Page 7 of A Beastly Christmas Cheerful
Wrapping the blanket to cover me as much as possible, I stand up and slowly creep over to a door. When I pull it open, I see it’s a closet and I step inside. The closet is big, almost the size of my bedroom in the apartment I share with my roommates. Grabbing the first shirt I see, I pull it on over my head, and it swallows me whole. The person who this fits must be massive because it falls to my knees.
Oh god, a giant saved me. I don't know if that’s reassuring or scary, but I'm clearly in a man’s home. At least I don’t see any women's clothing hanging up.
Stepping out of the closet, I peek through the nearby window. It’s completely dark outside, but the snow is falling so much heavier than before.
That’s when it dawns on me where I am. I have to be in Marley's home. It’s really the only explanation. He’s the man who killed Tilly's mother. Okay, it was in a book, but still.
The next door I open is a bathroom, and I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I notice the small bump on my forehead, and all I can think is I must have gotten it during the crash. While I use the bathroom and clean myself up, I try to remember what happened.
Small bits and pieces come back to me, but in no real order. Something I do remember is him carrying me. Marley didn't hurt me; he came to my rescue. I'm safe. At least that’s what I reassure myself.
Hopefully he's not too angry with me, but I’m nervous when I go to open the next door. This has got to be the exit.
As soon as I open it, my breath catches because right in front of my face is a massive chest covered in red flannel. That’s the exact moment the lights flicker overhead and everything goes dark. I do the only logical thing I can think of and scream.
The large figure is more imposing in the dark, and it towers over me. It has to be three times my size. Before I can think better of it, I swing out, and my fist makes contact with his hard stomach.
He grunts, muttering a curse.
“Ouch!” I cry, pulling my hand back. “Are you made of steel?”
“Are you okay?” The man grabs my hand, but I can barely see his face. His hold on me is firm and unbreakable.
“Don’t kill me!” I shout. Wait, did he ask if I was okay?
“I wouldn’t kill you,” he says, sounding offended. “Don’t scream.”
The next thing I know, my feet leave the ground. Obviously I scream again but wrap my arms around his neck. The man is a freaking giant, and if he drops me it would be like falling from a three-story building. He could also easily crush me in his hold.
“Calm down. I’m taking you to the living room. You’re safe.” A few seconds later, he places me on a couch, and there’s a fireplace lighting up the room. “Stay,” he orders before turning to walk away.
“Don’t leave me here!” I say in a panic.
He freezes then slowly turns back around, and I get a view of his face for the first time. It’s all hard angles with a short beard, but there is no missing the wicked scar on his face.
“I’m going to turn on the generator,” he says, and I nod in response. “I’m Marley.”
“Right, of course,” I say softly. “I’m Belle.”
“Don’t move, Belle. You’ll hurt yourself.”
He's not wrong, so I don't move as he heads outside. I want to call him back because I hate the dark, but a moment later, the lights flicker back on.
Marley reappears and holds up his hands. "I won't hurt you."
"I'm sorry I hit you," I tell him. "If you call the cops, I understand."
I’ve never been to jail before, and now I’ve assaulted him. I can't even kill bugs. They scare the crap out of me, but I can't bring myself to smash one. Now I’ve beat up the man who saved me.
"Call the cops?" A puzzled expression takes over his handsome face. Yeah, he's more than handsome. He's got a whole gruff lumberjack thing going on. Even his voice is deep and gravelly. The scar only adds to his appeal. "They couldn’t make it up the mountain if they wanted to."
"What?" Does he mean we’re going to die up here? We’ll be stuck forever? Well, I guess getting fired isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me.
"The snow is still coming down, and I don't foresee it getting better anytime soon. You're stuck here."
“Stuck?” I squeak. The man lives in the middle of the woods. It’s clear he enjoys his privacy because why else would he be all the way out here?
“I’ll take care of you,” he says and then looks me over. “How is your head?” His words are matter of fact as he comes closer. "Does your hand hurt?"
