. So he does have their respect, and they work together every now and again.

  Which is why we rarely come back to Russia because the pull of the Russian mafia dogs him. They want him in fully, but the boss likes his freedom. So we stay away.

  The last time I was here, I paid a visit to my old handler, Boris. I can still hear his screams of pain as I broke almost every bone in his body before finally ending his misery when I snapped his thick neck. It was the least I could do after he threw me to the dogs, disfiguring me for all of eternity. And in the end, it turned out for the best. The children he had under his “care” were set free from the Cell. Some even followed me, to work for Ivan.

  Ivan is a decent boss. The past twenty years, I have wanted for nothing, just as he promised. Ivan treats his employees very well. As long as they are loyal and does as he asks. Some of the things he asks are rather unsettling to some. But I have found that in the end, it is not worth his wrath to deny him.

  It’s me who does most of the unsavory things he asks anyway. I’m his henchman. His muscle. His guard dog. He had been right about me all those years ago. When I became an adolescent, I kept growing and growing. Ivan made sure he capitalized on it. He kept me well fed and trained so that my bulk grew along with my height. Eventually, he stopped calling me Yury and started calling me Skotina. Which, is another word for ‘beast’ in Russian.

  My disfigured face only adds to my overall scary and intimidating look. Ivan loves it.

  “Go, Skotina.” Ivan waves me away. “Put on your tuxedo. Bolshoi won’t let you in without one.”

  I nod once and turn towards the door.

  “You need a little more culture in your life. You’ll love it!” He shouts at my back.

  Yeah. Sure, boss.

  ~~~

  I step out of the limo first, in front of Ivan’s date’s house. I scan the area and find nothing out of the norm. I signal that it is safe for Ivan to step out. He unfolds himself from inside the limo.

  Even I know that he’s a handsome man. His refined look for the evening just adds to it. His blond hair is combed back, away from his face. His gray eyes sharp, his square jaw clean-shaven, and his tux impeccable. I’m sure his new lady will be pleased.

  I walk up the steps behind him protecting his back. When we reach the door, he steps to the side so I can knock. He’s not normally so cautious, but in Russia, you never know. He has his fair share of enemies.

  A brunette with deep chestnut hair, large blue eyes, and a waif-like body answers the door. Her eyes reach my face, and she jumps back with a gasp.

  The usual.

  When people, especially women, see me for the first time, their immediate response is fear. If I have not been sent to hurt them, once they realize they are safe, the fear either turns to disgust or pity, depending on the person.

  Ivan steps around me, and she sighs with relief.

  “Don’t be afraid, my dear Karina. Skotina is my most loyal bodyguard. He’ll be accompanying us this evening,” Ivan soothes her.

  The look of fear fades away as she reassesses me. Disgust follows. I know immediately what kind of person she is. Ivan catches the look and realizes it at the same time that I do.

  There will not be a second date.

  Not only does he use me to intimidate his adversaries, protect him or kill his enemies. He also uses my disfigured face to judge other’s character. Those who show disgust or rudeness, he distances himself from.

  He may be a ruthless businessman, but he feels that everyone should have some shred of human decency.

  I tend to agree. But maybe I’m biased because it’s my face that disturbs people. I never get used to it.

  So tonight, he’ll take her to the show and then to a late dinner. He’ll bring her back to his townhouse, fuck her, and then send her on her way. Never to see her again.

  He doesn’t take heartlessness. But he’s no fool. When pussy is available from a beautiful woman, he takes it.

  I hold the limo door open for them. Once they are inside, I go to the front passenger seat to ride with the driver. Ivan prefers alone time with his dates. Usually, he gets a blowjob from them to test them out. He does not actually mind if I am there, but his dates usually find it upsetting. So I stay up front now.

  Even through the glass partition, I can hear moaning. I smirk.

  He’s so predictable.

  Once we arrive at the opera house, I follow behind them, scanning the crowd as we enter. Ivan hands the usher three tickets, and he escorts us upstairs to a private box. Ivan and his date take their seats, and I stand behind them in the shadows watching the audience.

  It takes a while for everyone to be seated and quiet down. A hush falls over the crowd when the announcer comes out to introduce the entertainment for the night. Where I stand, I can see most of the audience, Ivan, and the stage.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer begins. “Tonight we have a special treat. With us for the first time, we have world renowned opera singer Winter Rose. Tonight kicks off a one-month engagement with a performance every weekend and Wednesday matinee. So tell your friends and family and come again before she’s gone. Without further ado, please give a warm welcome to…Winter Rose!”

  The man outstretches his hands with a flourish as he walks off the stage. The red curtain slowly rises, and standing in front of a complete symphony is the loveliest woman I have ever seen. And apparently, I am not the only one who is immediately spellbound.

  A soft gasp floats over the crowd. Many in the audience lean forward to get a better look. Ivan is one of them. He even grasps his opera glasses to see her better. I wish I could do the same. Luckily, Ivan must have read my mind.

  “Skotina, take a look,” he reaches back to hand me the theater binoculars without looking away from the woman.

  I take the gold binoculars and raise them to my eyes. The stunning woman is magnified enough to make me feel as if I can reach out and touch her.

  If only.

  “See, Skotina. Now, do you understand why I couldn’t wait?”

  I barely nod or even register what he said to me. My focus is solely on her.

  I size her up with my keen eye. She is about five-feet-seven. She has curves that do not stop. And her dress only enhances them. The dress has a corset that cinches in her waist that her voluptuous breasts practically spill from. The corset and top of the skirt hug generous hips and then drape down to the floor to pool around her feet. And it’s all in a stunning gold.

  The gold offsets her unearthly pale skin. Even her full, wide mouth is painted gold with gold color around her amber eyes, giving them a golden tint. Her hair is a mass of tight corkscrew curls going in every direction, all in a shocking white color that matches her lashes and eyebrows.

  The fullness of her lips, the breath of her nose, the set of her golden eyes, and the texture of her hair tells of her heritage. But her coloring is what shocks the senses and how stunning the combination is. There are not many blacks in Russia. And certainly no albinos. So she is as unusual as she is beautiful and the entire audience cannot keep their eyes off of her.

  And then she opens her mouth.

  I don’t like opera. I never have. It always felt girly and silly. And it’s not like I do not understand the words because I have picked up several languages over the years. But it has never turned me on.

  Until now.

  As she sings Carmen’s Habanera to open the show, every hair on my body rises. The voice of an angel. It does not hurt that she looks like the common depiction of an angel as well, yet better. There’s also an innocence about her that adds to her angelic appearance.

  “Hey, Sko
tina, are you going to give me back the glasses or not?” Ivan teases me.

  I reluctantly hand over the binoculars as I continue to gaze at her and listen to her voice. I know I am not focusing on the job like I am supposed to, but this woman has me captivated.

  Distractions.

  They are the cause of sloppy work.

  I’m so distracted that I almost let a man through the private box to Ivan. I did not even hear him come through the door.

  I spring into action. I step behind the man and quickly wrap my arm around his neck just as he reaches for something inside his jacket.

  Ivan hears the scuffle and turns around.

  “M-Mr. Petrov, y-you wanted an audience with Miss Rose.” The man stutters and gasps around my chokehold.

  “Ah, yes. Let him go, Skotina. He’s alright.” Ivan instructs me.

  I slowly let the man go, and I watch closely as he removes a pad of paper with a pen from his jacket.

  “If you would write a note to Miss Rose, I’ll get it to her immediately following her performance.” The little man offers.

  “Make it sooner. Intermission.” Ivan says, brooking no argument. “And I’d like her answer before the show is over.”

  “Yes, sir. Straight away.”

  Ivan writes down his message and hands it back to the man. The man turns and gets his first good look at me. He shrinks back and runs as quickly out of our box as his legs can carry him.

  Our attention goes back to Miss Winter Rose as she sings more classic opera songs. Each one absolute perfection. I could not help the pull that drew my eyes to her when I should be scanning the theater.

  I had been with plain or even unattractive women, who am I, to turn away someone based on looks when I have the face only a mother could love? I had also been with beautiful women that Ivan passed along to me as his sloppy seconds if they were willing. But none of them stirred in me what I felt at this moment.

  She calls to me on every level.

  My skin prickles, my eyes stay laser-focused on her alone, my heart pumps as if I’m running, my blood gathers at the base of my cock, and sweat tickles my temples.