Werepoodle Boyfriend: Padraic (complete)

Female Main Character x Male Monster

Scandal seems to be so easy to start and so hard to keep contained. For years my family has struggled to keep up the dazzling veneer we’re known for. My father was a well-known author, writing tales of terror, well-loved and highly lauded by his peers. That lasted until a bitter rival found out the family secret and spread it as far and wide as he could - my father wasn’t the writer, I was. Being a young, unmarried woman, the scandal was instant and venomous. My family became a mockery, and my father was called as many horrible names as I was. I could easily write a book about the horrors we received in the post, but no one would read it now.

I had to use my father’s name to write my works. No one would believe a sane, well-to-do woman could write horror, let alone write at all. My parents believed in my work, and they still do despite what we are now facing. They have always let me and my sisters live our lives as best we could. But now, in order to protect me, they have agreed I should marry.

I am an unlikely marriage prospect for anyone in our local circle, so my parents have searched farther and farther afield for some rich lord who would care little for the affairs of city life. This makes me more nervous than I expected, as I have lived in the city all my life. I know nothing of the country aside from being far away from the amenities I am used to. I’d be far from my family and friends, but I have to concede it is the safest option for me.

Eventually my parents find a proper suitor, described as distinguished and well-groomed despite his rural home. He is a baron who owned a great deal of land in the northern countryside. He keeps a beautiful orchard, my mother says, and maintains an active social life, which she said will help me acclimate. I am to marry Padraic Chapdelaine after a brief meeting, which is his request. He says he will not consent to the marriage until he hears from me in my own words.

I am taken to his estate, which is quite grand for something so remote. There are accents of pale blue and primrose pink against the sea of the orchard behind it, and white statues lining the grounds. I did not know what to think of this man at all from the outside of his home. Is this all to his taste? Is he trying to impress someone? I can’t imagine.

As I step from the carriage, the pink doors opened and a pack of dogs come rushing down the stairs. I’m surrounded by the sniffing, panting horde, and I must admit I am enamored. The dogs smell like rosewater and are happy to be greeted. Some wear blue ribbons, others pink, but they all look so meticulously applied. I am happy to pet each one. I do love dogs; in our childhood, my sisters and I shared a Great Dane we called Mortimer, but upon his passing we never had the heart to replace him.

A loud whistle breaks the dogs’ celebratio, and they go rushing back to the foot of the stairs and sit like proper gentlemen and ladies. I rise from the cobblestones, smoothing out my skirts as my prospective husband descends the stairs. I am surprised by how foppish he appears, wearing a pink suit with gold applique and a cane to match. His hair is white and so perfectly coiffed I would almost believe he was born with it in that fashion. His shoes, shined to a gemstone brilliance, have a high heel, giving his strong legs a well-defined shape.

Despite all this glamour, he does not need it. For it is his face that shines the brightest, and I am flabbergasted by his beauty. His brows are dark and highly arched, his nose is sleek, his cheekbones are high, his lips are rosy, and his jawline looks sharpened by the gods. His eyes, too, capture my full attention; he could but look at me and I would be spellbound forever. They are a beautiful hazel with flecks of emerald and gold, lined by thick black lashes. My parents did not warn me! I would fall for him even if he was cruel to me.

He gives me a sweeping bow, and not a hair moves out of place. I could swoon. I curtsy as elegantly as possible, afraid that in choosing a comfortable dress for travel, I have already made a bad impression upon him. I am tired and I know it shows. I will never match his beauty, but that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

“My lady Georgette.” He takes my hand in his gloved one and raises it, touching my fingers with those beautiful lips. “I have been waiting.”

Curse me and this stupid heart that beats within. “Why?”

The sly smile that spreads on his lips curls into his dimples. “I must confess, I am an admirer of your writing.”

My stomach sinks. “But I thought...” I need to regain my usual composure to think and speak again. “My parents explained that you had no idea about our scandal.”

He keeps my hand in his as he leads me up the stairs, his army of dogs following neatly behind us. “I only wanted to placate your parents. I have been fond of your novels for ages, and knowing you were the real genius behind them, I decided to use the opportunity to meet you.”

The doors close behind us, and the dogs are led by grooms into another room. Padraic and I stand in the foyer, which is all in pastel blue and cream. I am disappointed by his words. I would so love to marry him, if only to look at him from across the room. “Is our meeting not to end in an engagement, then?”

“No, no. I still have high hopes it will.” He leads me after the dogs, and all of them are laid before a great fireplace done up in pink marble. “I wished to meet my favorite author before I married her.”

My heart is aflutter. Never has a man had such an affect on my senses. I thought I had built an immunity. “I wish I had something kind to say in return, Baron.”

His smile returns. “Call me Padraic, Georgette.” He offers me a seat before settling in a comfortable chair across from me. Some of his dogs come to his feet, curling up while another hops into my lap. “I hope you do not mind them. If you do, I will have to send you home.”

I pet the dog in my lap, careful of the pretty pink bow around its neck. “I love dogs. So do not worry, I enjoy their presence already.”

Padraic’s dimples grow deeper. “That is good to hear,” he replies. “It is one reason I adore your books. The dogs in them never die.”

“I don’t see why they should.” I am having a hard time looking directly at him. Much like the sun, he is too radiant for a direct gaze. “I think it is a cheap trick to elicit emotion.”

He leans upon his cane and nods. “I very much agree.”

“May I be frank with you?” I ask suddenly. “I am not sure how to react to your continued enjoyment of my works. Once the secret was published, everything I worked for was ruined. My books are now called trite and meaningless. Why does your opinion not change?”

Padraic tilts his head slightly, and his face becomes smooth and serious while his brows arch slightly. “It is rare to find a book that you love. It is even rarer to find more than one. I grow bored quite easily, and I will confess I am a man who is extremely hard to please. I seek what will hold my eyes, and not many things do. I am fond of my orchard only during spring, and dogs are the only sort of living creature I trust. I may have a library, but that doesn’t mean I like the books within. Only your words have given me the pleasure I seek. They keep my eyes upon the page, and as such, I do not care who has written them. In all fairness, I would be quite smug to say my wife has written them.”

How am I supposed to survive? I will never be able to write coherently again with this man in my presence. I need to see the real him in order to be able to breathe and write like I am used to. There must be some ugliness to him that will allow me to live fully. He said he was hard to please, and that must mean he is spoiled in some way. “I am deeply affected by your words, Padraic,” I say breathlessly. “I must confess, your countenance and speech make quite an inebriating cocktail.”

He grins. “I am very well aware.”

I swallow hard, trying to maintain composure. “Is it something you maintain on purpose?”

“It is easy to sway opinion when you are beautiful,” Padraic says with a grin. “My mother taught me that. She was a very cunning woman, you know? She came from nothing, a scullery maid who married a rich man and was able to climb into the upper echelon. Then she married a man even richer than him, and so on up and again again until she held wealth of her own to pass down to me.” He places his hand on the head of his cane. “I, too, wish to marry a sharp woman.”

“I would not say I am sharp,” I chuckle. “Creative, but not sharp.”

“Do not say such a thing. Creative people are only able to mold their talents because there is a quantity of observation in them. Do not doubt that.” Padraic rises from his chair and one of the dogs stands up. “Godfrey, fetch!”

The dog marches from the fireplace and leaves the parlor. “What is he fetching?” I ask.

Padraic eases back down into the chair, and I notice something strange about the movement of his leg. “One of the kitchen staff. I have changed my mind about something for supper.”

I close my mouth and nod. “Oh.”

“Each dog has a separate task,” Padraic explains. “Godfrey is trained to fetch the kitchen staff, Brunhilde fetches cleaning, and so on and so on. I will have to get another dog or two so I can train them for you.”

“I don’t need...”

He holds up a finger to stop me. “To fetch you, I mean.”

A woman dressed all in pale blue comes into the room and curtsies. “Yes, Baron?”

Padraic glances at her. “I have decided I do not want coq au vin tonight. Instead I would much prefer a duck confit.”

The cook looks annoyed, but she nods. “Baron, the coq au vin is very nearly done, and the duck confit, if started now, would arrive later than you are used to.”

“Then you had best start now.”

I am stunned to say the least. He really is spoiled. “I do not mind having the coq au vin, Padraic. Why not have the duck tomorrow?”

He looks at me with the same sharpness as he does his chef. “I do not want it tomorrow, and trust me, you will prefer it tonight too.” He waves his hand to the chef. “That will be all. Make the changes now.”

“Yes, Baron. It would be my pleasure.” The cook walks away, but I can see her eyes roll as she turns.

I am a bit ruffled, and unsure how to gracefully end this conversation. “I really would have enjoyed the meal that was already prepared.”

“But I wouldn’t.” Padraic’s annoyance becomes a smile again. “Are you still writing?”

My mouth opens and shuts. I cannot ruin this. My parents are concerned for my safety, and if Padraic is the only one willing to consent to marriage with me, I know I must keep things peaceful for now. “I had a manuscript almost complete,” I confess. “But after the scandal...”

Padraic’s expression brightens. “Where is it?”

“The rubbish bin, I assume,” I say weakly. “I’m sure the publisher threw it away as soon as they could.”

Padraic’s eyes narrow, and another dog rises. “Go on, Maxima,” he commands, and the dog trots happily from the room.

“Who does Maxima fetch?” I ask curiously.

“My assistant. I want to dictate a letter to your publisher right away,” Padraic says decisively. “I want your manuscript returned unharmed, or else I will sue them.”

“Padraic! I am shocked!”

“Do not be, Georgette. This is simply my nature.” He rises when the assistant arrives with Maxima and exits to dictate his letter, leaving me with the dogs and the warm fire. I hear shouting from another room. It does shock me he would do this for my sake. I hate to admit that I feel as though my works really weren’t good at all.

When Padraic returns, he offers me his hand again. “Come, I would like to show you something.”

I take his hand, walking with him down the hall. I see the assistant exiting with a letter in hand. Padraic then takes me into the library, which is done in pale blue and pink as well. “I have a collection of your books here, in different editions.” He indicates the wall behind the desk, where shelves are carved out of a solid piece of marble. “I have hunted them down just so I can have a complete collection.”

I can’t help but smile. “I am honored.”

He turns and looks at me. “There is just one complaint I have. In ‘The Wolves of Saber Castle’, you depict the Sabers as horribly barbaric, despite the fact the family themselves are of fine renown and quality.”

“I wished to explore the notion of the wolf in sheep’s clothing...”

“No,” Padraic says curtly. “Lord Saber is a wonderful man in the text. Intelligent, courteous, a bit stiff, but a fine man. Once you reveal his so-called affliction, he becomes a slobbering, pitiful beast.”

“But werewolves…”

Padraic cuts me off. “Do you know any?”

I start to laugh. “No. Of course not. They are fiction, Padraic. No one would sooner know a werewolf than they would a mermaid.”

Padraic takes my hand into his. “You write of the supernatural, yet you do not even believe that there is a possibility they could exist?”

“I believe there is much that we cannot explain, but I can also admit when things sound ridiculous. Do you believe in such things? If so, I apologize.”

“There is something about myself I must share with you. If we intend to marry at all - which I know you have to - we will also be expected to produce children.”

I try to pull my hand away. “You’re frightening me.”

Padraic’s fingers slip under my chin and he turns my head so we look into each other’s eyes. “My family is one to be feared, but not for being bloodthirsty monsters. Do you understand me, Georgette?”

“No!” I snap. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me at all!”

“I would like to do this before dinner, since we are having duck now.” He lets go of me and steps aside. “Best you know now rather than on our wedding night. You will have time to adjust.” He removes his coat and folds it delicately, takes off his heels and sets them on the desktop. He undoes the buttons of his shirt, and I look away in shock.

“I know what men have, Padraic!”

“Not that! Watch me, and you will see the world your words have touched.”

I turn slightly, looking from the corner of my eye. His skin is growing whiter - no, he is sprouting fur. I look directly at him in shock as his body lurches with growth. His face changes shape, snapping as the bones reform. Sharp teeth gnash, and black claws emerge from his fingers. He stands before me, now canine in appearance, with white tufts of fur and long ears, his sharp gaze boring into my wide eyes. “Do you see? I am still the same as I was, though I am a beast, as so you say.”

My jaw hangs open in awe. “You’re a...” I gasp.

“Yes,” he growls. “I am a werepoodle.”

I stare in shock for a moment longer before my mouth bursts open with laughter. I have to hold myself as my sides begin to ache. Padraic’s expression becomes confused and annoyed. “Stop that!” he snaps. “Why are you laughing?”

I spew more laughter, leaning onto the desk when my head becomes light from lack of breathing. I do not know why this has tickled me in such a way. Perhaps my mind is attempting to cover up my fear and panic by having me express myself with joy. Perhaps, having heard the word ‘werepoodle’, I can do nothing else. All I can admit to is that I am laughing, and I am no longer afraid.

“Georgette!” Padraic barks.

Barks! He wants me to stop but he barks! I must laugh harder. Padraic grabs me with his paws. Paws! I laugh harder and harder. He gives me a firm shake, and I try to catch my breath.

“What is so funny?” Padraic demands, but I fear my response will only enrage him more.

“We will have puppies!” I am wheezing. My chest aches, and my face hurts.

Padraic’s lip curls up and he growls. “You are laughing at me!”

Tears roll down my cheeks freely. I am praying to God to stop my laughter, but I fear he will only make me laugh more.

Padraic releases me. “Of course you laugh! You have no knowledge of what I am aside from falsehoods.”

“I am terribly sorry!” I manage to sputter. “I can’t stop!”

“Oh,” he growls, “I will stop you. I know how.”

He drops his cane, then grabs me and kisses me, impassioned and heated except for his cold, wet nose. I snort against his kiss, still laughing until I begin to melt. He pulls away as soon as I stop, and smiles pridefully at his success. I clear my throat. “I would like some water.”

He picks up his cane, using the desk as support. “I showed you because I felt as though I could trust you, despite how wrong you are about my kind. You deserve to know the truth. Our children will be born this way, and I do not want you reacting harshly to them.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

His expression is sharp again. “I would rather marry you, who has some footing into the unknown, than someone like my father, who only fears.”

I look him up and down, and the leg he holds oddly has dark scars around its ankle. I look back into Padraic’s eyes. “I would rather marry you than someone who would mock me for my works.”

Padraic nods his head. “Then are we agreed?”

“Yes,” I murmur. “I will marry you, and I will give you puppies.”

His eyes narrow at me. “How dare you?”