Page 7

Chapter Seven

C eryn moved along the outer edge of the castle walls, the chill of the stone at her back doing little to calm the storm rising in her chest. Her fingers trailed along the moss-covered stone as if grounding herself in something solid—anything that might anchor her against the tide of doubt and dread. Vael’Zhur’s words haunted her. The truth of the curse. The silverfruit’s legacy. Its seductive promise of strength laced with uncontrollable rage.

She had known—somewhere deep in her bones—that handing that power to Aldaric was a mistake. But hearing how it had unmade Vael’Zhur, how it carved out the soul and left only fury in its place… that had changed everything. Aldaric was already cruel, already hollowed out by ambition. What would he become with the fruit’s magic burning through him? What kind of monster would she be unleashing?

Not just her mother and sister would suffer. Everyone would.

Her steps slowed as a flicker of motion caught her eye—just beyond the treeline where the dense forest licked against the castle’s outer boundary. A figure stood there, nearly indistinguishable from shadow. Tall. Broad. Silent.

Her breath froze.

Rorik.

The warlord’s second-in-command.

Panic surged hot in her veins. Was he here to drag her back? To put an end to her betrayal before it truly began?

She hesitated, but her feet carried her forward, drawn toward the inevitable. Toward the man who had the power to destroy her—either with steel or with words. He turned and stepped deeper into the woods. She followed.

The forest swallowed them in a hush of branches and frost-laced leaves. No birdsong. No wind. Just the thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

“Do you have the fruit?” His voice was low, sharp-edged.

She shook her head. “Not yet. There are… complications.”

His mouth twisted into something like disdain. “How hard is it to pick a piece of fruit and put it in a sack?”

“It’s not just fruit,” she snapped. “Did you know what it does to people? It burns through them—induces rage, violence. It twists them into something other.”

She watched his face. A flicker in his gaze. The briefest pause.

He knew.

Or at least suspected.

“The warlord believes he can leash the madness,” he said at last, eyes shifting to the dark branches overhead. “Magic will contain it.”

Realization hit her like a blow to the chest. Her breath left her in a harsh gasp.

“He’s going to give it to his soldiers. It’s not just for himself.” Her voice cracked. “He wants an army. An army of cursed men.”

Rorik’s expression didn’t change, but something in his jaw tightened.

“How can you follow him?” she demanded. “How can you let him do that to the men who trust you?”

His eyes snapped to hers, hard and unyielding. “What the warlord does with the fruit is none of your concern. You should worry more for your family.” He took a step closer, voice softening into something cold and cruel. “The dungeons are damp. Moldy. Your sister coughs all night.”

Her knees threatened to give out. “Do they live?” she forced out, voice tight.

“For now,” he said with a shrug, as if discussing livestock.

Then he looked over his shoulder—twice—checking the shadows. Slowly, he reached into his satchel and drew out a small dagger.

He handed it to her.

Bone-handled. Old. Etched with something delicate, almost sacred.

She turned it over in her hands. Her breath caught.

A name was carved into the grip.

Auren.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If you stab the Beast with it,” he said, gaze hard, “it will weaken him. Take the fruit. Take as much as you can carry. Dawn. We’ll be waiting.”

Ceryn stared down at the dagger, heart hammering against her ribs. The name burned against her skin like a brand.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You do realize, don’t you? Your life—and your sister’s—is already forfeit. Whether it’s the warlord or the Beast, death is coming.”

She looked up at him, her throat tight with grief and fury. “Then why give me this? Why pretend there’s still a choice?”

Rorik’s face was unreadable. “Because even faithless men want to be proven wrong.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How can you follow him?”

He exhaled through his nose, a bitter sound. “What choice do any of us have?” Then he stepped back, melting into the forest like mist, his final words carried on the cold wind. “Be there at dawn. Or bury your sister.”

Ceryn stood alone beneath the skeletal trees, the dagger clutched tight in her trembling hands, tracing the name carved into its hilt.

Auren.

Not Vael’Zhur.

The man beneath the monster.

And she would have to decide—would she damn him to save her family?

Or find a way to save them all?

* * *

F rom the highest tower window, Vael’Zhur watched her.

She moved like a shadow through the edge of the trees, her slender figure half-hidden by branches gilded with the first touch of morning light. Sunlight caught her raven hair, igniting the strands with burnished copper, and his chest ached at the sight of her—so human, so mortal, so heartbreakingly not his. She had claimed she needed air, time to clear her thoughts. The words had seemed plausible enough.

But he had known. Something in her voice had been too smooth, too careful.

Now he saw the truth.

She paused near the edge of his lands, cast one last furtive glance over her shoulder, then disappeared behind a thick oak. Minutes passed—long enough for dread to sink its claws into his chest—before a second figure emerged deeper within the woods. Cloaked and hooded. But the wind betrayed him, tugging at his mantle just enough to reveal a familiar crest.

Aldaric’s.

A low growl tore from Vael’Zhur’s throat. His claws scored deep furrows into the ancient stone, splintering the windowsill. A red haze blurred the edges of his vision, his body vibrating with tension. The beast within him surged forward, howling for blood, demanding vengeance. Betrayal, it hissed. Betrayal again.

But was it?

They had shared heat. Shared stories. Shared something dangerously close to love—but never vows. Never oaths. He had known her mission, known that time hunted her heels. And still, he had let himself hope. Let himself feel.

A mistake.

Her family remained Aldaric’s hostages. Her time grew short. What choice did she truly have? It was folly to assume she would choose a beast like him over her family, despite what they had shared. What did he truly have to offer her? A crumbling castle, a monstrous beast prone to fits of homicidal rage, and ghostly servants? Not much of a life, really.

When she returned, nearly an hour later, her shoulders were bowed beneath an invisible weight. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She sat beside the stream, trailing her fingers in the water, unmoving. Not hiding. Not smiling. Not free.

Good, he thought bitterly. If she was going to betray him, let it at least cost her something.

He turned from the window, shadows spilling around his massive form. He would not confront her yet. The beast raged, yes—but something more dangerous lurked behind that rage. Grief.

He waited.

He listened to her steps through the halls, light and familiar, until they faded into silence behind the door of her chamber. He felt her presence in the castle like a storm front pressing against his skin, and it wasn’t until evening that her footsteps came again—down the corridor, toward him.

When she appeared in the library, her scent reached him first—pine and woman, sorrow and fear, but also something new. Regret. The tension in her shoulders. The tremble beneath her stillness.

“You were gone a long time,” he said without turning from the fire. His voice was smooth, calm—ice over boiling water.

“I needed air,” she said, too quickly. “Time to think.”

He turned. She wore one of the green gowns the castle had provided, silk clinging to every curve, highlighting the strength and softness of her body. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, loose tendrils curling around her face. She looked like a forest goddess draped in moss and starlight. But her eyes avoided his.

“And did your thinking yield conclusions?” He approached slowly, watching the way her spine stiffened, how her fingers tightened in her skirts.

“Only that time grows short.” Her voice was low. “Aldaric expects my return in two days.”

Truth. But not the whole of it.

He circled her, silent but consuming, until he stood behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body at her back.

“And will you return?” he murmured, his voice brushing her neck like a kiss and a threat all at once.

Her hands twisted tighter in the fabric. “What choice do I have? My family?—”

“Must be protected,” he finished. “At any cost.”

Her eyes lifted to his, shimmering now. “Vael’Zhur, I?—”

He pressed a single clawed finger to her lips. “No more words, Ceryn Vale. Not tonight.”

She flinched, but didn’t look away. Didn’t protest. Instead, her hand rose, trembled slightly, and cupped his cheek. Her fingers slid into his fur, the touch reverent, aching.

“Then let there be this,” she whispered.

Her kiss was raw, bruising, wet with unshed tears and fierce need. He growled against her mouth, his control unraveling by the second. She was heat and heartbreak and urgency all at once, her body arching into him, her mouth opening beneath his with a moan that cut straight through his fury.

His hands found her waist, dragging her up against him. She gasped as the thick ridge of his arousal pressed hard between them, already demanding, already starved. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he lifted her easily, carrying her through the fire-lit corridors until they reached his chamber.

They shed their clothes in silence. Her gown slipped to the floor, baring skin he had worshipped with reverence and would now claim with desperation. Her nipples peaked in the cool air, her thighs slick with arousal, already glistening as she reached to stroke him—long, slow, deliberate. His cock throbbed in her hand, a thick, veined beast of its own, and her lips parted in awe even as she guided him to the bed.

He laid her down gently, but there was nothing gentle in the hunger that followed. His mouth found her breasts, suckling one while his hand rolled the other, drawing cries from her throat as his fangs grazed her skin. She arched into him, needy and fearless, legs falling open in invitation.

He moved lower, spreading her with clawed fingers to bare the swollen folds of her sex, then dragged his tongue through her, groaning as she gasped and writhed beneath him. He suckled her clit slowly, torturously, until her hips bucked. Then faster. Her hands clenched in his hair, her thighs trembled around his head, and she came with a strangled cry, already unraveling before he even took her.

“Again,” he growled, kissing his way up her belly. “I want to feel you on my cock.”

She shuddered as he guided himself to her entrance and drove in with a single, deep thrust. She cried out, her hands clawing down his back as her body stretched to take him. Full. Too full. And yet, perfect.

He fucked her hard, relentless, claiming every inch of her with each powerful stroke. The bed creaked beneath them. Her breasts bounced with the rhythm, her nails raked down his furred chest, and he leaned down to take her lips again, swallowing her moans as he thrust deeper, faster.

But there was no laughter tonight. No whispered praise. No shy confessions.

Only the slap of flesh, the tangle of limbs, and the grief behind every thrust.

A single tear slid from the corner of her eye. He caught it with his thumb.

“Look at me,” he said, his pace slowing. “If this is the last time, give me the truth of your eyes.”

She met his gaze—startled, guilty, and then something softer. Something like love, if they’d had time.

“How did you?—”

“I know betrayal,” he murmured, thrusting again, deeper, the motion a dark promise. “I’ve tasted it across centuries. I feel its weight now even in your kiss.”

Her breath caught. “It’s not—” she began.

“Isn’t it?” His voice darkened, hips snapping into hers. “You met his man. You carry his dagger. You bring me your body like an offering for forgiveness.”

She didn’t argue. She only pulled him closer, wrapped her legs tighter, whispered a wordless plea.

He moved harder now, faster, driving her toward the edge again. “Tell me what you’ve done. What you plan to do. Tell me if you’ll go to him.”

But she was breaking already—trembling beneath him, her breath coming in sobs, her pussy clenching around him in pulsing waves.

“I—” she gasped.

He silenced her with his mouth, kissing her as she shattered around him, her cry muffled against his lips.

Then came the words, soft and broken, as he thrust deep one final time, spilling into her with a roar that left the windows rattling.

“Forgive me. Please.”

He buried his face in her throat as the last wave of pleasure wracked his body, his arms trembling, breath ragged. The beast inside him howled in grief and joy, torn by the sweetness of having her and the agony of losing her.

Later, they lay tangled together in silence. Her breath slowed. Her lashes fluttered against his skin.

Vael’Zhur pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Ceryn Vale,” he whispered, knowing she was already slipping into sleep. “And if betrayal is the price of loving you, I pay it willingly.”

Outside, storm clouds gathered. The moon disappeared behind them.

But for now, he held her. For now, she was his.

And gods help them both… that would have to be enough.