Page 19 of Betraying the Beast

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the candlelight in her chamber dimmed, save for a single flame near the door that burned brighter than before. An invitation. A guide.

Ceryn followed.

The castle led her through corridors she had never seen before, down staircases that seemed to appear from nowhere, past chambers closed off for centuries. The lone candle flame remained always just ahead, appearing in wall sconces as she approached, extinguishing behind her as she passed.

She lost track of time and direction, surrendering to the castle’s guidance, trusting it in a way she could not fully explain. Finally, the path ended at a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Steam leaked from beneath it, carrying a scent of herbs and minerals.

The bathing chamber. The castle had led her to Vael’Zhur at his most vulnerable.

Ceryn hesitated, her hand on the latch. She could still turn back, return to her room, continue the fragile dance of avoidance they had maintained these past two days. It would be the sensible choice. The safe choice.

But safety had never been what drew her into the forbidden forest, what compelled her to hunt where others feared to tread. And it was not what she sought now.

She pushed open the door. Steam rolled over the threshold like mist from another world, warm and heady and laced with something earthy and spiced.

And then she saw him.

The chamber was vast, cavernous. The stone walls dripped with condensation, veins of gold flickering faintly beneath polished black marble. A massive pool took up most of the room—more hot spring than bath, fed by pipes that sang with heat and magic. The water shimmered silver in the low light, glowing faintly where it lapped against the edge.

And in the center of it?—

He reclined, chest-deep, golden fur slicked down to reveal the massive shape of him. His arms rested along the rim of the pool, muscles coiled but loose, his head tilted back as if the heat had drawn the beast into rare stillness. His mane—wet and darkened—hung in tangled strands down his back and shoulders.

Ceryn should have turned around.

But she couldn’t.

The water clung to his skin like a lover’s hands. With his fur soaked, she could see the lines of muscle beneath—the way his chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. His torso was broad, shoulders impossibly wide, and where the water lapped lower, she caught the barest glimpse of his abdomen, ridged and carved like marble, marked faintly by old scars and shifting patterns of silverfruit magic that glowed just beneath the surface.

He was monstrous.

And he was beautiful.

Vael’Zhur turned his head then, slow and deliberate. His golden eyes locked onto hers through the mist, and the stillness shattered.

“Enjoying the view, little thief?” he asked, his voice a low growl that rumbled through her bones.

Heat flooded her face, but she didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt. Even though she had been looking for him, this was the last place she had expected to find him.

“And yet, here you are. Lingering.” He shifted slightly, the water rippling outward in waves. “You didn’t run.”

“Would you have chased me?” she asked, meaning it as a jab.

But his expression darkened, and his voice dropped lower.

“Only if I wanted to catch you.”

The words curled around her like steam—slow, deliberate, dangerous.

She took a step closer, drawn in despite herself. The water lapped at the stone edge just inches from her boots. Her eyes trailed over him again, over the strength in his arms, the way his fingers curled slightly against the slick marble, claws retracted but ever-present.

“You bathe like a man,” she said softly.

“I remember what it was to be one.”

“You don’t look like one.”

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