Page 16 of The Beast's Captive Bride
Outside, thunder rumbles as the storm finally breaks, rain lashing against the windows. I'm not sure if it's an omen or just weather. All I know is that I've just agreed to marry my kidnapper, and instead of terror, all I feel is a strange, wild hope that this madness might somehow lead to happiness.
Cullen's arms tighten around me, and I lean into him, accepting what I can't change, embracing what I've chosen. His prisoner or his bride—perhaps in the end, the difference matters less than the man himself, this scarred, dangerous, beautiful man who looks at me like I'm his salvation.
And perhaps I am.
six
. . .
Cullen
She's mine now.The gold band on her finger gleams in the firelight as she sits perched on the edge of our bed—our bed—looking impossibly small in the vast expanse of the master suite. My wife. The word feels foreign on my tongue, like a language I once knew but have long forgotten. Her wedding dress—hastily acquired but perfect nonetheless—pools around her like liquid moonlight. I've never seen anything so pure, so perfect, so completely undeserving of a man like me.
And yet here we are.
Three days after my spontaneous proposal, and Amber Lockhart is now Amber Blackwood. The justice of the peace looked between us skeptically—the massive, scarred man and the delicate beauty beside him—but money has a way of answering unasked questions. The ceremony was brief, clinical, nothing like what a girl like Amber deserves. But she didn't complain, not once. She stood beside me, steady and certain, and when it came time to say "I do," her voice didn't waver.
Now she watches me from beneath lowered lashes, her hands folded primly in her lap. Waiting. Nervous. I can see it in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way she keeps wetting her lips.
"Are you afraid?" I ask, keeping my distance though everything in me strains to close it.
She considers the question with a seriousness that undoes me. "Not afraid of you," she says finally. "Just... nervous. This is all happening so fast."
An understatement. A week and a half ago, she was living her life, free and untouched. Now she's married to the man who stole her, who threatened her father, who still plans to use her as leverage in a vendetta fifteen years in the making.
What kind of monster am I?
"We don't have to do anything tonight," I say, the words scraping my throat raw. "We can wait."
Her eyes lift to mine, startlingly direct. "Do you want to wait?"
God, no. I've wanted her since I first saw her standing in that bedroom, lamp raised like a warrior despite her fear. I've dreamed of her beneath me, around me, taking all of me. But what I want has never mattered less.
"What I want isn't important," I tell her, staying rooted to the spot though my body aches to move toward her. "This is your choice, Amber. All of it."
A small smile curves her lips. "My choice," she repeats, as if tasting the words. "That's new."
"Get used to it."
"And if I choose you?" She rises from the bed in one fluid motion, the dress whispering around her. "If I choose tonight?"
My throat goes dry. She's so small compared to me, so delicate. The top of her head barely reaches my chest. My hands could span her waist. I could break her without trying.
"Then I'll try to be worthy of that choice," I say, the most honest thing I've ever told her.
She takes a step toward me, then another, until she stands before me. Even in the dim light, I can see the blush staining her cheeks, the pulse fluttering in her throat like a trapped bird.
"Help me with my dress," she says softly.
My hands are steady as I turn her gently, but inside I'm trembling. The dress fastens with a line of tiny pearl buttons down her back, each one a test of my patience. I work them free one by one, revealing the smooth skin of her back inch by tantalizing inch.
"Did I tell you how beautiful you look?" I murmur, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck as the last button comes undone.
She shivers under my touch. "Three times."
"Not enough." I ease the dress forward over her shoulders. She catches it against her chest, suddenly shy. "Let me see you, wife."
The word affects her; I can see it in the way her breath catches, her pupils dilate. Slowly, she lets the dress fall, pooling at her feet in a whisper of expensive fabric.
