Page 4 of Betraying the Beast

A twig snapped beneath her boot, the sound unnaturally loud in the eerie silence. Ceryn froze, listening. Nothing. No birdsong, no rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned this forsaken place.

She pressed on, following a narrow game trail that wound between massive tree roots. The forest floor sloped gently upward, and as she crested a small rise, she saw it rising from the mist like something from a nightmare.

The beast’s castle.

It wasn’t what she had expected. Not a crumbling ruin but a massive structure of dark stone, its towers piercing the low-hanging clouds, its walls overgrown with thick vines that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. No moat surrounded it, no drawbridge or portcullis barred entry. Only a high wall encircled what must be the orchard, visible just beyond the main structure.

And she had to go inside.

Ceryn sank into a crouch behind a fallen tree, studying the castle grounds. No guards patrolled the walls, no servants moved about the courtyard. Only the beast dwelled here, if the stories were to be believed. A creature cursed to solitude, bound to this place for all eternity.

She circled the castle slowly, keeping to the shadows, searching for a way into the orchard. The main gate stood open, a dark maw leading into the beast’s domain. Too obvious. Too easy. There would be another way.

Near the eastern wall, she found it—a section where the stones had crumbled, creating a rough, natural staircase up the side. The top of the wall was lined with cruel iron spikes, but between two of them, a gap just wide enough for a slender woman to slip through.

Ceryn waited until late afternoon and the sun had set far enough in the sky, when the shadows lengthened and the silver-veined fruit would be easier to spot by their glow. Then she climbed, her fingers finding purchase in the rough stone, her boots scraping quietly as she ascended. At the top, she paused, heart pounding, and peered over the edge.

The orchard stole her breath.

Trees unlike any she had ever seen grew in neat rows, their bark the color of burnished copper, their leaves a deep blue-black that shimmered in the fading light. And hanging from their branches were the fruits. Dozens of them, each glowing with a soft, silvery radiance that pulsed like a heartbeat. Like the castle itself, they seemed alive in a way that normal fruits were not.

This was it. This was what Aldaric coveted. The source of the beast’s power, the key to his curse—and now, the only hope for Ceryn’s family. Assuming he could be trusted.

She slipped between the spikes and dropped silently to the soft earth below. The air in the orchard was different—heavy, sweet, intoxicating. Each breath seemed to fill her with unnatural vitality, as if the very essence of the fruit permeated the atmosphere.

Moving swiftly between the trees, Ceryn approached the nearest one bearing fruit. Up close, the silverfruit was even more mesmerizing—about the size of a plum, its skin a deep purple-black laced with intricate patterns of silver that shifted and flowed like liquid metal. It pulsed with internal light, the rhythm somehow matching the beating of her own heart.

This was madness. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to forget Aldaric’s demands, to find another way to save her family. But there was no other way. Not against the warlord’s power.

Ceryn reached up and plucked the fruit from its branch.

Immediately, the air changed, filled with tension. The silverfruit grew warmer in her palm, its glow intensifying as if in response to her touch. The silver veins pulsed faster, matching the quickening beat of her frightened heart.

She had just slipped the fruit into her satchel when she felt it—a change in the air, a presence. The same presence she had sensed in the forest.

He was here.

Ceryn turned slowly, forcing herself not to run. That was the plan, after all. To be caught. To gain access to the castle. To find a way to secure more of the fruit for Aldaric and to ensure he did not meet the same fate as the beast if he ate the fruit.

But knowing that did nothing to calm the terror that froze her blood when she saw him.

The beast stood between two trees, his massive form blocking any escape. In the orchard’s strange light, she could see him clearly for the first time. He stood upright like a man, yet towered at least two heads taller than any man she’d ever known. He was covered in thick fur that shimmered gold in the low light—beautiful, almost regal in hue. The fur rippled over muscle too dense to be human, corded arms ending in clawed hands large enough to snap bone. His face was a brutal thing: broad and sharp-jawed, with a heavy brow shadowing eyes that glowed like twin embers, slitted and watchful.

His mouth opened slightly, revealing fangs—not teeth—jagged and gleaming, and her pulse jumped as a low sound rumbled from his chest. Not quite a growl. The wild mane that framed his face matched the rest of him—brilliant gold with streaks of darker bronze, as if sunlight had tried and failed to burn the monster clean. Around his neck hung her cloak, fashioned into a makeshift scarf, her scent apparently still of interest to him.

Those amber eyes fixed on her, then dropped to the slight bulge in her satchel where the silverfruit lay hidden.

“Thief,” he growled, his voice so deep and rough it seemed to vibrate the very earth beneath her feet. Yet there was something else in that voice—something that had once been human, educated, perhaps even gentle.

Ceryn’s plan had worked. She was caught. Now came the part she feared most. She had to survive the capture.

“Please,” she began, but got no further.

With shocking speed, the beast closed the distance between them. One massive paw-like hand closed around her throat—not squeezing, but pinning her to the tree, the rough bark biting into her back. The other tore the satchel from her shoulder, ripping the leather strap as if it were thread and tossing it aside.

“You dare,” he snarled, his hot breath washing over her face, smelling strangely of cinnamon and cloves. “You dare steal from me?”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The world narrowed to those burning amber eyes, filled with rage and recognition, maybe?

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