Page 13 of The Beast's Captive Bride
Her smile follows me into the hallway, into my empty room, into dreams that for once aren't filled with rage and revenge, but with honey-gold hair and soft lips whispering my name like a benediction.
five
. . .
Amber
I tracemy lips for the hundredth time since morning, still feeling the ghost of Cullen's kisses. I should be horrified at myself—developing feelings for my kidnapper, responding to his touch like a flower turning toward the sun. Stockholm Syndrome, that's what they'd call it. But this doesn't feel like a syndrome or a sickness. It feels like recognition. Like finding a missing piece of myself in the most unexpected place. I press my forehead against the cool window glass and watch storm clouds gather on the horizon, wondering if they're an omen or just weather.
After last night's... episode in the library, Cullen disappeared. I woke alone in my bed, still wearing his flannel shirt, the memory of his hands on me so vivid I blushed in the empty room. He didn't bring breakfast as usual. Instead, a tray appeared outside my door—delivered, I assume, during my shower. Avoidance, clear as day.
Now it's afternoon, and I'm pacing my luxurious prison, wondering what happens next. Do we pretend it never happened? Do we talk about it like adults? Do I even want to talk about the fact that I nearly gave myself completely to the man who kidnapped me?
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. Three precise taps—Cullen's signature.
"Come in," I call, quickly smoothing my hair, annoyed at myself for caring how I look.
The door opens, and there he is—tall and forbidding in his customary black, but something's different. He's clean-shaven for the first time since I've been here, hair neatly combed, a strange tension in his broad shoulders. He looks... formal. Controlled.
"Amber." Just my name, but it carries weight.
"Cullen." I match his tone, unsure where we stand.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds deafening in the silence between us. I notice he's carrying something—a small wooden box clutched in one large hand.
"Did you sleep well?" he asks, the mundane question almost comical after what happened between us.
"Fine," I lie. In truth, I barely slept, my body humming with remembered touches, my mind a battlefield of confusion. "You?"
"No." His honesty catches me off guard. He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its neat arrangement. "I need to talk to you about something."
My heart lurches. Here it comes—regret, apology, boundaries. He's going to tell me it was a mistake, that I'm still just a prisoner, that whatever sparked between us needs to be extinguished.
"Your father has discovered where you are," he says instead, and the words take a moment to register.
"My father? How?"
Cullen's jaw tightens. "He has resources. People he pays to find things—and people—he wants."
A flicker of dread ignites in my stomach. "Is he coming here?"
"He's trying. My security is... robust, but he's persistent." Cullen paces to the window, his reflection superimposed over the darkening sky outside. "Things are going to change, Amber. They have to."
"What do you mean?" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold.
He turns back to me, and there's something in his eyes I've never seen before—uncertainty.
"I've been thinking about our situation. About what happens next." His voice drops lower. "About last night."
Heat rushes to my face. So we are going to talk about it.
"This wasn't part of my plan," he continues, a rough edge to his words. "You weren't supposed to be... you. You were supposed to be a means to an end. Leverage."
"And now?" I barely breathe the question.
His eyes lock with mine, winter-gray and burning. "Now I can't bear the thought of letting you go."
The admission hangs between us, dangerous and thrilling. I should be terrified. This is my kidnapper declaring his intent to keep me. Instead, something warm unfurls in my chest.
