Page 80 of The Beast King's Bride

When she doesn’t reply, I pour for both of us. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll have that one, too.

It will take more than the bottle to get me into that hazy zone where I don’t feel like smashing the bottle against the wall and breaking the furniture to pieces.

But her steps sound behind me, whispering on the rugs and carpets covering the floors, and she lays a hand on my arm.

It jolts me, the craving in me, the craving for her, unfolding, spreading through me like fire. Unrelenting. When I turn, she takes one of the glasses from my hand, takes a sip.

Makes a face.

I down mine in one go and just stare at her—the line of her neck, the roundness of her breasts, the fine strokes of her chin, her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

I want to taste her mouth again.

She sips at the liquor again, her lips glistening with it, color rising to her already flushed cheeks. Her eyes skitter over my bare chest, my face, and land on the chairs by the fire.

“Can we talk?” she says.

Talking is the thing farthest from my mind right now but I nod and pour myself another glass. On second thought, I grab the bottle and a blanket to cover myself up before sinking into one of the chairs, watching her take her seat across from me.

I think I’ll need liquid courage for this. It doesn’t help that I’m hard as a rock just from being near her all night. If she has noticed, she gives no indication, keeping her gaze to her glass or the crackling embers.

She wants to know more truths about me, about the curse. More terrible things—about my mistakes, my weakness.

And I owe her that much, even if it means my last chance to be with her will be destroyed.

I owe her because she came to the ball and saved my people for now, even if she doesn’t realize how close we came to annihilation. I owe her because she rode on my back and had her arms around me and let me sleep beside her even though I’m a monster. Because she’s still here.

Anything she wants from me she will get. That is a promise.

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