Page 6

Chapter Six

C eryn didn’t see Vael’Zhur for the next two days and the stress was weighing on her. Her deadline was approaching and she worried for her sister and mother in the care of the warlord, but she was no closer to figuring out how to save them. She now knew the silverfruit was the source of Vael’Zhur’s immortality and power, but it came at a terrible price. She sensed the warlord knew this already and had yet to find a way around the curse, though, knowing his ruthless ways, she didn’t think mindless rage was necessarily a detraction. He just needed to harness it and direct it in ways he could focus and control it for his own gain. He never minded killing or terrorizing for his own gain.

It was a small price to pay to never die, she supposed.

But that wasn’t what occupied her thoughts as she paced the floor of her chamber for the hundredth time. It was the memory of Vael’Zhur’s mouth on hers, the impossible gentleness of his massive hands as they’d held her, the raw need in his eyes before he’d pushed her away.

The kiss had changed everything. It had made real what she’d been denying to herself—her growing fascination with the cursed lord of this forgotten castle. With the man trapped inside the beast.

Ceryn stopped at the window, pressing her palms against the cool glass. Somewhere in this labyrinthine structure, Vael’Zhur was hiding from her. Avoiding her. After that searing moment of connection in the library, he had vanished as completely as if the castle itself had swallowed him whole.

Perhaps it had. The more time she spent within these walls, the more convinced she became that the building was as alive as its master—watching, listening, perhaps even guiding.

She turned from the window, decision made. “I need to find him,” she said aloud, not certain if she spoke to herself or to the sentient walls around her. “Take me to him.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the candlelight in her chamber dimmed, save for a single flame near the door that burned brighter than before. An invitation. A guide.

Ceryn followed.

The castle led her through corridors she had never seen before, down staircases that seemed to appear from nowhere, past chambers closed off for centuries. The lone candle flame remained always just ahead, appearing in wall sconces as she approached, extinguishing behind her as she passed.

She lost track of time and direction, surrendering to the castle’s guidance, trusting it in a way she could not fully explain. Finally, the path ended at a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Steam leaked from beneath it, carrying a scent of herbs and minerals.

The bathing chamber. The castle had led her to Vael’Zhur at his most vulnerable.

Ceryn hesitated, her hand on the latch. She could still turn back, return to her room, continue the fragile dance of avoidance they had maintained these past two days. It would be the sensible choice. The safe choice.

But safety had never been what drew her into the forbidden forest, what compelled her to hunt where others feared to tread. And it was not what she sought now.

She pushed open the door. Steam rolled over the threshold like mist from another world, warm and heady and laced with something earthy and spiced.

And then she saw him.

The chamber was vast, cavernous. The stone walls dripped with condensation, veins of gold flickering faintly beneath polished black marble. A massive pool took up most of the room—more hot spring than bath, fed by pipes that sang with heat and magic. The water shimmered silver in the low light, glowing faintly where it lapped against the edge.

And in the center of it?—

He reclined, chest-deep, golden fur slicked down to reveal the massive shape of him. His arms rested along the rim of the pool, muscles coiled but loose, his head tilted back as if the heat had drawn the beast into rare stillness. His mane—wet and darkened—hung in tangled strands down his back and shoulders.

Ceryn should have turned around.

But she couldn’t.

The water clung to his skin like a lover’s hands. With his fur soaked, she could see the lines of muscle beneath—the way his chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. His torso was broad, shoulders impossibly wide, and where the water lapped lower, she caught the barest glimpse of his abdomen, ridged and carved like marble, marked faintly by old scars and shifting patterns of silverfruit magic that glowed just beneath the surface.

He was monstrous.

And he was beautiful.

Vael’Zhur turned his head then, slow and deliberate. His golden eyes locked onto hers through the mist, and the stillness shattered.

“Enjoying the view, little thief?” he asked, his voice a low growl that rumbled through her bones.

Heat flooded her face, but she didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt. Even though she had been looking for him, this was the last place she had expected to find him.

“And yet, here you are. Lingering.” He shifted slightly, the water rippling outward in waves. “You didn’t run.”

“Would you have chased me?” she asked, meaning it as a jab.

But his expression darkened, and his voice dropped lower.

“Only if I wanted to catch you.”

The words curled around her like steam—slow, deliberate, dangerous.

She took a step closer, drawn in despite herself. The water lapped at the stone edge just inches from her boots. Her eyes trailed over him again, over the strength in his arms, the way his fingers curled slightly against the slick marble, claws retracted but ever-present.

“You bathe like a man,” she said softly.

“I remember what it was to be one.”

“You don’t look like one.”

“Is that fear in your voice, Ceryn Vale?”

Her breath caught.

“No,” she whispered. “Not fear.”

Something else entirely.

The air between them crackled. The flickering light gilded his wet fur in firelight, and for a moment, all she could hear was the lap of water and the steady pulse in her throat. He leaned forward, rising just enough that his chest emerged above the surface—bare, slick, powerful. Scars mapped his ribs. Silverfruit veins shimmered faintly across his collarbones.

“Then come closer,” he murmured. “And say my name.”

Her heart thundered at the longing in his voice. Not Vael’Zhur. The name that mattered.

“Auren.”

He growled low—not with threat, but with something far more primitive. The sound pulled at something deep in her belly.

“That name,” he said, “will always sound different from your lips.”

She didn’t know who moved first—her, or him—but suddenly the distance between them didn’t feel so vast. He stood slowly, the water sluicing down his form in rivulets, revealing more, but still shrouded in mist and magic. She couldn’t see everything. But she saw enough.

And she wanted more.

“How did you find this place?” His voice echoed off the stone walls, deeper than usual in the enclosed space.

“The castle showed me the way,” Ceryn replied honestly, remaining close to the edge of the pool. “I think it’s tired of our avoidance.”

A rumbling sound emerged from his chest—not quite a laugh, not quite a growl. “Meddlesome pile of stones.” But there was something like affection in the words. “Leave me, Ceryn. This is not a place for you.”

Instead, she took a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“With good reason.” He turned his body partially away, as if to hide himself from her gaze. “What happened in the library was a mistake. One that cannot be repeated.”

“Was it?” Another step closer to the pool’s edge. “It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

Vael’Zhur’s hands curled into fists beneath the water’s surface. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. What you’re risking.”

“Then help me understand.” She was at the edge of the pool now, looking down at him, at this strange being who was neither fully beast nor fully man. “Because all I know is that you’ve been in my thoughts since the moment I saw you in the forest. That I came here to steal from you but find myself unable to betray you. That I kissed you, and for the first time in years, I felt?—“

“Stop.” The word was harsh, pained. “Whatever you felt was an illusion. A trick of the curse, perhaps, or your own desperation to save your family.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Ceryn knelt at the pool’s edge, bringing her face level with his. “That what’s growing between us isn’t real?”

His amber eyes met hers, filled with an agony that went beyond the physical. “It cannot be real. I am not a man, Ceryn. I am a monster wearing the remnants of a man’s form, a beast whose very nature is to destroy what he touches.”

“Yet you haven’t destroyed me.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to withdraw, and brushed her fingertips against his wet cheek. “You could have killed me in the orchard. You could have forced the fruit upon me. You could have locked me away. Instead, you showed me your world. You shared your wine. You kissed me as if I were precious.”

His eyes closed at her touch, his massive frame trembling. “I am trying,” he said, each word seemingly torn from him, “to protect you. From Aldaric. From the fruit’s curse. From myself.”

“And who protects you?” she whispered. “Who soothes the man beneath the beast? Who touches you not with fear but with desire?”

His eyes opened, naked longing replacing the anguish. “Ceryn,” he breathed, her name a warning and a plea.

She had a choice in that moment. She could retreat, maintain the fragile boundary he sought to establish between them. She could remember her mission, her family held hostage, her duty to the warlord who held their lives in his cruel hands.

Or she could follow the pull that had drawn her to this creature from the first, the inexplicable connection that defied logic and caution.

Ceryn had never chose the safer path.

She rose, her hands moving to the laces of her gown. Vael’Zhur’s eyes widened as he realized her intent, but he seemed frozen, unable to stop her, unable to look away as she loosened the bodice, as the heavy fabric slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The chemise followed, then her undergarments, until she stood naked before him, illuminated by candlelight, vulnerable yet unafraid.

“What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Choosing,” she said simply. Then she stepped into the pool.

The water lapped at her skin like warm breath, sinuous and alive, wrapping her in silken heat as she waded deeper into the bath’s embrace. Behind the steam, Vael’Zhur stood motionless, but not unaffected—his golden eyes tracked her every movement with a hunger barely leashed. He backed away when she undressed, as if giving her space. But now, he watched her approach like a man standing at the edge of a precipice, torn between reverence and ruin. Disbelief darkened his gaze, yes—but beneath it pulsed something far more dangerous. Desire. Worship. And the ache of a creature who had denied himself the touch of another for far too long.

“You should leave,” he said, but the conviction had fled his voice. “You should run from this place. From me.”

“I’m tired of running.” She moved closer, the water now at her waist. “Tired of fear. Tired of doing what others demand of me.”

When she reached him, she placed her hands on his chest—part fur, part skin, all heated male. His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm, as rapid and desperate as her own.“Tonight,” she whispered, tilting her face up to his, “I choose you.”

For a single suspended heartbeat, Vael’Zhur didn’t move. He stared at her with eyes lit from within—torn between shadow and light, man and monster, restraint and ruin.

Then he broke.

With a growl that rolled up from his chest like distant thunder, he surged forward, sweeping her into his arms with feral grace. His mouth crashed down on hers—not gentle, not polite, but desperate, a kiss born of starvation and surrender. His tongue thrust past her lips, demanding and claiming, tasting her like he had waited lifetimes for this moment.

This wasn’t a kiss. It was a possession.

She gasped into him, her body arching into the solid wall of his chest. His fur was slick with steam, coarse in places, silken in others, clinging to her like velvet soaked in heat. Her hands scrambled over his shoulders, threading through the thick mane of his hair, holding him there as if the world might shatter should they part.

“Do you know,” he rasped between kisses, his voice hoarse with restraint, “what you’re doing? What this means?”

“No,” she breathed, lips brushing his jaw. “But I know what I want. And I know who I want.”

He made a sound of pure masculine torment as she sucked lightly beneath his ear, his claws curling into her hips.

“And what is it you want, little thief?” His voice was wrecked, a whisper of broken control. “What do you crave from this beast?”

She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, her storm-gray eyes dark with certainty. “The man beneath the monster. The one who touches me with reverence. Who looks at me like I’m salvation.”

A low snarl of longing escaped him. He cradled her as if she were made of starlight and bone, carrying her through the warm water to a submerged ledge. There, he sank into the shallows and guided her astride his lap, their bare skin sliding together, her thighs spreading around the solid width of his.

Between them, his cock stood hard and heavy, thick and glistening, pressed hot against her core. She felt the thrum of his pulse there, matching her own, her slick heat coating him as she rocked against the length of him with a shuddering breath.

“If we do this,” he growled, his voice trembling with effort, “there’s no undoing it. My magic… the orchard’s magic… it marks. It binds.”

Her hands framed his face, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Then bind me,” she whispered. “Make me yours.”

That final thread of restraint snapped. He surged up to meet her kiss, his claws skimming along her spine as his mouth devoured hers. One massive hand cupped her breast, his thumb circling the peak until she gasped, arching into his touch. His other hand slid down, between her thighs, fingers parting her folds with exquisite care, teasing her slick entrance with knowing pressure, his claws retracted to not hurt her, but only cause the most exquisite pleasure.

“You’re already mine,” he murmured, voice husky with awe. “So wet. So ready. Gods, I’ve dreamt of this.”

Her hips bucked at the slow stroke of his fingers inside her, thick and deliberate, curling to find that spot that made her cry out. His thumb circled her clit in lazy, maddening spirals, never quite enough.

“Please,” she begged, her voice ragged, her body trembling. “I need?—”

“I know.” His voice was reverent now. “I know.”

He guided himself to her entrance, the blunt crown of his cock pressing against her heat. She gripped his shoulders, breathless, then slowly—inch by inch—she sank down onto him, impaling herself on his thick length.

He was huge, stretching her impossibly wide, the pressure almost too much—until it wasn’t. Until her body adjusted, accommodated, welcomed him like he belonged with her.

“Oh—gods—” she sobbed, burying her face in his neck.

Vael’Zhur held himself utterly still, trembling. “Ceryn…” he choked, her name like a sacred vow. “You… you feel like heaven.”

When she began to move, slow at first, rising and falling, the world narrowed to the friction between them, the exquisite ache of fullness, the way his hands gripped her hips, guiding her, grounding her, the feel of his claws pricking her skin. She rode him with growing abandon, water lapping around them, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, his mouth descending to claim them in turn—licking, sucking, biting just hard enough to make her whimper.

Their rhythm grew wild, primal. The sound of wet skin meeting skin echoed off the stone walls, joined by gasps, moans, the chant of her name on his lips.

“Let go,” he panted, his claws raking lightly down her back, just enough to sting. “Shatter for me, Ceryn. Come on my cock. Let me feel you fall.”

His filthy words undid her.

She came with a cry, head thrown back, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves that dragged him under with her. With a roar that echoed like a creature unchained, Vael’Zhur thrust deep and spilled into her, his heat flooding her, his arms wrapped so tight she could barely breathe—but she didn’t want to.

She only wanted this.

They collapsed together in the water, still joined, bodies trembling with aftershocks. She rested her forehead to his, her hands cradling his wild, beautiful face.

“What have we done?” he asked, wonder and terror dancing in his voice.

Ceryn brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ve begun something neither of us can run from.”

His arms tightened. “Then I will never let you go.”

She smiled, closing her eyes, letting herself believe in that impossible promise—just for tonight.

* * *

V ael’Zhur lay in the massive bed, Ceryn’s warmth nestled against his side, her breathing soft and even in the quiet of his chambers. Her hand idly stroked over the fur on his chest, and she made no move to leave, seeming content to remain with him as long as he would let her. The canopy above them cast intricate shadows across her skin, pale and luminous in the dying firelight. He traced patterns on her shoulder with one careful claw, marveling at the contrast—his monstrous hand against her perfect flesh, unmarred despite his touch.

Impossible.

Everything about this moment was impossible. That she had sought him out in his sanctuary. That she had entered the water with such fearless grace. That she had welcomed him into her body with passion rather than fear. That she now lay in his arms as if she belonged there, as if the beast were worthy of such tenderness.

His cursed heart ached with emotions he had thought long dead, buried beneath centuries of rage and solitude. Hope. Affection. Something dangerously close to love.

Dangerous because hope was the cruelest of deceptions. Because this fragile peace between them could not last. Because Aldaric’s shadow still loomed over them both, and the curse that bound him to this place remained unbroken.

“So,” Ceryn’s voice broke the silence, startling him from his reverie, “when will you tell me the truth about the curse?”

Vael’Zhur’s body tensed, his hand stilling on her shoulder. “I have told you everything. The silverfruit?—”

“Not everything,” she interrupted, propping her chin on his chest to look up at him. Her eyes reflected the embers’ glow, bright and perceptive. “I understand the silverfruit gives long life and yet also induces rage and violence. But I don’t understand the curse and how you became bound here.” She paused, her gaze steady on his face. “I know you can leave the grounds. You found me in the forest the day before I came here.”

Cold spread through his chest, replacing the warmth of moments before. There it was—the question he had dreaded, the truth he had buried for centuries beneath layers of myth and half-explanation.

“Some truths are better left undisturbed,” he said quietly.

Ceryn pushed herself up on one elbow, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain of shadow. “After what we’ve shared, you still hide yourself from me? Do you still not trust me?”

Trust. Such a simple word for such a profound concept. When had he last trusted anyone? Before the curse. Before the betrayal. Before his heart had hardened into something as impenetrable as the castle walls.

Yet this woman had somehow breached those defenses without siege engines or armies. Had slipped past his guards with nothing but courage and unexpected tenderness.

Vael’Zhur exhaled slowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “It is not a pleasant tale.”

“Few true stories are,” she replied, settling back against his side, her hand coming to rest over his heart as if to anchor him. “Tell me. Please.”

The please undid him. How long since anyone had asked rather than demanded? How long since anyone had cared enough to want to understand?

“Very well.” He stared up at the canopy, finding it easier than meeting her gaze as he excavated memories long buried. “The story begins in a kingdom whose name has been forgotten by all but me, in an age when magic flowed more freely through the world.”

He could feel her attention, sharp and focused, her body utterly still against his.

“I was not always... this.” A gesture encompassed his massive, cursed form. “I was once the First Magister of Evrahen, advisor to King Aldric the Fourth, master of arcane knowledge and keeper of the royal libraries.”

“A scholar,” Ceryn murmured, surprise coloring her voice.

“Among other things.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “I was also prideful, ambitious, convinced of my own superiority. The perfect vessel for tragedy.”

He shifted slightly, gathering her closer as if her warmth could ward off the chill of remembrance.

“In those days, Evrahen was threatened by the armies of Nordmar to the east. Vast hordes of warriors, stronger and more numerous than our own forces. Defeat seemed inevitable. The king was desperate for any advantage, any weapon that might turn the tide.”

Vael’Zhur closed his eyes, the images of that time rising unbidden—the war council, the king’s haggard face, the maps marked with the enemy’s inexorable advance.

“There were rumors of a place of power within our borders. An orchard grown on an ancient battlefield, its soil nourished by the blood of fallen heroes, its fruit said to grant unnatural strength to those who consumed it. The king dispatched his most trusted advisors to investigate—myself and a witch named Sylaine.”

The name felt strange on his tongue after so many centuries unspoken. Sylaine. A friend. A lover. A betrayer.

“We journeyed here, to this very castle, then home to an ancient lord who claimed guardianship over the orchard. Lord Kalthir welcomed us with courtesy but warned us gravely against taking the fruit. ‘That which grows from death brings death in turn,’ he told us. But we were young, arrogant, certain that our magic could control whatever powers the orchard contained.”

Vael’Zhur’s claws tightened unconsciously, and he forced himself to relax when Ceryn made a small sound of discomfort.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, gentling his hold. “The memories are... vivid.”

“Go on,” she encouraged, her fingers tracing soothing circles on his chest.

“We studied the orchard for weeks. The trees, unlike any known species. The strange silver veins in the soil. The fruit itself, pulsing with power we could sense but not fully comprehend. Sylaine was fascinated, obsessed. She spoke of harnessing the fruit’s energy to create an army of unstoppable warriors. I urged caution, insisted we understand the power fully before attempting to use it.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Such wisdom, from one who would soon prove himself the greatest of fools.”

He felt Ceryn’s questioning gaze but continued without meeting it.

“One night, while Sylaine slept, I entered the orchard alone. I told myself it was for research, for the greater good of our kingdom. But in truth, it was hubris. I believed myself strong enough, wise enough, to taste the fruit’s power without consequence.”

Vael’Zhur’s voice dropped lower, edged with self-loathing. “I took a single bite. Just one taste, to understand what we were dealing with. The effect was... immediate. Strength flooded my body, my senses sharpened, the world itself seemed to slow around me. I changed form, into a beast. Strong, powerful, immense. But with it came rage—boundless, mindless rage that burned through rational thought like wildfire. I nearly killed Lord Kalthir when he found me, barely restraining the beast that had awakened within.”

He felt Ceryn shudder slightly against him but she did not pull away.

“When the madness subsided and I regained my humanity, I understood the terrible truth. The fruit did grant power, yes—power beyond imagining. But at the cost of one’s humanity. The more one consumed, the stronger the effect. An army fed on silverfruit would be unstoppable, yes, but also uncontrollable. They would be monsters, not soldiers. Weapons that would turn on friend and foe alike.”

“But Sylaine disagreed,” Ceryn guessed quietly.

“Yes.” Vael’Zhur’s eyes opened, fixing on a point in the distance only he could see. “When I told her of my experience, of my conclusion that the orchard must never be used, she was furious. She believed her magic could control the fruit’s side effects, could harness the rage and direct it toward our enemies. She spoke of power beyond imagining, of reshaping the very order of the world.”

His voice hardened. “I refused. I told her we would report to the king that the orchard was too dangerous to use, that we must find another way to defend the kingdom. She called me a coward, a traitor. Said I feared power that I was too weak to control.”

The memory of their argument, so distant yet so vivid, tightened his throat. “Perhaps she was right. But I had seen what lay down that path, and I could not follow it. So I used my magic to ban her from the orchard, to prevent her from taking the fruit without my consent.”

“And she cursed you in return,” Ceryn said softly, the pieces falling into place.

“She did.” Vael’Zhur’s massive body tensed with the recollection. “Not immediately. She left, returned to court, whispered in the king’s ear that I had betrayed them, kept power for myself that could save the kingdom. When soldiers came to arrest me, I fled back here, to Lord Kalthir, to the orchard I had sworn to protect.”

He exhaled heavily. “Sylaine followed, not with soldiers but with something far more dangerous—knowledge. She had delved into magics forbidden even to the First Magister, had learned words in the First Tongue, the language of creation itself. And with those words, she bound me to this place.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Since you love this cursed ground more than you love your own people, your own flesh,” she said, “then bound to it you shall remain. Beast by day, man by night, guardian of that which you refuse to share, until love freely given breaks the chains you have forged.’”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire. Vael’Zhur could feel Ceryn processing his words, fitting this new understanding into her perception of him.

“But it’s not so simple anymore, is it?” she finally asked. “You’re not man by night and beast by day. The transformation has progressed.”

“Yes.” His hand resumed its gentle stroking of her shoulder. “Over the centuries, the beast has gained ground. At first, I could pass as human after sunset, could walk among ordinary people if I chose. But as time passed, as Sylaine and Kalthir and the kingdom itself faded to dust, the curse deepened. Now, beast and man exist simultaneously, with the beast ever-growing stronger.”

“And the silverfruit?”

“Sustains me. Binds me. With each passing year, I require more to maintain what humanity remains. Yet each consumption strengthens the beast within.” His lips twisted. “A particularly elegant torment, don’t you think? To be forced to feed the very monster I sought to prevent unleashing upon the world.”

Ceryn shifted, rising to look directly into his face. “Did you ever try to burn it? To destroy the orchard completely?”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “Many times, in the early years. Fire. Poison. Magic. Nothing works. The trees regrow overnight, stronger than before. The fruit returns, more potent with each attempt at destruction.” His eyes met hers, centuries of futility reflected in their amber depths. “Now I protect it with everything I have, bound to it for all eternity. Better a single monster guarding the source than an army of them unleashed upon the world.”

Understanding dawned in her expression. “That’s why you kill those who trespass. Why you’ve been so feared. You’re not just protecting your territory—you’re preventing others from taking the fruit.”

“Yes.” His massive hand came up to cup her cheek. “And why I cannot give you what you came for, Ceryn. Not even to save your sister and mother. The consequences would be too dire.”

He expected argument, anger perhaps. After all, her family’s lives hung in the balance. But instead, she simply nodded, her eyes sad but clear.

“I know,” she said softly, surprising him. “I’ve seen enough to understand what the silverfruit truly is. What it does.” She settled back against his side, her arm draping across his chest. “But that doesn’t solve our problem. Aldaric still has my family. His men still wait for my return.”

Vael’Zhur tightened his arm around her, protective and possessive. “We’ll have to find another way,” he said slowly. “Aldaric seeks the fruit’s power, believing it will grant him strength without consequence. But knowledge can be a weapon as surely as any blade.”

Ceryn lifted her head, curiosity bright in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet. But perhaps it’s time Aldaric learned the true cost of what he seeks.” Vael’Zhur’s voice was grim. “And that the Beast he has long dismissed as mere legend is very real indeed.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just nestled closer into his side, her warmth a balm against the chill of ancient memories and bitter truths. He could feel her mind working, weighing options, considering paths forward. Even in this, she amazed him—her strength, her adaptability, her refusal to surrender to despair.

“Dawn approaches,” he murmured, noting the faint lightening at the edges of the heavy curtains. “You should rest while you can.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice already heavy with impending sleep.

“I will watch over you,” he promised, pressing his lips to her forehead. “For as long as I can.”

For as long as fate would allow. For as long as this impossible reprieve from solitude might last. For as long as the woman in his arms continued to see past the beast to the man he had once been—and perhaps, against all hope, might be again.