Page 26 of Bought by the Broken Beast

BELLA

F or the first two weeks of my new life, I am convinced I am in a dream.

I wake each morning not to the cold, damp stone of a crypt, but to the impossible softness of silk sheets.

Sunlight, not the flickering gloom of a single lantern, streams through tall, arched windows, carrying the scent of salt and sea from the harbor below.

We are housed in the royal guest wing of the palace, a gilded cage of breathtaking beauty, and the silence is the most luxurious thing of all.

It is a silence born not of fear, but of peace.

The world outside our chambers is in turmoil.

Malacc is in the deepest dungeon beneath the arena, awaiting his trial and inevitable execution.

His co-conspirators are being rounded up daily, their names a litany of the most powerful and respected Vakkak and Zotkak houses in the kingdom.

The Zusvak, now under the care of a new, fiercely loyal physician, is slowly, steadily regaining his strength.

The poison has been identified, the antidote administered. Milthar is healing.

And so are we.

Votoi’s leg is a testament to the skill of the royal physicians.

The wound, which should have crippled him for life, is knitting back together with a speed that is a testament to his Minotaur blood.

But he is a terrible patient. He chafes under the forced inactivity, his frustration a low, simmering storm in our quiet chambers.

“This is a mockery of a limb,” he growls, glaring at the ornate, carved cane that now leans against his chair. He tries to stand without it, his pride a stubborn, foolish thing. A sharp, indrawn hiss of pain is his only reward, and he collapses back into the chair, his jaw tight.

I move to his side, my hand resting on his massive, furred shoulder. “The physician said it will take time, Votoi. Even a Son of Saru is made of flesh and bone.”

His hand comes up to cover mine, his touch a familiar, possessive heat. “My flesh is weak. My bones have failed me.”

“Your flesh and bone saved a kingdom,” I counter softly, my fingers lacing through his. “They have earned a rest.”

He looks at me then, the storm in his amber eyes calming, replaced by that raw, unguarded intensity that still makes my heart skip a beat.

In these quiet moments, we are learning a new language, one that is not forged in desperation and fear.

We are learning the simple, domestic rhythm of a life lived together.

I read to him from scrolls from the royal library in the long afternoons.

He tells me stories of the arena, not of the glory, but of the men, the brothers he lost. We eat our meals in a comfortable silence, the ghosts of our past a quiet, constant presence, but no longer the screaming horrors they once were.

But even in this gilded cage, I am an outsider.

Vakkak lords, their names and titles restored now that Malacc’s web of lies has been burned away, come to pay their respects to Votoi.

They are great, powerful bulls of Minotaurs, their horns gleaming, their armor immaculate.

They speak to Votoi of politics, of the trials, of the restructuring of the Zu Kus.

And they look at me as if I am a piece of furniture.

A human pet. A curiosity. They do not mean to be cruel.

It is simply that, in their world, I do not exist.

I am a hero of the kingdom, yes. The Zusvak himself declared it.

I am legally free, my slave status erased by royal decree.

But what am I? I am a human in a world of Minotaurs.

A scribe with no ledgers to balance. A strategist whose war is over.

I am adrift in a sea of silk and marble, and I have never felt more lost.

The unspoken question of our future is a constant, humming tension between us.

He is Lord Saru now, a Vakkak of the highest standing, his name and lands restored.

He will return to his world of politics and power, of Vakkak traditions and Minotaur females.

And I… where will I go? The thought of leaving him, of our paths diverging, is a cold, sharp fear that is more terrifying than Lyra’s dagger.

One evening, two weeks after the trial, the tension finally breaks.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet.

Votoi has been silent all afternoon, his gaze fixed on the sea, his mood as dark and turbulent as the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

He rises from his chair, his movements stiff. He does not reach for his cane.

“Walk with me, Bella,” he says, sounding so formal that it sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine.

He leads me from our chambers, through the quiet, echoing halls of the palace.

His limp is more pronounced without the cane, but he walks with a grim, unyielding determination.

We emerge into a private garden, a place I have not seen before.

It is a masterpiece of landscape artistry, with winding stone paths, fragrant night-blooming flowers, and ancient, gnarled trees.

The garden is perched on the edge of the cliffs, and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below is a deep, rhythmic heartbeat.

He leads me to a small, marble bench that overlooks the endless, roiling expanse of the sea. The wind whips a strand of hair across my face, and the air is thick with the taste of salt.

He stands before me, his massive form silhouetted against the dying light of the sun. He is a god of shadow and twilight, his splintered horn a mark not of shame, but of survival. Of victory.

“They have restored it all to me,” he begins, his voice a low, rough thing. “My name. My seat on the Zu Kus. My family’s lands and titles.” He gestures to the opulent palace behind us, to the sprawling city below. “This world… it is mine again.”

My heart sinks. This is it. He is telling me that he is returning to his life, a life in which I have no place. I brace myself for the words, for the gentle, honorable dismissal that will shatter my world all over again.

“But it is a world of ghosts,” he continues, his amber eyes finding mine in the gloom.

“A kingdom of ash. It is meaningless.” He takes a step closer, his gaze so intense it is a physical touch.

“My name is a hollow sound if you are not there to speak it. My home is a pile of stones if you are not there to share it. My honor… my honor was not restored by the King’s decree, Bella.

It was forged anew, in the fire of your courage. ”

He stops before me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He reaches out, his massive, calloused hand cupping my cheek, his touch a reverent, gentle thing.

“I am not a creature of pretty words,” he says as a raw, guttural whisper. “I am a warrior. A beast. But I know this. A life without you is no life at all. It is a return to the cold, silent tomb of my own making.”

He lowers himself, slowly, painfully, onto one knee. A Vakkak lord, the hero of Milthar, kneeling in the dirt before a human former slave. The gesture is so profound, so utterly world-altering, that it steals the breath from my lungs.

“I do not need you to be my consort,” he says, his amber eyes blazing with a fierce, unwavering light.

“I do not ask you to be a human pet, a curiosity in my court. I ask you to be my equal. My partner. My counselor. My wife.” His voice drops, becoming a raw, vulnerable plea that shatters the last of my defenses.

“Bella. Be my lifemate. Rule by my side. Be my home.”

The unspoken question, the one that has haunted my every waking moment for the past two weeks, is answered. My place is not in the human world or the Minotaur world. My place is with him.

Tears, hot and silent, stream down my face. They are not tears of sorrow or fear. They are tears of a joy so profound, so overwhelming, it feels like my heart is going to burst.

I reach out, my trembling hands framing his proud, beautiful, monstrous face.

“Yes.”