Beasting Beauty (Possessing Beauty 1)

The story had run, and had re-dubbed Magnus “Prince Magnum.” Needless to say, the guy was reveling in his new name.

…Of course, I knew for a fact that I had a solid inch on dear Prince “Magnum,” but I wasn’t about to go write a fucking tabloid story about it.

“Hey, chill, Mags,” Cade muttered, glaring at our friend as he pulled a joint out of his tux. “Dude, put that shit away. This isn’t spring fucking break, this is a serious deal.”

“Oh, and I’m very serious about the whole thing, dude.” Magnus winked. “I’m very serious about seeing which ‘eligible bachelorette’ I can fuck so good tonight that she’ll be walking bow-legged tomorrow.”

Caspian snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Jesus, Mags.”

“You’re aware of King Lucian’s reputation, correct?” Cade growled. “This is a formal event, buddy. Keep your cock in your fucking tux tonight. And maybe let’s not break the fucking drugs out on Lucian’s fucking castle grounds.”

“Alright! Alright, Jesus,” Mags sighed. “Fine. Let’s go in there. Now if Logan here would just finish his fucking drin—”

“I AM!” I roared, suddenly slamming back the scotch and dashing the glass on the cobblestone walk. I whirled, and before any of them could even react, I had Magnus by the collar, slammed back against the wall, and one of my fist raised back.

I saw red. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to punch one of my best friends in the world through the goddamn wall.

…And I barely knew why.

I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in a breath. I exhaled slowly, hanging on to the real me, still deep inside.

Barely.

Slowly, I let go of his tux and took a step back.

“Sorry,” I muttered, looking away from all of them. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool, man,” Magnus said, his voice gentle this time, without his usual bravado bullshit. I felt his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off

“It’s not,” I said quietly. “It’s not cool.”

“For real, don’t worry about it.” I glanced up at him, and he just nodded and smiled. “I coulda taken you anyways.”

I grinned back. We both knew that was complete bullshit, but it cut the tension.

Cade cleared his throat. “You in control?”

“Yes,” I growled.

Mostly.

“Lotta pretty girls in there, bud. You going to be okay?”

I glared at my friend. “What am I, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

He meant would being around that many nubile young princesses, and that many tantalizing glimpses and flashes of smiles and suggesting eyes might turn me.

They all worried about this, any time I was going to be around women after my curse.

…They couldn’t know how wrong they were.

It’d been four years since the curse — since the witch, or sorceress, or whatever the fuck she’d been. I’d thought she was just a girl at a bar I’d gone to incognito — trying to get away from my princely duties and all that shit for one damn night and just go have some random fun. I’d been chasing fleeting beauty that night, and she knew it.

Which is why she’d cursed me.

She’d cursed me to turn further and further away from the Prince I’d once been, and more into short-tempered, barely able to contain himself, barely in control of the animal inside, monster.

A beast.

You’d think that an array of gorgeous princesses looking for suitors would be just the damn thing to set me off. You’d think it’d be like setting a wolf loose on the lambs.

You’d be so very wrong.

I’d barely looked at women since then — zero interest. And this was me we’re talking about. Back before, I’d been famous for my exploits. I’d been legendary in my conquests of royal princesses and queens and duchesses, of movie stars and models and all of that crap. And though I didn’t want to step on Magnus’s parade after the article, he seemed to have forgotten the many tabloid stories that’d been written about what I was packing between my legs.

I’d been a legend, and for four years now, I hadn't even given a second glance to any girl.

It’s like the curse that brought the beast out in me had also left me too cold-hearted to even want the company — even of something meaningless.

So no, tonight was not going to be a problem. The only problem was figuring out how to spend as little time in here as possible. I was being forced to come tonight — and by more than just the worry that not coming was journeying further down into that darkness. Because however shut off I’d been, however isolated, and however removed I’d been for the last four years, my duty was still my duty. I was the reigning Prince regent of Torsund. This meant I was the guy in charge, even if I wasn’t quite king yet. That would come with marriage, because up north, that old rule persisted.