Page 34 of Bought by the Broken Beast
The unspoken question of our future is a constant, humming tension between us. He is Lord Saru now, a Vakkak of the highest standing, his name and lands restored. He will return to his world of politics and power, of Vakkak traditions and Minotaur females. And I… where will I go? The thought of leaving him, of our paths diverging, is a cold, sharp fear that is more terrifying than Lyra’s dagger.
One evening, two weeks after the trial, the tension finally breaks. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. Votoi has been silent all afternoon, his gaze fixed on the sea, his mood as dark and turbulent as the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. He rises from his chair, his movements stiff. He does not reach for his cane.
“Walk with me, Bella,” he says, sounding so formal that it sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine.
He leads me from our chambers, through the quiet, echoing halls of the palace. His limp is more pronounced without the cane, but he walks with a grim, unyielding determination. We emerge into a private garden, a place I have not seen before. It is a masterpiece of landscape artistry, with winding stone paths, fragrant night-blooming flowers, and ancient, gnarled trees. The garden is perched on the edge of the cliffs, and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below is a deep, rhythmic heartbeat.
He leads me to a small, marble bench that overlooks the endless, roiling expanse of the sea. The wind whips a strand of hair across my face, and the air is thick with the taste of salt.
He stands before me, his massive form silhouetted against the dying light of the sun. He is a god of shadow and twilight, his splintered horn a mark not of shame, but of survival. Of victory.
“They have restored it all to me,” he begins, his voice a low, rough thing. “My name. My seat on the Zu Kus. My family’s lands and titles.” He gestures to the opulent palace behind us, to the sprawling city below. “This world… it is mine again.”
My heart sinks. This is it. He is telling me that he is returning to his life, a life in which I have no place. I brace myself for the words, for the gentle, honorable dismissal that will shatter my world all over again.
“But it is a world of ghosts,” he continues, his amber eyes finding mine in the gloom. “A kingdom of ash. It is meaningless.” He takes a step closer, his gaze so intense it is a physical touch. “My name is a hollow sound if you are not there to speak it. My home is a pile of stones if you are not there to share it. My honor… my honor was not restored by the King’s decree, Bella. It was forged anew, in the fire of your courage.”
He stops before me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He reaches out, his massive, calloused hand cupping my cheek, his touch a reverent, gentle thing.
“I am not a creature of pretty words,” he says as a raw, guttural whisper. “I am a warrior. A beast. But I know this. A life without you is no life at all. It is a return to the cold, silent tomb of my own making.”
He lowers himself, slowly, painfully, onto one knee. A Vakkak lord, the hero of Milthar, kneeling in the dirt before a human former slave. The gesture is so profound, so utterly world-altering, that it steals the breath from my lungs.
“I do not need you to be my consort,” he says, his amber eyes blazing with a fierce, unwavering light. “I do not ask you to be a human pet, a curiosity in my court. I ask you to be my equal. My partner. My counselor. My wife.” His voice drops, becoming a raw, vulnerable plea that shatters the last of my defenses. “Bella. Be my lifemate. Rule by my side. Be my home.”
The unspoken question, the one that has haunted my every waking moment for the past two weeks, is answered. My place is not in the human world or the Minotaur world. My place is with him.
Tears, hot and silent, stream down my face. They are not tears of sorrow or fear. They are tears of a joy so profound, so overwhelming, it feels like my heart is going to burst.
I reach out, my trembling hands framing his proud, beautiful, monstrous face.
“Yes.”
27
BELLA
One month. It has been one month since Votoi knelt before me in the garden, since I said yes to a future I never dared to dream of. Today, that future begins.
I stand in a chamber of the royal palace, a stranger in my own skin. Royal servants, their movements a blur of silent efficiency, are encasing me in the ceremonial attire of a Vakkak bride. The dress is a masterpiece of impossible artistry, made of a fabric that shimmers like captured moonlight, embroidered with the Saru family crest—a stylized wave crashing against a cliff—in thread of pure silver. It is heavy. Everything about this new life is heavy.
I look at my reflection in the tall, silver-framed mirror. The woman staring back is a stranger. Her hair is intricately braided with pearls and silver chains, her skin is scrubbed clean and scented with expensive oils, her eyes are wide and haunted. This is not Bella the scribe. This is not Bella the survivor. This is Bella, the human consort of a Vakkak Lord, a symbol, a spectacle, a political statement.
My hands tremble. I clench them into fists, my short, clean nails digging into my palms. I am a fraud. A girl from thedusty plains of Tlouz, playing dress-up in a queen’s clothes. The entire kingdom will be watching today. They will see a human, small and breakable, presuming to stand as an equal beside one of their greatest heroes. The weight of their stares, of their judgment, is a crushing physical presence, even here, in the safety of this room.
The door to the chamber opens, and a Minotaur female enters. She is older, her dark fur streaked with elegant threads of silver, her movements a study in quiet, aristocratic grace. But it is her eyes that hold me captive. They are the same warm, intelligent amber as Votoi’s, and they are filled with a kindness that makes my throat ache. This is Lady Saru. His mother.
The servants bow low and retreat, leaving us alone.
She glides toward me, her gaze taking in every detail of my appearance. I feel like a ledger being audited, my flaws and discrepancies laid bare for her inspection. I brace myself for the cold, polite dismissal of a Vakkak matriarch whose ancient bloodline is about to be diluted by a human nobody.
Instead, she reaches out, her hand, surprisingly delicate for a Minotaur, resting on my arm. Her touch is warm, steady.
“They told me you were beautiful,” she says in a low, melodic rumble. “They did not do you justice.” She smiles, a small, sad, beautiful thing. “My son has not known true peace since the day his father died. I see it in his eyes now, when he looks at you. You have not just saved his life, child. You have saved his soul.”
A sob, hot and unexpected, catches in my throat. “My lady…”
“You will call me Elara,” she says, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. “And I will call you daughter.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do not let the grandeur of this day frighten you. This is all for them.” She gestures vaguely toward the window, toward the city, the kingdom. “The ceremony, the spectacle… it is a statement. Butthe vows, the bond… that is for you. For the two of you. Remember that.”
