Page 42 of The Beast Between Us
“I suggest you stop speaking before I give in to my Beast’s demands and remove your head from your shoulders.”
The wind outside howls in sudden fury, rattling the windows. Even the light seems to pull back.
“I’ll take my leave,” my father mutters, backing down the steps. But before he goes, he throws one last look over his shoulder. “You’re making a mistake, girl. This is the best you’ll ever do.”
Thorne doesn’t move until the last echo of hooves vanishes into the distance. Then, with a slow breath, he turns and closes the door. The latch clicks softly into place.
Silence settles over the foyer.
Then, without turning to look at me, Thorne speaks…quiet, firm, and resolute.
“You are not for sale. Not ever again.”
And somehow, I believe him. Down to my soul.
∞∞∞
Every time I close my eyes, my father’s fury finds me.
I’m slammed against the wall, his fists punishing me for smiling at the postman.
I’m thrown out into the freezing night to sleep with the animals because I didn’t wake early enough to cook breakfast.
I’m shoved into a wooden chest, the lid slammed shut, because I laughed too loudly at something I read.
Memory after memory, flash after flash, tear through the darkness behind my eyelids.
Each one heavier.
Each one sharper.
Each one real.
I wake again and again, shaking, soaked in sweat, my throat raw from screams I barely remember letting out. Seeing him again after all these weeks has pulled me right back into fear. My mind can’t seem to tell time anymore. It thinks I’m still there. Still his.
Finally, I give up on sleep and throw the covers back.
When I open my door, I freeze.
Thorne is sitting on the floor outside my room, back resting against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes lift slowly to mine, dark with exhaustion.
“What on earth are you doing on the floor?” I whisper.
“You were having night terrors,” he says simply, voice gravel-soft. “I wanted to be close by… in case you needed me.”
I blink at him, stunned. “You… heard me?”
His gaze flickers to the floor, as if ashamed. “You cried out,” he says. “More than once.”
My throat tightens. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm air.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t,” he says firmly. “But whatever haunts you… I’ll keep it from getting close again. I swear it, Ella.”
I want to believe that. I do. But my chest still aches, and my fingers tremble at my sides.
“I’m scared,” I admit, barely more than breath.
