A/N - Bless you for clicking despite that sappy summary, lol. So you know, this will be a much simpler (and, god help me, shorter) story than Mirrors, and possibly a little darker...and sexier. I imagine not too many folks will complain about that :) And I'm sorry for kind of disappearing this last year - life dished out some trauma, but I feel like I'm finally starting to thrive again. Anyway I'm very excited to be writing for this community again, I've missed you guys! xoxo

The forest grew still as death with the first snow of autumn. The Beast watched the heavy flakes fall, brushing the stuff off his head and arms every few minutes before it could melt into his greying fur. He'd known this place felt familiar, but he hadn't realized why until it was covered in a blanket of white. Strange how the seasons had returned to his old woods, even after everything else here had died.

He grimaced, and pulled his cloak close despite not really being cold. He'd regretted coming back this way when he'd lost the buck's trail; now he regretted it even more.

Something rustled in the distant trees. His ears twitched its direction, catching the sounds of snarls and scampering feet in the brush. Wolves, he realized, frowning. He'd nearly forgotten about them. He stood, deciding he'd rather not meet the pack if he could help it. He certainly had no interest in fighting them for this forest, even if it technically belonged to him.

The sounds returned, stronger this time. Close enough that he could catch heavy, earnest breathing on the wind. The Beast scowled. Perhaps they had found the buck.

His buck.

Damn it, he thought, running after them. He hadn't come all this way just so that lot could take his kill.

He followed their trail to a small clearing, keeping hidden in the trees. Nearly a dozen of them had gathered here, and they were acting strange—snarling, darting forward, and drawing back again. Only when the snow began to lift did the Beast finally see what had drawn them there.

His heart stopped—or perhaps time did, if just for a moment. And then something inside him snapped, and he was barreling into the clearing. The first of the pack was easy enough to take down—a quick swipe of a paw with a strength that shocked him. The next two put up a better fight, but were manageable. It was the fourth that made the Beast truly angry, made him snarl and snap his teeth like the very creatures he was fighting.

But then it was over, and the others had fled. The Beast tried to catch his breath, which was loud and ugly in his ears now that nothing was howling at him. And as soon as the world stopped spinning he tried to understand what he was seeing.

A woman. After all this time…a woman in his woods. Now that it didn't even matter.

She hadn't moved from where he'd found her, only now she was surrounded by dead wolves instead of hungry ones. She stared at them no differently than she'd being staring at them before, her eyes empty and unmoving.

He took a single, careful step forward. "Madamois—?" He stopped, spotting the glimmer of gold on her ring finger. Of course he would notice that, even if it made no difference anymore, even in the middle of the forest surrounded by a pack of corpses. "…Madame," he said, correcting himself.

Still, she didn't move. He took another step, and cleared his throat. It had been so long since he'd spoken, and barely two words had left his voice dry. "Madame?"

Finally she glanced his way, though only her eyes moved. They rose slowly, gaze resting someplace behind his shoulder. The Beast's chest grew tight under her watch, yet her eyes held no fear, no disgust, no hint of shock. Though neither was there any gratitude, or even curiosity.

Just…nothing.

When her gaze fell back to the snowy ground, the Beast wondered if she'd even seen him at all. "You're not…afraid?" he asked, breathless.

She took a deep breath, still staring at snow. "No," she said at last. "Not of you." She paused, voice falling to a whisper. "I've known one far more frightening."

The Beast furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did the clouds above shifted and illuminated her small form beneath the full moon. The hem of her dress was torn away, and a bleeding lip had left spots on the delicate fabric. "You're hurt," he gasped. "The wolves—"

"The wolves didn't do this."

She looked up then, truly looked up. And as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, the Beast realized his mistake. The woman's hair, loose and tangled, was swept enough to one side to reveal a neck covered by dark bruises. And what he'd mistaken for shadows around her eye…

He didn't know what to say.

She looked back at the ground, closing her eyes and sighing. "I suppose I should thank you," she said. "Though in truth, I wish you'd never found me."

He looked towards the wolves, lifeless in the snow—and finally understood. He, of all people…yes, he understood. "There are far better ways to die," he said quietly.

She looked up at him again, for the first time a flicker of emotion crossing her face. "I…" she began. Then her breath grew quick and shallow, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The Beast caught her before she hit the forest floor, pulling her against his chest with some instinct he didn't realize he had. For a long time he simply held her like that, crouched in the snow, paralyzed as the reality of this situation washed over him.

It was a gust of wind, ruffling her clothes, which woke him from his strange state. He stood quickly, holding her like she was made of glass as he looked westward in the direction of the village. Then he remembered her bruises, turned the opposite way, and moved into the shadows of the great forest.