Page 5 of Betraying the Beast

In one swift motion, he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her from the orchard, through a side door, and into the castle itself. Through corridors lined with dusty tapestries they went, up winding stairs, past chambers whose contents she could only glimpse—a library with thousands of books, a music room with instruments draped in white sheets, a dining hall with a long table set for one.

Finally, they reached what could only be the castle’s great hall. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, a fire already blazing within it. Threadbare carpets covered the stone floor, and at the room’s center stood a throne-like chair scaled to the beast’s massive frame.

The beast flung her to the floor at the foot of this throne, though not as bone jarring as she’d expected. Yet, Ceryn landed hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. When she could focus again, she found herself staring up at her captor, his massive form silhouetted against the firelight, her stolen cloak still around his neck, and he clutched one glowing silverfruit in his clawed hand, its pulsing light illuminating the terrible beauty of his face.

“What am I to do with you?” he asked, his voice softer now but no less frightening. “No human has dared enter my domain in seven years. And none has ever touched the fruit of my orchard.”

Seven years. The same time since her father’s death. Since Aldaric’s grip on the village had tightened. A coincidence?

Despite her terror, Ceryn studied the beast with new interest. There was intelligence in those eyes, a deep sadness behind the rage. This was no mindless monster, but a being trapped in a form not his own. Cursed, the villagers said. Bound to this place, to this form.

Just as she was now bound to her task.

Just as the silverfruit bound those who consumed it.

The beast leaned closer, and Ceryn fought the urge to shrink away. This close, she could see the heavy golden fur covering his skin with no gaps and the lips curved into a bestial snarl, revealing sharp teeth. Grotesque, yet somehow fascinating.

“Tell me, little thief,” he said, the silverfruit’s glow reflecting in his eyes. “What brings you to steal that which sustains me? That which made me what I am?”

The truth hovered on her lips. Aldaric. Her family. The warlord’s demand for the source of the beast’s power. But something in those amber eyes stopped her. Something achingly human beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Hunger,” she whispered instead. “My family is starving. I’ve heard tales of fruit that can sustain a person for weeks with just one bite.”

The beast studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he extended his massive hand, the silverfruit resting on his palm.

“Is that what you believe?” he asked softly. “That this is mere sustenance?”

He brought the fruit to his mouth and bit into it with sharp teeth. Silver liquid ran down his chin like bright blood, and the glow from within the fruit intensified, bathing them both in ethereal light.

“This,” he said, “is not food. It is power. It is curse. It is binding.” He extended the bitten fruit toward her. “But if you hunger, then you shall be satisfied. Taste what you sought to steal, little thief. Now you shall understand what it means to be bound to this place. As I am bound.”

Ceryn’s eyes widened in horror and fascination. The silver liquid dripping from the fruit called to her, promising life, strength, secrets.

She was supposed to verify the fruit’s power. Wasn’t this what Aldaric wanted?

But as the beast’s massive hand drew closer, as the fruit called to her, tempting her, hovering before before her lips, Ceryn realized that this was more than a mission to save her family. This was a threshold. Once crossed, there would be no returning to the life she had known.

The beast’s eyes held hers, challenging, waiting.

And despite every instinct screaming for her to flee, Ceryn leaned forward.

Vael’Zhur had killed more men than he could remember who dared enter his domain. So many souls extinguished without hesitation, their blood painting the stones of his orchard, their screams echoing through his lonely halls before fading into eternal silence. He had taken their lives as easily as one might snuff a candle flame. He could no more resist the rage of the beast than he could resist the demand of the silverfruit that sustained him. Both were inextricably intertwined together. Both bound him to eternal life and damnation. Long life, and boundless rage. No escape from either.

Yet, he could he not kill this woman who sought to steal from him. Why?

The silverfruit hung between them, its bitten flesh weeping luminescent sap like liquid starlight. The power coursed through his veins where he’d consumed his own bite, mingling with the ancient magic that sustained his curse. He could feel the pulse of it, the binding, the unbreakable chain that tethered him to this place.

The woman before him—this thief, this trespasser—trembled beneath his gaze, yet she did not flee. Her scent filled his nostrils: fear, yes, but also determination, courage, and something else. Something that stirred memories he’d buried beneath centuries of isolation.

Fresh earth. Pine needles. Leather. And beneath it all, warmth. Human warmth.

“Take it,” he growled, pressing the fruit closer to her lips. “Taste what you came to steal.”

She shook her head, a small gesture that sent her dark hair swaying, and pursed her lips tightly together. “I cannot.”

Rage flared in his chest—or was it something else? “You refuse?” His voice emerged as a snarl, teeth bared. “You dare to refuse when mercy itself stands against my nature?”

“Please,” she whispered, and the word slid under his skin like a thorn. “I only sought to feed my family. I meant no harm to you.”

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