Trust: A Twisted Wolf Tale by Rene Folsom Read Free Book Online

manuscript with both arms—protecting it.
    “I’m not comfortable with anyone reading… what’s in that desk.”
    Her hesitation had my interest piqued. These manuscripts meant something to her. The human expression of nervousness and embarrassment told me as much, making me realize this beast was much more like me than I initially thought.
    “Please? It’ll give me something to do. I won’t bother you, I promise,” I pleaded.
    She glared at me for a moment, and then gave a resigned huff. “Fine. Do what you want. Just make sure you give it back,” she ordered, circling around me and pushing me toward the door.
    Manuscript in hand, I felt victorious as I hustled down the stairs and back to my room.

The Tension
    It took me a few days, but I finally realized that I was no longer in danger of dying. If I were, she would have done it already—unless she was really egging me on, which by this point, would’ve just been childish and fruitless—and since I knew my life wasn’t in any immediate danger, I grew a bit bolder. I often tried to push her for more extensive conversation during whatever period of time we were in the same vicinity, but she always dismissed me with a hard stare or an uninterested grunt. I had a feeling she might’ve been a little bitter about the manuscript incident, which explained her sour mood—although she seemed to always be in a sour mood, manuscript or no manuscript.
    And speaking of the manuscript…
    The words that were printed on the pieces of paper lying on my bedside table were, for lack of a better term, divine . The manuscript was raw, unedited. One or two mistakes were littered in every twenty or so pages, and most of them were just simple mistakes that I didn’t even take notice to unless I went back to try and find them. But the little mistakes were just a reminder of how pure the writing was. It was written by a real person, not some faceless, dispassionate author like some of the other books I’d read. This manuscript had soul—life given to it by its amazing author, Karoline Webber. Even though I considered myself to be a fast reader, I took my time with it, enjoying each and every word with patience and awe. I didn’t want it to end.
    Thinking about the story—of a woman born with a deformity and how she found love with a man who could see her for who she truly was—it was nothing short of invigorating. It was a story of love, of passion, and most of all… hope .
    I couldn’t help but relate.
    To think that the beastly woman who held me captive harbored such a gem was baffling. What could she possible be doing with it? And why was she so defensive about it? Was this Karoline someone important to her? She’d said she didn’t have family, but for some reason, I felt as if she was lying to me.
    Sitting in the kitchen by myself, munching on a sandwich and staring at another fresh rose, I thought of everything—the manuscript, that desk full of wonders, and most of all, the beastly woman. Despite what she had done to me, I still had an indescribable urge to get to know her.
    But getting to know her was impossible, with her grunting and dismissive shrugs. And when she wasn’t ignoring me, she was upstairs doing god knows what. Ever since she banned me from going up there, she kept a tight vigil to make sure I obeyed. Whenever we were in the same room, she’d eye me, as if daring me to try and go up there. It irked me, and I almost went for it just to defy her. But I wasn’t stupid, and every time the urge arose, I’d get a glance of her claws and think again.
    Chewing on my thoughts and the sandwich, I didn’t notice when she slipped into the room. She was always so deft that, more than once, I’d turn around and she’d be there to scare the meat off my bones. In this instance, I maintained my dignity by merely wincing when I spotted her opening the fridge.
    “You need to wear a bell or something,” I said without thinking, coughing as I swallowed my bite of