Page 17 of Betraying the Beast

“Liar,” she said, but there was no malice in the accusation, only a knowing smile that made an answering heat stir in his chest.

He growled softly. “Careful, little thief. You tread dangerous ground.”

“I’ve been on dangerous ground since the moment I scaled your orchard wall.” She rose from her chair, wine glass in hand, and began to wander the library, trailing fingertips over leather-bound spines. “These books—have you read them all?”

Vael’Zhur watched her move, the graceful sway of her skirts, the elegant line of her neck as she tilted her head to read titles. “Most. Time is something I have had in abundance.”

“Lonely occupation, reading.”

“Preferable to mindless bloodshed.”

She glanced back at him, eyebrow raised. “Is that what you did before? Mindless bloodshed?”

“Would it surprise you?” He set his goblet down and rose, his massive form casting long shadows as he approached her. “Would it shock you to learn that even before the curse, I was not a good man, Ceryn Vale?”

She stood her ground as he loomed over her, her face upturned to his. “Few truly good men achieve power in this world. And you were powerful once, weren’t you? Before Sylaine’s betrayal.”

Vael’Zhur’s breath caught. How much had she pieced together from their conversations, from the orchard, from the very nature of his curse?

“You presume much,” he said quietly.

“Am I wrong?”

He could smell the wine on her breath, see the pulse fluttering at her throat. She was not fearless—he could scent the adrenaline coursing through her veins—but neither was she cowed.

“No,” he admitted. “I was powerful once. A magister, first of my kind. Consulted by kings and lords of all kingdoms. I sought knowledge and power. Was greedy for it.” His voice dropped lower. “And yes, there was bloodshed. I killed for my knowledge. The things men do to secure their legacies.”

“And now?” she asked. “What legacy remains for the beast in the forgotten castle?”

The question struck deeper than she could know. Legacy. The very thing he had sacrificed everything to secure, now dust in the wind of centuries.

“None,” he said, turning away from her. “The man who sought a legacy died long ago. Only the beast remains.”

She moved suddenly, stepping in front of him, forcing him to halt or risk colliding with her. “Then why save me?” Her voice was urgent, almost angry. “Why show me the orchard? Why share your wine and your knowledge if nothing human remains within you?”

Vael’Zhur stared down at her, at this fragile mortal woman who dared challenge him, who looked past his monstrous exterior to demand answers from the man buried within. Who had haunted his thoughts since the moment he’d caught her scent in the forest.

“Because you—“ He stopped, uncertain how to finish that sentence without revealing too much.

“Because I what?” she pressed, moving closer until her skirts brushed against his legs. “What am I to you, Vael’Zhur? Truly?”

His name on her lips undid him. How long since anyone had spoken it? How long since it had been uttered with anything but fear or disgust?

“You are an impossibility,” he growled, his control fraying. “A woman who should flee but stands her ground. Who should tremble but challenges. Who should despise the monster but seeks the man.”

“Perhaps I see what others do not,” she whispered, close enough now that he could feel the heat of her body.

“And what do you see, Ceryn Vale?” His voice was raw, vulnerable in a way he had not allowed himself to be in centuries.

Her hand lifted, hesitated, then came to rest against his chest where a heart still beat beneath fur and flesh. “I see someone who has suffered. Who has lost. Who has been alone far too long.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I see someone who remembers what it was to be human, even as he denies it.”

Something broke within Vael’Zhur—a dam holding back emotions he had buried for lifetimes. Without conscious thought, his clawed hand rose to cover hers, engulfing it in his massive grasp.

“If you truly saw me,” he said hoarsely, “you would run. You would flee this castle and never look back.”

“I’ve never been very good at doing what I should,” she replied, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. “Why start now?”

The air between them seemed to compress, heavy with tension and possibility. Her scent changed subtly, desire threading through fear and defiance. She swayed toward him, or perhaps he toward her—he could not tell which. All he knew was that the distance between them was shrinking, her face tilted up to his, her eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again.

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