Page 18 of Betraying the Beast

“This is madness,” he whispered, even as his hand moved of its own accord to cup her cheek, mindful of his claws against her delicate skin.

“Probably,” she agreed, leaning into his touch, her eyes half-closing. “Does it matter?”

It should. It should matter that she was Aldaric’s pawn, sent to steal the fruit’s power. It should matter that his curse made any connection between them impossible. It should matter that he was beast more than man, that his touch could tear her apart without meaning to.

But in that moment, with her warmth against him, her pulse quickening under his palm, nothing mattered but the ache of centuries of solitude and the promise of connection in her eyes.

“Ceryn,” he breathed, her name a prayer and a warning both.

She answered by rising on her toes, closing the final distance between them, and pressing her lips to his.

The shock of it froze him for an instant—the softness of her mouth against his, the scent of her overwhelming his senses, the impossible intimacy of the contact. Then instinct took over, and he was kissing her back, his massive form bending to accommodate her height, his hands moving to her waist to steady her.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative—the beast afraid to harm, the woman afraid to be consumed. But as she wound her arms around his neck, as she pressed closer with a soft sound in her throat, gentleness gave way to hunger. Centuries of isolation, of touch denied, of humanity suppressed, all channeled into the desperate meeting of lips and breath.

Vael’Zhur lifted her effortlessly, one arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair. She gasped against his mouth, then kissed him deeper, her fingers threading through the thick fur at his neck, finding the man beneath the beast as surely as if she could see through his cursed form to the soul within.

Time lost meaning. There was only her softness against him, her heartbeat thundering in time with his own, her taste—wine and woman and life itself—filling his senses until he was drunk on it. He backed her against a bookshelf, his massive body caging her smaller one, growling low in his throat when she nipped at his lower lip, bold even now.

The beast within him stirred, hungry for more than kisses, demanding possession, claiming, marking. And with a clarity that cut through the haze of desire like a blade, Vael’Zhur realized the danger of what they were doing.

He broke away abruptly, setting her down and stepping back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Ceryn stood dazed against the bookshelf, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide with confusion at the sudden withdrawal.

“Go,” he rasped, fists clenching at his sides to keep from reaching for her again. “Now.”

“Vael’Zhur—“

“GO!” he roared, the sound rattling the windows, his control slipping with every moment she remained within reach. “Before I forget myself entirely. Before the beast takes what the man knows it can never have.”

Hurt flashed across her face, quickly masked by a cool dignity that made him ache to bridge the distance he had just created. Without another word, she gathered her skirts and fled the library, the door slamming behind her with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.

Vael’Zhur stood motionless, listening to her retreating footsteps, the rapid beat of her heart growing fainter as she put distance between them. When he could no longer hear her, he sank to his knees in the center of the room, head bowed, clawed hands pressed against the floor.

“What have I done?” he whispered to the empty air.

No answer came, save the quiet crackling of the fire and the relentless ticking of a clock marking time in a life that had long since lost its meaning.

Until now. Until her.

Ceryn Vale, who had kissed the beast and, for one impossible moment, found the man within.

Chapter

Six

Ceryn didn’t see Vael’Zhur for the next two days and the stress was weighing on her. Her deadline was approaching and she worried for her sister and mother in the care of the warlord, but she was no closer to figuring out how to save them. She now knew the silverfruit was the source of Vael’Zhur’s immortality and power, but it came at a terrible price. She sensed the warlord knew this already and had yet to find a way around the curse, though, knowing his ruthless ways, she didn’t think mindless rage was necessarily a detraction. He just needed to harness it and direct it in ways he could focus and control it for his own gain. He never minded killing or terrorizing for his own gain.

It was a small price to pay to never die, she supposed.

But that wasn’t what occupied her thoughts as she paced the floor of her chamber for the hundredth time. It was the memory of Vael’Zhur’s mouth on hers, the impossible gentleness of his massive hands as they’d held her, the raw need in his eyes before he’d pushed her away.

The kiss had changed everything. It had made real what she’d been denying to herself—her growing fascination with the cursed lord of this forgotten castle. With the man trapped inside the beast.

Ceryn stopped at the window, pressing her palms against the cool glass. Somewhere in this labyrinthine structure, Vael’Zhur was hiding from her. Avoiding her. After that searing moment of connection in the library, he had vanished as completely as if the castle itself had swallowed him whole.

Perhaps it had. The more time she spent within these walls, the more convinced she became that the building was as alive as its master—watching, listening, perhaps even guiding.

She turned from the window, decision made. “I need to find him,” she said aloud, not certain if she spoke to herself or to the sentient walls around her. “Take me to him.”

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