I tug my cloak tighter against me, but cannot get warm. I have already trudged several miles through the snow, and am nearing the edge of town. The cold, however, has nothing to do with my surroundings, and everything to do with the dread twisting my stomach into knots and turning my limbs to lead. I reach for the small bag of coins at my waist for the thousandth time, ensuring it is still secure inside my cloak. The purse is light, however. Painfully light. My mind flashes back to where I left Papa in his sickbed, racked with fever and chills. I must continue.

Soon I am pushing my way inside the town's tavern. A hunting party is back from the woods celebrating their latest kill. A cheer rises through the men, followed by a toast. I make my way toward the fire, trying to warm my frozen fingers. Another round of cheers resounds through the room as a voice rises above the crowd, shouting, "To Gaston, the greatest hunter in the whole world!" The men cheer and holler again, and I can't stop my gaze from turning to where I know he'll be standing. Sure enough, he is a commanding presence in the center of the crowd, unmistakeable in his bright red tunic, a pack of arrows still strapped to his back. He guzzles his mug of beer, slamming it on the counter and calling for another. He grabs a barmaid by the waist and pulls her into his lap, running his hands over her curves. The sight makes bile rise in my throat, and I turn back to the fire once more, steeling my nerves for what is about to come.

I find the white-haired man at his customary table in the back, tucked neatly between piles of ledgers. "Bonjour, Monsieur Henri." He looks up from his notes, and a wicked gleam dances in his spectacled eyes.

"Ah, Belle. I've been expecting you. Please, sit."

I pull up a chair and drop my coin purse on the counter. He weighs it in his leathered palm and gives me a stormy look. "I know that this is far from the full amount, but please consider it a payment toward…"

He silences me with the raise of a hand. "Enough, Belle. This is the same conversation we had last month, and the month before." He trails a finger through his book. "For the last seven months, actually. Enough is enough. Either Maurice can pay for his bills, or he can't. If he cannot, he will be carted off to debtor's prison, where he belongs."

I try to keep the emotion out of my voice, but feel myself rising into a panic. "Please, you know that he will die there. His health-"

"Has been an issue for far too long, really."

"Please." I am about to sob. I can't think of my father wasting away in a jail cell.

With a sigh, Henri pulls my coin purse to his side of the table. "Consider this payment for not hauling him away this instant. You have bought yourself two days. If you do not return with the full payment by sundown on the second day, the jailer will bring his cart to your doorstep."

I should feel relief, but my panic only rises. I will never repay Papa's loans in two days. "There must be something, anything else that I can do," I plead.

A familiar laugh echoes behind me and my blood runs cold. His hand clamps onto my shoulder in a grip tight enough to bruise. "Face it, Belle, it's time for old Maurice to face the music. Don't worry, I won't let you live on the street. If you beg nicely, I'll take you back."

I stand up and shove his hand off of me. "Go away, Gaston. I'm not interested." I turn my focus to Henri. "I'll get the money."

I hear Gaston's voice trailing behind me as I turn away. "She'll be back and on her knees for me by tomorrow. Perhaps I'll make her use that pretty little tongue while she's down there."

I am nearly running toward the door, trying to escape my rage and despair. I sense someone following after me.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle. I could not help but overhear."

My cheeks flush in humiliation. "Whatever you thought you heard, monsieur, it is of no consequence. Good day." I duck past him back into the swirling snow.

"Mademoiselle!" He is persistent, dashing into the snow behind me. He grabs my elbow with a gentle touch radiating warmth. "S'il vous plait, mademoiselle. Hear me out." He is a friendly-looking man, a mop of curly brown hair framing a jovial face with a thick woolen cloak tucked up to his chin.

Perhaps I should trust this man, but I brush off his touch. "I do not wish for your charity."

"Surely not charity. An … opportunity." His earnest expression is the only thing keeping me from brushing past him once more. "I believe my employer may be able to offer a solution to your, er, unfortunate circumstance."

I wish to protest, but the debt collector's words echo through my head once more. "What sort of opportunity?"

"I think it best to let my employer explain for himself," the man says with a gentle smile. "My carriage is just ahead. Please, allow me take you to him now."

His charming demeanor nearly has me reaching for his proffered arm. "I… I can't. I don't even know you. And I need to return to my father." I step away from his illuminating presence and turn toward home.

"Mademoiselle!" he calls again. It seems his persistence knows no limits. "Pardon, I have forgotten my manners." He removes his hat and dips into a flourishing bow. "Lumiere, at your service." He grasps my hand and places a delicate kiss on my knuckles. He must feel that my hands have turned to ice, as he wraps his hands gently around mine. "And you are?"

"Belle." I can't help but offer a small curtsey in return.

His smile is radiant. "Aptly named, I see." I fight the flush coloring my cheeks, but cannot pretend to be altogether unaffected by his charms. "Alas, we are no longer strangers. And as such, you are free to come with me. You shall meet my employer and be home to your father by nightfall. What do you say?"

I should say no. I should return to our cottage and rack my brains for some new solution to our mess. But I am out of options, and I am out of time. Even if his offer proves fruitless, I will be no worse off than I am now. I nod my head. "Merci." With another glowing grin, Lumiere leads me to his carriage, and we are on our way.

The journey takes us out of the East end of the village, over the icy river and through the thick forest beyond. Before long, the road disappears and the carriage bumps along rocks and branches. Lumiere offers a shrug. "My employer… enjoys his privacy." This proves to be an understatement. My would-be benefactor's manor is not only isolated, but walled like a fortress, iron bars and menacing gargoyles protruding above high stone walls. From the carriage, I cannot get much of a view, only a sense that this place is vast, cold, and empty. Stormclouds have gathered overhead, darkening the sky. As our carriage pulls to a stop before the main entrance, the clouds burst open in a downpour of rain that freezes wherever it lands. Despite Lumiere's continued warmth, a shiver snakes down my spine.

I follow Lumiere inside through high wooden doors into a menacing foyer. He begins a blaze in the fireplace, but it does nothing to erase the chill and darkness from the room. Every inch of this manor appears to be done in stone and marble, all sharp edges and unforgiving severity. "Are you sure that your employer wants guests?" I call out as I am led down a long hall.

Lumiere smiles, but does not answer my question. He stops us in front of a grand oak door slightly ajar. Inside, I can see a large armchair placed in front of a roaring fire, but the occupant is hidden from view. "Un moment," Lumiere croons before he sidles into the room, shutting the door behind him. I press myself against the wood of the door, straining to hear the conversation within.

I cannot make out the words, only the grumble of two voices in a heated discussion. Lumiere's tone is one of pleading, cajoling his employer to hear my dilemma, no doubt. I curse myself internally. I should have guessed that Lumiere was acting of his own generosity, not under orders of a mysterious man looking for impoverished girls to free from debt. I am about to show myself to the door when the sound of a lower voice stops me cold. His tone is pure power, ferocity barely restrained beneath the surface. I am mesmerized, rooted in place by the power this voice seems to command over my very soul. I am so lost in listening to this voice that I tumble into the room as Lumiere opens the door once more.

"And here she is, sir. Hear her out. See if you can't reach an arrangement, non?" Lumiere gently hoists me to my feet and shoves me forward before swiftly exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

The fire blazes before me, but my veins have turned to ice. Every nerve in my body is screaming for me to run. This is not a man who will take pity on an unfortunate soul. Perhaps this is a man without a soul at all. "I- I'm sorry," I choke out. I am only two steps toward the door when his voice freezes me once more.

"Come here." It is a command, nearly a growl. I cannot refuse.

One step at a time, I draw myself closer to the fire until I am in front of the armchair. I have not mustered the courage to look anywhere but at the dancing flames. "Turn around." My body turns of its own command, of his command. He is sitting in the chair before me, but his face is covered in shadow. I cannot see his eyes, and am grateful for fear they would pierce me to my core.

The silence stretches between us until at last I clear my throat. "Bonjour. My name is Belle. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, monsieur…?"

Silence.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remember why I am here. It may already be a lost cause, but the sooner I receive his refusal, the sooner I can return home. "Your, um… Monsieur Lumiere may have already told you, but my family has fallen on hard times. My father has taken ill, and is unable to pay our debts." He does not interject, so I continue. "I was told you may have employment for me. I could cook, or work as a scullery maid. I can read and write, so perhaps I could assist with your correspondence. I could be a governess if you have any children…" I am rambling now, and I know it. I allow my voice to trail off into silence. One moment passes, and then another. Just as I am about to say something - anything - to break the tension, his voice stills me.

"I have no employment for you here."

I knew this would be the outcome, yet can't stop the sting of his words from radiating through me. I intend to make a quick retreat before the tide of despair can grow too deep. "Pardon. I did not mean to intrude." I offer the smallest of curtseys before nearly running for the door.

"Wait." And just like that, I am frozen. I hardly dare to breathe, such is the power of his words. I hear him rise from the chair, but do not turn around. His footfalls echo on the marble as he stalks toward me. My heart races, but I remain stock still. I can sense him prowling behind me, eyeing me like prey. "I have no children, and thus am not in need of a governess. I, too, can read and write, and thus need no assistance with correspondence. I already have an arsenal of scullery maids, and a team of chefs."

Why is he telling me this? Was it not enough to smash my hopes? Must he now scatter them to the wind as well? Anger boils inside me and my hands turn into fists clenched tightly to my sides.

His footsteps echo once more, and he is closer now. Much closer. So close that his breath prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. So close that the heat from his body warms my frigid limbs. He speaks. "I can, however, offer another arrangement." He trails a finger lightly over the flesh beneath my ear and along the curve of my neck.

"You will help me only if I warm your bed." I cannot keep the venom from my voice.

He lets out a low chuckle. "You would refuse? Surely you are here begging in the home of a stranger as a last resort."

Anger breaks the hold his voice had over my body. I step away and whirl to face him. His face should be bathed in firelight from this angle, but instead it is swathed in shadow. I push this fact aside, overcome with the need to bite back against his words. "I am no fool, and I am certainly not here to beg. I understand the ways of men. You would satisfy your desire, then grow bored. The money would stop. I would once again be unable to afford Papa's medicine and then I would be back where I started. Only then, I would be broken and used. If I desired that fate, I would have already taken myself to the whorehouse long ago."

My words are met with silence. Only this time, it is silence filled with a rage, so tense it is nearly palpable. Even in partial shadow, I can see muscles coiled taut with anger. He is a tiger ready to spring. Too late, I see that I have erred. I was a fool to so brazenly insult a man of this nature in his own home. My only hope now is to flee. I move for the door, but am too slow. In an instant, he has me backed against it, his muscled arms above my shoulders pinning me in place. He is heaving with anger, his breath hot against my face.

I cannot run and I refuse to back down. I stare at him, trying to search his features for a sense of his next move. Yet as I attempt to do so, I am puzzled. I can see an outline of his cheekbones, tell roughly where his nose and chin should be, but cannot clearly see his face. Even in the dim light, I should be able to make out his features more clearly than this. I am utterly entranced by this mystery, and find myself reaching toward his face to see if my hands can discover what my eyes cannot. Just then, his eyes flash open. His eyes are a brilliant blue that pierce through the darkness around him. They stare at me with utter intensity, the rage in them cooling to curiosity as he sees the trajectory of my fingertips. For a moment, I think he will stop me. My heart is racing as I proceed, drawing closer to the mysterious darkness shrouding him. My fingertips rest against the cool skin of his cheek. The contact sends a shiver through me. I may be imagining it, but I think I can sense one course through him, too. For the briefest instant, I think I see something in his eyes almost like hope. "Why can't I see you?" I whisper.

The moment is shattered. With a snarl, he removes my hand from his face and pins it above my head against the door. He quickly takes hold of both of my wrists in one of his, then uses his free hand to tilt my chin so I am forced to meet his gaze. His eyes burn with untamed ferocity. "You know nothing about me. You think I would be satisfied with only the pleasures of your flesh?" He barks out a harsh laugh. "I have far more sinister desires than that, I'm afraid.I would own you, control you, possess every part of you. You would belong to me."

"Would you provide for my father?" The words are out of my mouth before I can process what I have just said.

It seems I've caught even this man off guard. "What?"

I form the idea as I speak, but I cannot stop the flow of words. "If I were to give myself to you, to belong to you, would you pay my father's debts, see that he is cared for? Permanently. No matter if you grow bored, no matter how I've been used. A simple trade: my life for his."

I can hear his breath hitch in his throat. "You don't understand what you're asking," he growls.

"Maybe not, but it doesn't matter. If I give myself to you, will he be taken care of, or won't he?"

He releases a cry of frustration and tightens his grip on my chin. I do not flinch. "You are running headfirst into the lion's den. Continue on this path, and you will get bitten."

With the wild ferocity in his crystalline eyes, I almost think he will make good on that promise now. "If it's a path that provides for the only loved one I have left in this world, I will follow it to the ends of the earth." I meet his gaze, unwavering. He stares at me for several long seconds, his eyes as unreadable as his haze of features. "Do we have an agreement?" I am breathless in anticipation of his reply. My heart is racing, chest heaving so hard that my breasts brush his firm torso. And yet, I will not back down. I stare into his eyes for one beat, two.

Suddenly his body is slammed against mine, pressing me hard into the door. His mouth descends on my neck like an animal feasting on a fresh kill. He plants rough, hot kisses along the column of my throat. When his lips find the juncture of my shoulder and neck, he bites with enough force that I suspect he has drawn blood. I cry out in surprise at the force of his attack, but find my cry sliding into a breathy moan as his tongue laves the spot again and again. With another sudden movement, he is above me once more. I think I see droplets of my blood glistening on his lips, but can't be sure through the veil of shadow. He is breathing heavily, eyes maddened with a primal ferocity. His voice shakes me to my bones as he growls, "You. Are. Mine."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Not quite sure if I want to pursue this fic or not, so please let me know what you think. :)