Page 8 of Beast (Iron Sentinels MC #4)

B east kept his hand on the small of Pixie’s back as they stepped outside the clubhouse, the cool night air doing little to chill the fire still burning in his chest.

She hadn’t said much since the incident, her silence telling him more than words ever could. She was scared—shaken—and Beast hated the fuck out of that.

She looked up at him when they reached his bike, hesitant.

“You don’t have to go back to your place tonight,” he said, keeping his voice low, rough. “You can stay with me.”

Pixie lifted her brows slightly, surprised, but she didn’t argue. After a heartbeat, she nodded. Beast felt his chest loosen just a little.

They rode in silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. Her body leaned into his back, hands holding him tightly, like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. When they pulled into his driveway, he felt her shift behind him, her gaze lifting to take in the house.

Her quiet voice reached him as he cut the engine. “It’s ... big.”

He looked at the place, at the stone and timber, the wide porch and warm lights glowing inside. “I built it for someone else.”

Pixie turned to him slowly.

“For Evelyn,” he admitted, his voice gravel. “Years ago. I wanted to give her everything. Then she died, and I spent years convincing myself there was nothing left in me worth giving.”

She stayed silent, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Beast ran a hand down his face. This wasn’t easy for him. Vulnerability wasn’t something he let anyone see, but Pixie deserved more than walls.

“I thought I was done feeling anything real. Thought I’d buried the best parts of myself with her.” His eyes met hers. “Then you showed up. This stubborn, fierce-as-hell girl with nowhere to go and fire in her eyes. And suddenly I wanted everything again.”

Pixie blinked, her lips parted, as if she didn’t know how to take it. But her hand slipped into his. She didn’t pull away.

Inside, the house smelled like cedar and smoke. Warm. Lived in. She walked in quietly, her eyes scanning the space—open floor plan, big windows, worn leather furniture, and a large stone fireplace. It felt like him.

“C’mon,” he murmured, tugging her hand gently. “You need a shower.”

Pixie didn’t argue. The bathroom was spacious, the shower big enough to fit three people. But it felt suddenly small when Pixie stepped inside, and Beast followed.

The hot water beat down on them, steam curling around their bodies as he helped her peel off her clothes, then his own.

It wasn’t sexual at first, just intimate. He shampooed her hair, his big hands gentle. She leaned into his touch, trusting him. Needing him. And it wrecked him more than he expected.

She tilted her face up to rinse, water streaming over her delicate features. Beast couldn’t help it—he leaned down and kissed her. Slow. Deep. Like it meant something, because it did.

Pixie kissed him back, her fingers threading into his hair, her body slick and warm against his. They kissed like they’d always known each other.

By the time they climbed into his bed, wrapped in nothing but towels and each other, Beast’s heart was beating too damn hard.

He couldn’t remember the last time he held someone like this, not just for the sex or the comfort, but because he didn’t want to let them go.

Pixie curled against his chest, her cheek pressed to his skin. She still smelled faintly like his soap. Her fingers rested over the ink on his ribs, just above his heart.

“Why me?” she whispered into the quiet.

Beast didn’t answer right away. He stared up at the ceiling, his arm wrapped tight around her, afraid to loosen his grip.

“Because the moment I looked into your eyes, I knew,” he said finally. “You walked into my world like a storm. And I’ve been waiting for that storm my whole damn life.”

Pixie’s breath hitched softly, and her fingers curled tighter into his side. Beast looked down to find her eyes fluttering shut, exhaustion finally dragging her under. But her body didn’t tense, didn’t brace like it used to. She was soft in his arms now. Safe.

And that undone, vulnerable part of him—the part he thought was buried with Evelyn—felt exposed all over again. He brushed his lips over her temple, tucked the blanket higher over her shoulder, and held her tighter than he ever had anyone.

You’re not going anywhere , he thought. Not again. Not while he was breathing. Beast lay there long after Pixie fell asleep, his chest rising and falling under her, his arm around her waist, his free hand resting over hers.

And in the silence of the room, he made a promise he didn’t dare say out loud. I’ll kill for you. Burn the world if I have to. But I won’t ever lose you.

****

P ixie stirred slowly beneath the soft weight of the blanket, the scent of cedar and smoke still clinging to the sheets. Warmth cocooned her—strong arms wrapped around her waist, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.

Beast.

She blinked sleepily and lifted her head to look at him. He was still asleep, his features unguarded in the early morning light filtering through the curtains. He looked different like this—softer, younger. Vulnerable in a way he never showed when he was awake.

Her heart squeezed.

She reached up without thinking, brushing her fingers gently over his brow, sweeping a dark strand of hair off his face. He didn’t stir.

A breath escaped her, shaky and tender, as she stared at the man who had every right to keep his heart locked up, but had somehow given a piece of it to her. He’d let her in.

He’d held her, kissed her like she mattered. Whispered truths into the dark. That he’d built this home for another woman. That he’d thought he’d never feel anything again. Until her.

Pixie swallowed hard, the lump in her throat thick. She wasn’t good at this—being cared for, being someone’s person. But with Beast, the thought didn’t terrify her the way it once had. It warmed her, even as fear curled at the edges. Because what if she lost this?

No. Not today. She decided, right then, that she wanted to do something for him. Something small. Something real. Breakfast, she thought. Simple but thoughtful.

She could already imagine the amused, surprised look he’d give her when he woke up to the smell of bacon or pancakes.

Carefully, she eased herself out of bed. Beast muttered something low in his sleep but didn’t wake. Pixie smiled softly, pulled on one of his flannels from the floor, and tiptoed to the kitchen.

She opened the fridge and paused. Nothing. A half-empty bottle of beer, some takeout containers probably older than they should be, and a sad-looking jar of mustard.

She checked the cupboards. Cans. Condiments. A box of cereal with dust on top. Of course. Beast lived at the clubhouse half the time. It made sense he didn’t stock up here. She tapped her fingers anxiously on the edge of the counter.

She didn’t want to wake him, and she didn’t want to go back empty-handed. Just something small, she told herself. Just a few sandwiches or biscuits from the diner. She’d be back in fifteen minutes, tops.

Grabbing a pen, she scrawled a quick note on a scrap of paper: Be right back. Breakfast run. Don’t worry. - Pix

She folded it in half and left it on the pillow beside him. The morning was chilly as she stepped outside, the sun barely cresting the treetops. Beast’s house was tucked away, surrounded by woods and gravel roads.

The diner was only a few blocks off the main drag of town. She kept her head down as she walked, not wanting to draw attention in just boots, leggings, and his oversized flannel.

She never saw the van. Not until it was too late.

She’d just passed the alleyway behind the bakery when the world tilted.

A shadow moved fast. A hand clamped over her mouth.

Pixie tried to scream, but the grip was brutal.

Her body twisted, flailed, fought—but the figure was already dragging her backward, yanking her into the narrow alley with terrifying strength.

“Shhh,” came the voice in her ear. Smooth. Cold. Familiar. Brad.

Pixie’s heart slammed against her ribs. No. No, no, no.

She kicked, elbowed, tried to fight, but he was ready. His arm locked around her waist, hauling her against him, and she caught a glimpse of the van’s side door swinging open. No plates. No markings. Her breath stuttered.

“You thought you could hide?” he hissed, shoving her inside.

Her head slammed against the van’s floor, pain sparking bright behind her eyes. The door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed her.

She heard his voice again—taunting, low. “Took me a while to find you, sweetheart. But I always do.”

Pixie’s fingers clawed at the floor. She tried to rise, but something sharp pricked her neck—needle? No. No!

Her limbs felt heavy. The van’s engine roared to life. The world blurred. Her last thought was of Beast. His arms around her. The sound of his heart. The promise in his voice when he’d said she was his. I’m sorry , she thought, as her eyes fluttered closed. Then everything went black.