Page 22 of Betraying the Beast

When she began to move, slow at first, rising and falling, the world narrowed to the friction between them, the exquisite ache of fullness, the way his hands gripped her hips, guiding her, grounding her, the feel of his claws pricking her skin. She rode him with growing abandon, water lapping around them, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, his mouth descending to claim them in turn—licking, sucking, biting just hard enough to make her whimper.

Their rhythm grew wild, primal. The sound of wet skin meeting skin echoed off the stone walls, joined by gasps, moans, the chant of her name on his lips.

“Let go,” he panted, his claws raking lightly down her back, just enough to sting. “Shatter for me, Ceryn. Come on my cock. Let me feel you fall.”

His filthy words undid her.

She came with a cry, head thrown back, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves that dragged him under with her. With a roar that echoed like a creature unchained, Vael’Zhur thrust deep and spilled into her, his heat flooding her, his arms wrapped so tight she could barely breathe—but she didn’t want to.

She only wanted this.

They collapsed together in the water, still joined, bodies trembling with aftershocks. She rested her forehead to his, her hands cradling his wild, beautiful face.

“What have we done?” he asked, wonder and terror dancing in his voice.

Ceryn brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ve begun something neither of us can run from.”

His arms tightened. “Then I will never let you go.”

She smiled, closing her eyes, letting herself believe in that impossible promise—just for tonight.

Vael’Zhur lay in the massive bed, Ceryn’s warmth nestled against his side, her breathing soft and even in the quiet of his chambers. Her hand idly stroked over the fur on his chest, and she made no move to leave, seeming content to remain with him as long as he would let her. The canopy above them cast intricate shadows across her skin, pale and luminous in the dying firelight. He traced patterns on her shoulder with one careful claw, marveling at the contrast—his monstrous hand against her perfect flesh, unmarred despite his touch.

Impossible.

Everything about this moment was impossible. That she had sought him out in his sanctuary. That she had entered the water with such fearless grace. That she had welcomed him into her body with passion rather than fear. That she now lay in his arms as if she belonged there, as if the beast were worthy of such tenderness.

His cursed heart ached with emotions he had thought long dead, buried beneath centuries of rage and solitude. Hope. Affection. Something dangerously close to love.

Dangerous because hope was the cruelest of deceptions. Because this fragile peace between them could not last. Because Aldaric’s shadow still loomed over them both, and the curse that bound him to this place remained unbroken.

“So,” Ceryn’s voice broke the silence, startling him from his reverie, “when will you tell me the truth about the curse?”

Vael’Zhur’s body tensed, his hand stilling on her shoulder. “I have told you everything. The silverfruit?—”

“Not everything,” she interrupted, propping her chin on his chest to look up at him. Her eyes reflected the embers’ glow, bright and perceptive. “I understand the silverfruit gives long life and yet also induces rage and violence. But I don’t understand the curse and how you became bound here.” She paused, her gaze steady on his face. “I know you can leave the grounds. You found me in the forest the day before I came here.”

Cold spread through his chest, replacing the warmth of moments before. There it was—the question he had dreaded, the truth he had buried for centuries beneath layers of myth and half-explanation.

“Some truths are better left undisturbed,” he said quietly.

Ceryn pushed herself up on one elbow, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain of shadow. “After what we’ve shared, you still hide yourself from me? Do you still not trust me?”

Trust. Such a simple word for such a profound concept. When had he last trusted anyone? Before the curse. Before the betrayal. Before his heart had hardened into something as impenetrable as the castle walls.

Yet this woman had somehow breached those defenses without siege engines or armies. Had slipped past his guards with nothing but courage and unexpected tenderness.

Vael’Zhur exhaled slowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “It is not a pleasant tale.”

“Few true stories are,” she replied, settling back against his side, her hand coming to rest over his heart as if to anchor him. “Tell me. Please.”

The please undid him. How long since anyone had asked rather than demanded? How long since anyone had cared enough to want to understand?

“Very well.” He stared up at the canopy, finding it easier than meeting her gaze as he excavated memories long buried. “The story begins in a kingdom whose name has been forgotten by all but me, in an age when magic flowed more freely through the world.”

He could feel her attention, sharp and focused, her body utterly still against his.

“I was not always... this.” A gesture encompassed his massive, cursed form. “I was once the First Magister of Evrahen, advisor to King Aldric the Fourth, master of arcane knowledge and keeper of the royal libraries.”

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