Page 11 of Betraying the Beast

Elodia observed the destruction with the patient gaze of one who had witnessed countless similar outbursts. “If you truly believe that, then why does her presence disturb you so? Why does the beast within you both hunger for her flesh and hesitate to take it?”

The question struck too close to truths he had no wish to examine. Vael’Zhur turned back to the window, claws scraping against the stone sill.

“Seventy years,” he murmured. “Seventy years since Aldaric began his quest for the source of the curse.” His reflection in the glass showed him what he had become—a grotesque amalgamation of man and beast, neither fully one nor the other. “And now he sends this woman to my door, seeking the fruit’s power.”

“A curious coincidence,” Elodia agreed. “Or perhaps no coincidence at all.”

The thought had already occurred to him. After centuries of isolation, after years of increasing monstrosity, of the curse accelerating, why now? Why this particular woman with her fierce eyes and unbroken spirit?

“She said he took her family hostage,” Vael’Zhur reflected. “Her mother and sister.”

“A familiar tactic,” Elodia replied. “He has always understood that love makes the best chains.”

The observation struck a chord of memory that resonated painfully through his chest. Yes, Aldaric had always known precisely which threads to pull, which bonds to exploit. It was how he convinced so many to overcome their fear and attack the beast over and over in his own domain.

“She claims her father died at Aldaric’s hands,” he said. “Seven years past.”

“The last thief,” Elodia noted. “None have dared enter your domain since then. What will she do if she discovers he died at your hands?”

Vael’Zhur closed his eyes, remembering. The final phase of the curse had descended upon him like a black tide, drowning what remained of the man he had once been. For the last seven years, he had been more beast than human, driven by instinct and rage, sustained only by the silverfruit’s magic.

Until today. Until her.

“She refused the fruit,” he said softly, still puzzled by that moment. “Even knowing it might appease me. Even fearing for her life.”

“Wisdom, perhaps,” Elodia suggested. “Or something else. Not all prizes are worth their cost.”

No one had ever refused the silverfruit before. Those who sought it—treasure hunters, would-be immortals, Aldaric’s previous pawns—had grasped for it with naked greed, drunk its essence without question. Their fates afterward had been unpleasant. The fruit gave power, yes, but twisted those who consumed it without understanding its nature. Her father had accepted it. It had killed him.

Yet Ceryn had denied it. Had looked upon its glowing flesh with desire but turned away.

“I will show her the orchard tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than to Elodia. “I will show her what the silverfruit truly is. What it does. What it has done to me.”

“A significant risk, revealing such secrets to an enemy’s agent.”

Vael’Zhur’s lips curled back from his teeth. “What does it matter now? Centuries, Elodia. Centuries of solitude and monstrosity. The curse is nearly absolute. Soon, nothing human will remain within me at all.”

“Unless...” The ghostly woman let the word hang in the air between them.

“Unless what?” he demanded, though he knew precisely what she implied.

“Unless the prophecy speaks truth. Unless the answer to your salvation walks these very halls.” Elodia’s form drifted closer, her spectral hand hovering near his massive shoulder. “You know the words as well as I. ‘When the beast devours the last of the man, only love freely given can restore what was lost.’”

“Fairytales,” Vael’Zhur scoffed, but the dismissal lacked conviction. “Who could love this?” He gestured to his monstrous form, to the antlers that scraped the ceiling, to the claws that destroyed everything they touched.

“Perhaps no one,” Elodia conceded. “Or perhaps someone who sees beyond appearance to the soul beneath.”

“If any soul remains to be seen.”

“You know it does. You felt it stir tonight, at the dinner table. When she challenged you. When she met your gaze without flinching.”

Vael’Zhur turned away from the window, pacing the length of his chamber like the caged predator he had become. The beast within him was restless tonight, but differently than usual. Not with bloodlust or rage, but with something altogether more dangerous.

Hope.

“She cannot be the one,” he muttered. “She comes as Aldaric’s tool, seeking the fruit’s power for his use.”

“Yet she refused to taste it herself,” Elodia reminded him. “Curious, for one so desperate to save her family.”

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