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She was practicing the steps of the dance, her body swaying in perfect rhythm with the drums. When she extended her hand to him, he hesitated only a moment before joining her. His movements were stiff at first—he’d never been one for celebrations—but her smile encouraged him.

“You’re better at this than you think,” she whispered, her fingers intertwining with his.

The firelight caught in her hair, transforming the chestnut waves into liquid copper. His chest tightened. His. She was his now.

His Beast stirred, not with the usual restless hunger, but with impatience. They’d had their ceremony. They’d shared in the feast. But now—now he wanted her alone.

Without warning, he swept her into his arms. She let out a surprised laugh that warmed him to his core.

“We haven’t finished the dance,” she protested, though her arms wound around his neck.

“We’ll finish it later,” he growled, already carrying her through the crowd. Their people parted with knowing smiles and good-natured calls that made Lyric bury her face against his chest.

The path to his cottage—their cottage now—was lined with torches. Inside, someone had scattered wildflowers across the floor and lit dozens of beeswax candles that filled the air withhoney-sweet scent. But he barely noticed any of it. His focus had narrowed to the woman in his arms, her heartbeat fluttering against his chest.

He set her down gently, his hands lingering at her waist. “Wife,” he said, testing the word.

Lyric reached up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. “Husband,” she answered, her voice soft but certain.

She rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his. When she pulled back, there was something in her eyes he couldn’t read. She took his hand, and led him over to the bed. He followed her eagerly, but when they reached it, she didn’t turn to him with her usual inviting smile. Instead she gave him an uncertain look, her fingers twisting together nervously until he wrapped his hand around them.

“What is it, little bee?”

“I—” She took his hand and placed it flat against her stomach. “I’m carrying your child.”

The world stopped. He stared at her, unable to process the words. A child? His child? Their child?

“Are you certain?” he managed, his voice rough.

She nodded. “Merow confirmed it.”

Joy surged through him, followed immediately by fear. His own hands, massive and scarred, could snap a man’s neck without effort. How could such hands ever hold something as fragile as an infant? What if his Beast frightened the child? What if?—

“Stop that,” she said, reading his thoughts. “You’ll be a wonderful father.”

“How can you know that?” The question escaped before he could stop it.

“Because I know you.” She pressed her palm to his chest, right over his heart. “Our child will love you just as much as I do.”

He gathered her close, overcome. Her faith in him—this unwavering belief that he could be more than a weapon, more than a Beast—humbled him. He kissed her deeply, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the gesture.

As they sank onto their bed, his hands gentle despite their size, the Beast inside him settled completely. For the first time in his life, he knew peace.

EPILOGUE

One month later…

Lyric’s fingersintertwined with Egon’s as they climbed the winding path up the mountainside. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village below, bathing everything in amber light. A month had passed since their bonding ceremony, and she still found herself stealing glances at him, marveling that this life was truly hers.

“You’re staring again,” he said without looking at her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Can you blame me?” She squeezed his hand. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you’re mine.”

The path narrowed as they reached their favorite overlook—a flat outcropping of rock that jutted from the mountainside. They’d discovered it weeks ago during one of their walks and had returned often since, drawn by the spectacular view and the privacy it afforded them.

She settled against a smooth boulder, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders as a cool breeze whispered through the trees. Below, the village looked like a collection of children’s toys, smoke curling from chimneys as families prepared evening meals.

A crimson leaf spiraled down, landing on her lap. She picked it up, twirling it between her fingers.