Page 26 of The Bull's Beauty
I see him then, a dark, solid silhouette at the edge of the field. He isn’t at the camp. He couldn’t even make himself leave. He just stood here, waiting, watching for me. The hope on his face is so raw, so unguarded, it steals the air from my lungs.
I don’t slow down. I crash into him, my body slamming against the solid wall of his chest. His arms lock around me, lifting me clean off my feet, crushing me to him so tightly I feel his heart hammering against mine.
“My mate,” he breathes into my hair. “You came back.”
“You idiot,” I sob, laughing and crying all at once, my face buried in his neck. “Of course, I came back.”
He sets me down, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs stroking away the tears. “Beatrice…”
“They didn’t want me,” I choke out, the truth finally setting me free. “They never did. I was just an animal to them. A thing. But you…you see me. You love me.” I grip his wrists, my eyes blazing into his. “I love you, Silas. My home is with you. It’s you. I choose you. I’m yours.”
A shudder wracks his entire frame. A sound, half-groan, half-cry, tears from his throat. He doesn’t say it back. He shows me.
He crashes his mouth down on mine.
This kiss isn’t like the others. It’s every unsaid word, every lonely night, every battle we’ve fought alone and will never have to fight again. It’s sweet and brutal and perfect. His tongue tangles with mine, tasting of promise and forever. I pour everything into it—my rage, my pain, my soaring, terrifying joy. I kiss him like I’m claiming him right back.
When we break apart, we’re both gasping. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, our breath mingling in the space between us.
“Take me home,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes, and the love in them is a physical warmth, washing away the last of the cold from Havenmoor.
“Yes, my fire,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotion. He laces his fingers with mine, his grip firm and sure. “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
“You’re doing it wrong.”
I freeze, my grip tightening on the broom handle. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s leaning against the archway, arms crossed, that infuriatingly perfect mouth quirked in a barely-there smile.
“It’ssweeping, Silas. You drag the bristles across the floor. I think I’ve mastered the concept.”
“You’re missing a spot.” His smooth, deep voice is a caress that sets my nerves alight. “To the left.”
I whirl on him, jabbing the broom handle in his direction. “You have an entire fortress of warriors, and you’re choosing to micromanage my sweeping? Get a new hobby. Or better yet, get bent!”
He doesn’t move. His dark eyes just drink me in, the way they always do, like I’m the only thing worth looking at in this whole godsdamned world. “I like this one.”
A laugh bubbles up from the kitchen doorway. Maeve stands there, a basket of bread under her arm, her copper braid gleaming. Annie is beside her, a soft smile on her face. My friends. My sisters. Back together in this stone fortress that has somehow, impossibly, become our home.
“Leave her alone, Silas,” Annie chides gently. “You’re just asking for it, you know.”
“She’s creating more dust than she’s collecting,” he rumbles, but his teasing gaze never leaves mine.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snap, throwing the broom down with a clatter. “If you’re so obsessed with how this floor looks, why don’t you—ah!”
He moves faster than I can blink. One second he’s across the corridor, the next he’s got me slung over his shoulder, my world tipping upside down. I shriek, pounding my fists against his solid back. “Let go of me, you thick-skulled moron!”
“I’m correcting the problem,” he says, his voice completely calm as he carries me away from the giggles of my friends. “Personally.”
He shoulders open a heavy door into a dark, deserted side corridor and pins me against the wall. My breath hitches. His body is a solid line of heat against mine, his hands splayed against the stone on either side of my head, caging me in.
“You were saying?” he murmurs, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine.
My heart is thundering, but I glare up at him, all false fury. “I hate you.”
“Liar.” He dips his head, his nose tracing the line of my jaw, inhaling deeply. “You love me.”
