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Beauty of the
by Rachel L.
Fairy Tale Retellings, #1
Publication Date: March 15, 2017
Genres: Historical Romance, Fairy Tale Retelling,
Gothic Romance, Adult
🌹 Special $2.99 sale price through March 19th 🌹
🌹 Blurb 🌹
A BEAST LIVING IN THE SHADOW OF HIS PAST
Reclusive and severely scarred Prince Adam Delacroix
has remained hidden inside a secluded, decrepit castle ever since he witnessed his family’s brutal
massacre. Cloaked in shadow, with only the lamentations of past ghosts for company, he has abandoned
all hope, allowing the world to believe he died on that tragic eve twenty-five years ago.
A BEAUTY IN PURSUIT OF A BETTER FUTURE
Caught in a fierce snowstorm, beautiful and strong-willed
Isabelle Rose seeks shelter at a castle—unaware that its beastly and disfigured master is much
more than he appears to be. When he imprisons her gravely ill and blind father, she bravely offers
herself in his place.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
Stripped of his emotional defenses, Adam’s humanity
reawakens as he encounters a kindred soul in Isabelle. Together they will wade through darkness and
discover beauty and passion in the most unlikely of places. But when a monster from Isabelle’s former
life threatens their new love, Demrov’s forgotten prince must emerge from his shadows and face the
world once more…
Perfect for fans of Beauty and the Beast and
The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty of the Beast brings a familiar and well-loved fairy tale to life with a rich setting in the
kingdom of Demrov and a captivating, Gothic voice.
Beauty of the
Beast is the first standalone installment in a series of classic
fairy tales re-imagined with a dark and realistic twist.
Disclaimer: This is an
edgy retelling of the classic fairy tale. Due to strong
sexual content, profanity, and dark subject matter, including an instance of sexual assault committed by
the villain, Beauty of the Beast is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
🌹 Trailer 🌹
🌹 Excerpt 🌹
Isabelle bravely takes her papa’s place ~
Quite a while later, as Isabelle relaxed and soaked in
the hearth’s warmth, she found herself nodding off to sleep.
Her mind detached from the stress of the past few
days and receded to another time and place. She recalled her journeys with Papa when she’d been little
more than a girl. All the villages they’d passed through; all the faces they’d seen. She thought of reading
fairy tales beneath a bejeweled sky, of leaning against a mountain of crates as Papa pointed out the
constellations and their eternal stories—
Rattling seized her attention and ruptured her
thoughts. She peered at Papa, who was carefully examining his teacup. Not with his sightless eyes, of
course—but with wandering fingertips. The same impressive coat of arms engraved the fine proclaim;
Papa ran his weathered fingers over its surface, clearly in awe of the raised gold decorations and
studded gems. The thing must have cost a small fortune. Indeed, she’d never beheld such finery. Even
the wares Papa had once sold paled in comparison. The faded brim of his top hat hung low and covered
his glassy eyes.
Then her mouth went dry as he slipped
the teacup inside his coat.
Has he gone mad—or simply grown
that desperate? It was completely unlike Papa to
steal. How could he—and after being shown
Her outcry startled him. He half leapt from the chair—and Isabelle watched in horror as the teacup
tumbled out from the coat. It rattled and rolled onto the stone ground, shattering into a million
A gloved hand broke through the darkness, quicker
than a lightning strike. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows and seized Papa by his cravat. His
other hand clasped a branch of flickering candles. The illumination flashed across the dark folds of his
cloak, soaking him in a pool of light.
“Stealing from me, are you? Breaking my family’s
keepsakes?” A sharp jerk forced Papa to his feet. The rough movement sent the top hat tumbling from
his head and onto the stone floor. Papa’s waxen features melted into an expression of horror and
Her heart pounding, Isabelle lunged forward and
frantically cried out, “Let him alone! It was an accident. Don’t you see that you’re frightening
“Good.” The simple declaration threw
Isabelle into stunned silence. Papa called out for her as the man strode from the sitting room, his solid
legs eating up the ground in swift, decisive strides. Mon
Dieu, he was physically dragging Papa through the
This isn’t happening. It cannot
“Stop it! Stop it now—you monster!” Isabelle picked up
her skirts and frantically chased after them. Parts of the castle were dark and unkempt, causing her to
trip several times over wayward pieces of furniture. Her heart violently pounded in her ears. The man
moved impressively fast; between his agile stride and sweeping cloak, he almost appeared to float
through the corridors. Plopping onto the stone floor, his dog gave up trying to keep pace. Dust motes
rose and fell in midair like ashes, obscuring her vision. She followed the branch’s illumination, watching
as the candlelight threw prisms along the walls and floor.
“Please, monsieur. Have mercy, I beg you! He didn’t
know any better. He’s not in his right mind. He would never—”
“No one steals from me.” His low voice echoed in the
darkness, steady as a war drum.
Isabelle felt herself descending. She ducked as she
crossed a low archway, where she was met with a steep flight of stairs. A mouth into Hell. The ceiling
lurked unusually low and was strung with cobwebs. Isabelle hiked up her skirts, which were now a filthy
mess, and raced down the decayed steps. The hooded figure kept a swift pace while she desperately
pursued Papa’s frightened cries.
Plagued by the darkness, Isabelle
tripped and crashed down the stone steps. Pain cascaded through her body, knocking the breath from
her lungs. Her skinned knees and elbows throbbed, her heart pounded, her head burned. She spared a
moment to catch her breath as she struggled to her feet and resumed her vain quest. Papa’s muffled
pleas and the sound of slamming bars ripped at her very soul.
The dank dungeon was nearly black. She slowed her
pace, moving toward a beam of light at the far end. Rats the size of kittens scurried across the stone
floor and filled the darkness with their terrible squeaking. Her heart thudding, Isabelle rushed through
the maze of cells, following Papa’s voice and that flickering light. Chains and crude-looking objects
littered the ground—torture devices from a past age, she realized with a shudder.
She found them.
Papa was grasping the rusted bars; disoriented and
frightened, he was murmuring incoherent pleas. Tears fell from his sightless eyes, though Isabelle knew
he fought to restrain them. The branch of candles sat in front of the cell, its wavering light illuminating
his terrified expression.
“Forgive me. I have wronged you when you showed my
daughter and me hospitality and mercy. Please, monsieur!”
The man towered before him, silent and still. His long
arms remaining crossed, he stood with his lean torso straighter than a broadsword. His hood was drawn
back, though Isabelle couldn’t see his face from her angle.
“Papa, I’m here,” she said beneath the weight of a
Not sparing a moment, she dashed over to the cell—
and the man slowly rotated into sight.
Except he resembled more of a beast than any man
she’d ever seen.
Isabelle clamped both hands over her mouth and
forced her eyes away. The sight burned—and the inferno in his gaze only kindled that fire.
Half of his face looked monstrously twisted; charred
mounds of puckered flesh distorted the features beyond any recognition, draining him of all traces of
humanity. Those heaps of burned, leather-like skin gleamed and glistened in the candlelight. His hairline
receded on the left side of his face and slanted high above a shriveled ear.
Under the severe scarring, his age was more or less
indistinguishable—though Isabelle guessed he wasn’t a day under thirty-five.
But his eyes were breathtaking. Two brilliant sapphires.
There was also a great sadness and anger in those eyes, as if he’d suffered more than his share of
original sin. Alas, as she gazed into his eyes, all she saw was blue ice—an endless, arctic landscape of
The man turned away, appearing greatly affected by
her stare, and hastily rearranged the hood. His scarred hands trembled as he smoothed down the
cloak’s thick folds.
“Release him,” she demanded. “He didn’t mean any
“No one meddles with my family’s possessions. He can
rot down here as my prisoner. He ought to count himself fortunate that I haven’t taken his
“Your prisoner? This… this is a mistake! You must
believe me. He’d never—”
A deep, husky chuckle cut through her plea. “Even
“Please. Just let him out.”
“It’s too late for that.” Those words seemed to speak
volumes. He exhaled a long breath, and Isabelle watched as it unfurled against the darkness in a
“Why… why are you so angry? Why must you be so
hateful? So cruel?”
“If I let him go,” he said at length, “what can you offer
in return?” Isabelle couldn’t find her tongue. She wandered directly in front of the cell, almost in a lucid
trance, and clasped the cold bars. Papa was huddled in the corner now, coughing and shivering. Guilt,
unlike anything she’d known before, pulsated through her.
I’m to blame for this. And if Papa
stays here, he’ll die well within a fortnight, likely much sooner…
“Get out of my sight.” The man’s voice jarred Isabelle
from her inward stupor. She turned to him and stepped forward, raising her chin at a defiant angle.
I am not so easily broken or
I am a survivor.
She scanned her empty, dank surroundings: the cold
stone walls, sweeping cobwebs, and blazing branch of candles. Despair encased her. Stark emptiness.
She dared to step closer while a faint trace of pity bloomed inside her heart.
They stood centimeters apart. Heat radiated from the
man’s body, surrounding her, immersing her. Isabelle vainly searched for softness him, but only a dark,
embittered spirit reached her. She stared up at his towering frame and gestured for him to bow
forward. He hesitated, then did as she commanded. Her hands shook, damn her, as she peeled back his
hood and met that piercing gaze again.
Half of his face was handsome—devastatingly so. In
her twenty-two years of life, she’d never beheld such haunting beauty.
Jet‑black waves, rich and flowing, framed the chiseled
lines of his startling features. Stubble peppered the strong curve of his jawline and shadowed a smooth,
sculpted cheekbone. The right side of his face was striking, beautiful—a stark contrast to its wrecked
counterpart. And within those patrician angles and intense eyes, she encountered his humanity.
His was a face of inconsistencies. Complex. Damaged.
Predatory. And more than a bit intriguing.
“I will stay with you,” she heard herself whisper. “In
my father’s place.”
“Isabelle—no! I forbid it!”
The man folded long, strong arms across his broad
chest. His gaze crawled down her face and settled on the rise of her breasts—planting directly on her
“I demand he’s seen by the finest of
“Isabelle! Listen to me! I’m an old man. I’m dying. I—
The man’s dark, strangely erotic voice cut through the
cellar, and his eyes whipped back to her own with a startling force. “As my mistress.”
“You must stay here as my mistress. For as long as I
demand. Perhaps forever.”
The word rang with a note of finality.
“Please, Isabelle! I beg you. Don’t do this!”
How could I endure
“Do as I say and your father shall safely return home.”
He waved his cloaked arms with a magician’s delicate grace. “Your father—whatever family you may
have—shall want for nothing. A house, clothing, anything they require. You only need to say the word.
Your father will be under my protection—under the care of nurses and physicians—until his last
Isabelle briefly recalled what—and who—was waiting
for her back in Ruillé. This fate wouldn’t be much worse. This desolate castle could serve as the perfect
hideout. Papa would live in France, free from Raphael’s clutches and in the hands of the world’s greatest
“How… how can I trust you?”
And does he even have the wealth to uphold such a
She had faith Papa would send help once his health
recovered. Or she’d find a way out, means of escape. In the interim, she would survive this grim castle
and whatever horrors it concealed.
Papa would not. The castle would crush him beneath
its dark heel in a matter of days.
Isabelle glanced at Papa again, then stared into the
man’s brilliant eyes. There, lurking within those expressive depths, she found the softness she’d pursued
She sucked in her breath and nodded her
“It is done.” The man swept backward. “He’s to remain
down here till first light. Then our agreement shall be carried out. In the meantime, I will bring blankets
“But it’s so cold! He—”
“Stole from me while he was a guest in my
He would not compromise. That much was
“I demand to stay with him.”
“As you please.” He unlocked the cell. “Beyond the
dungeon lies a labyrinth. Try to escape, and you’ll be lost forever.”
He tapped the wall with his booted heel. It swiveled,
spun, and rotated, sweeping her captor to the other side…
🌹 Excerpt 🌹
Adam gives Isabelle his library ~
“Close your eyes, ma belle.”
Strong hands cupped either side of her face. She felt as
Adam’s thumbs tentatively brushed back and forth, stroking her cheeks in reverent caresses. Isabelle
shut her eyes and slipped beneath his spell… leaned closer in the darkness until they stood heartbeat to
heartbeat. The warmth of his breaths teased her hairline, bringing with them a minty scent. His thumbs
descended to just below her chin. She lowered her face… felt a featherlight kiss land on her brow. It
happened so subtly and gently—Isabelle wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it.
She was allowing herself to feel too
much. A stab of guilt penetrated her chest as her thoughts crept inward. Yet instincts told her to trust in
her gut—to allow her heart to speak over her tumultuous thoughts. So she shoved away her guilt and
allowed herself to simply feel.
Pounding footfalls echoed in the room, attesting to its
sheer size. Isabelle waited in anticipation under the veil of darkness, her small hands knotted in
Stranger’s wiry coat. The steady beat of Adam’s boots floated away from her. A loud whipping noise and
a burst of light illuminated the room as he tugged a heavy damask curtain aside.
“Open your eyes, Isabelle.”
She did as he commanded. Shafts of sunlight tore
inside, dancing across the marble floor in blaring prisms—though the darkness still obstructed the
room’s contents. Isabelle’s imagination soared as she fantasized about what lay in those clotted
shadows. Pale light fringed Adam’s formidable shape, contrasting his silhouette against the dim
He paused in front of the opened window and folded
both arms behind his ramrod-straight back. Isabelle gazed at the line of his body, unable to tear her eyes
away. Indeed, light from the window set him aglow, shrouding him in a cloak of gold. He wore black
trousers and a white silk shirt, which fluttered lightly when he moved. Over the past several days, he’d
made a habit of abandoning the cloak and hood. Isabelle had become accustomed to the mismatched
sides of his face; where she once felt horror and revulsion, she now tingled with curiosity and budding
admiration. Alas, the only true revulsion that remained was the memory of that night…
Adam was an undeniably prideful man, and she knew
he’d only scorn her pity. Even his stance exuded a sense of importance and authority. Strange, how he
was so often shy and almost childlike; then, as if by a flip of a coin, he’d turn regal, confident. It was as
though he was battling two separate halves… as if an intricate part of himself kept fighting to
Not unlike the two contrasting sides
of his face, Isabelle mused.
For a suspended moment, he stood in front of the
conservatory window, his scarred hands planted on his lean hips as he surveyed the distant gardens.
Then he crossed the room, his footfalls amplified by the medallion flooring, and thrust open another
Whoosh. Light flooded the space and chased away the shadows, and the room’s
contents were ushered into view.
Isabelle nearly lost her breath at the sight.
It was a beautiful library—the most stunning sight
she’d ever beheld. Ornate, intricately carved shelves towered against the painted walls and reached for
a gilded ceiling. A baroque chandelier hung in the heart of the room; its crystals sparkled like diamonds
as they drank in morning’s light. Isabelle fought to temper her racing heart as she gaped at the sweeping
shelves. An intimate reading nook lined a curved window; lush pillows decorated the chaise, and a brass
candelabra towered beside it.
In all her life, she’d never seen so many books. There
were far too many to count. Too many books to read in one lifetime. Isabelle couldn’t help but think of
the little storekeeper from Ruillé’s bookshop; she imagined his astonishment, how his bushy white
brows would rise at the sight of Adam’s vast library. He’d run his wrinkled fingertips over the bindings
and spines, reverently caressing each one. Her heart twisted with nostalgia at the thought of her former
home. Once Raphael had entered her life, however, Ruillé had transformed into a prison.
This castle should have been just that. A jail cell. Yet
she’d never felt more free than in that moment.
The library was larger than her whole cottage; several
book-filled rooms connected to it, each one built with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Three sliding ladders were
nestled against the circular walls, soaring to the very top of the domed ceiling.
She spun on her heels, twirling in place—watching as
the immense collection flurried by in a fantastic mosaic of colorful spines and intricate
Her eyes planted on Adam, who stood in front of the
large row of glowing, arched windows. His arms were still folded behind his body, his sleek back
straighter than an arrow. She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t move forward, although she ached to
reach out and embrace his solid body.
How would it feel to be enveloped
inside that commanding strength?
A devastating smile spread across his misshapen
features and cut her thought short. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was highlighted by the
sun’s rays, and then hesitantly strode toward her. His boots rapped against the floor, and the sound
swelled through the library. Stranger barked as he approached, the loud noise echoing in the room and
jarring Isabelle from her trance.
“Do… do you like it?”
Finally he stood before her, silent and still. Isabelle
inhaled a long breath, then laid her palm on the left side of his face. Her fingertips danced over the
raised ridges and welts, the reddish scars and shriveled ear. His eyes shuttered closed, and she felt a
shudder rake through his tense body.
“Yes. I love it.” And I’m starting to fall in love with you, too…
🌹 Meet the Author 🌹
Rachel L. Demeter lives in the beautiful hills of Anaheim, California with
Teddy, her goofy lowland sheepdog, and her high school sweetheart of fourteen years. She enjoys
writing poignant romances that challenge the reader’s emotions and explore the redeeming power of
Imagining dynamic worlds and characters has been Rachel’s passion for
longer than she can remember. Before learning how to read or write, she would dictate stories while her
mother would record them for her. She holds a special affinity for the tortured hero and unconventional
romances. Whether crafting the protagonist or antagonist, she ensures every character is given a
Rachel endeavors to defy conventions by blending elements of romance,
suspense, and horror. Some themes her stories never stray too far from: forbidden romance, soul
mates, the power of love to redeem, mend all wounds, and triumph over darkness.
Her dream is to move readers and leave an emotional impact through
Don’t be a stranger! Rachel loves to connect and interact with her