Page 15 of Betraying the Beast

“She loved me once,” he continued, eyes far away. “Or said she did. And I... I believed her. I gave her knowledge, truth, magic. I showed her the orchard when it was still young—before the fruit learned to bleed silver.”

His voice caught. Just barely.

“But it wasn’t enough. She wanted power. She wanted the fruit. I told her it was dangerous, that it could not be harvested without cost.”

He stepped past her, crouching near the stone. His clawed fingers hovered over the name, but didn’t touch it. He cleared the dirt and vines from the area, freeing the space to the light once again.

“So she cursed me.”

Ceryn stiffened. “With the name?”

He nodded once. “Names have power,” he said, turning to her. “There is an old magic—the First Tongue. It doesn’t just cast spells. It remakes truth.”

He looked at her then, and there was no fury in his face—just exhaustion.

“She spoke a name not meant for me. A name of fire and ruin. Vael’Zhur. And in that moment, the orchard changed. So did I. Sylaine spoke mine with hatred and rewrote my soul. You—” he hesitated, “—spoke it without knowing, and it did not burn me. She didn’t turn me into a beast. She named me one. And I became it.”

Ceryn dropped to her knees beside him, the words sinking in like cold water. “So when I said your real name...”

“It didn’t burn,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s how I knew. You didn’t use it as a weapon.”

He looked down at the carving, eyes unreadable. “She did.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Somewhere, a silverfruit dropped from a branch, hitting the earth with a soft thump.

“Why gouge it out?” she asked finally, her voice quiet.

His claws flexed. “Because it hurt to see it. The memory, the word.”

Another pause.

“Because I didn’t think anyone would ever speak it again. I couldn’t bear to hear it spoken aloud. There are none who know the name anymore. Save one.”

She met his gaze. “I didn’t know. But I felt it.”

He shifted closer. “You speak lies well. But your body tells me truth. You felt it. As I did.”

Her heart thundered. “And what did you feel?”

“That I was not alone,” he murmured. “That someone saw not the beast, but the man.” He reached out, claws hovering beside her cheek. “That I could want again.”

Ceryn’s breath caught. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I can’t ignore this.” His hand dropped to his side. “And neither can you.”

The air between them crackled. Her fingers brushed the stone beside his. The trees bent closer as if responding to her very presence, the fruit on the end of the branch glowing bright. She turned to him, eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean to?—”

“You didn’t have to mean it,” he said. “This place knows desire.”

She rocked back on her heels. “What does that mean for me?”

“That you are no longer just a thief.” His voice deepened. “You are becoming something else. Something the orchard recognizes.”

Her pulse raced. “And what do you want from me?”

He leaned in. “The truth.”

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