Page 15

CHAPTER 15

M alrik’s beast surged with satisfaction as Bella’s lips parted beneath his. The kiss deepened, her taste intoxicating—sweet with a hint of the wild berries they’d found in the garden. His arms tightened around her, claws retracting instinctively to avoid hurting her delicate skin.

The rational part of his mind—growing stronger each day—flashed a warning. Too much. Too fast. She’s human. She’s afraid.

But her body told a different story. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fur that was rapidly receding as his Vultor form emerged. She wasn’t pulling away. She was pulling him closer.

The warning voice in his head grew fainter with each passing second. Why should he stop? The female in his arms was soft and sweet and willing.

Willing.

That thought penetrated the haze of desire. How could she be willing? How could someone like her want someone—something—like him?

He wrenched himself back, chest heaving. His beast howled in protest, but he held firm, searching her face for signs of fear or revulsion.

Instead, she smiled up at him with kiss-swollen lips, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“We should celebrate,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “The garden, the cleaning robot, the POTTS… we’ve accomplished so much.”

She traced a finger along his jaw, her touch feather-light against his skin—not fur, he realized with a jolt. More of his Vultor form had emerged during their kiss.

“I’ll program the POTTS for a special dinner,” she continued. “Something better than the basic meals we’ve been having.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but he couldn’t form the words to respond. He nodded instead, and she rose on her tiptoes to press another quick kiss to his lips, then slipped from his grasp and headed back towards the keep.

He watched her go, fighting the urge to follow. His beast whined in protest at the increasing distance between them, but he forced himself to remain in the garden. He’d spent days shadowing her, never letting her stray far. But this time, he forced himself to let her go. She wasn’t running. She’d be there when he returned.

In the meantime, there was more work to be done here, and he needed the physical exertion to clear his head. He attacked a particularly stubborn section of overgrowth, tearing out dead vines and clearing space for new growth. The physical exertion helped calm his racing thoughts, though her taste lingered on his lips.

As the afternoon wore on, he found himself thinking of her with increasing frequency. The way her eyes lit up when she solved a problem. The musical sound of her laughter. The feel of her body pressed against his.

When the sun began to set, he returned to the keep, his thoughts still consumed by her. He made his way back to his chambers, shedding dirt and sweat under the same hot spring water that fed his bathing pool. As he scrubbed his skin—more skin than fur today, he noted with surprise—his thoughts turned to her again.

The way she looked at him had changed. At first, there had been fear, then curiosity. Now there was something else—something that made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. His shaft began to stiffen, as it did so often these days when he thought of her.

He wrapped a hand around it, stroking slowly. It had been so long since he’d felt this, he’d thought the urge was lost forever. But now…

He imagined how her fingers would feel on his heated skin, how her lips would part as she took him into her mouth. He imagined her on her knees in front of him, her pretty little ass in the air as he drove into her from behind, her soft cries of pleasure filling the chamber.

His strokes quickened, his grip tightening as the fantasy took hold. He could almost hear her voice calling his name, begging for more, for everything he could give her. The pressure built inside him, coiling tighter and tighter until, with a guttural groan, he found his release.

He stood under the cascading water, panting as his seed swirling down the drain. His knees felt weak, so he braced one hand against the wall until his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal. In spite of the intensity of his release, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t want his hand or his imagination. He craved the real Bella, the one whose scent haunted him and whose voice sent shivers down his spine.

He dried off, then, struck by a sudden impulse, he went to his wardrobe and searched through the contents. Most of the clothing had been shredded in his early rages, but he found a pair of pants that were still intact, if somewhat dusty. They were too tight, straining against his thighs, but he managed to fasten them.

He also found a vest made of some dark, supple material that he could just manage to stretch over his shoulders, though he couldn’t close it over his chest. It would have to do.

He approached the mirror—another item he’d avoided for years—and studied his reflection. His face was more Vultor than beast now, though his eyes still glowed with primal intensity. His hair, once neatly groomed, hung in wild tangles down his back, streaked with silver.

He looked nothing like the polished noble he’d once been, but neither was he the mindless beast that had roamed these halls for so long. He was… something in between. Someone new.

When he entered the dining room, she was already there, and the sight of her stole his breath. She’d repurposed one of his old tunics, belting it at the waist to create a makeshift dress. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, gleaming like liquid gold in the light from the lanterns she’d placed around the room.

She turned at his approach, and her eyes widened as she took him in.

“You look very dashing,” she said with a smile.

The compliment stirred something in him—a memory of a time when such praise had been commonplace, expected even. He’d once spent hours on his appearance, reveling in the admiration of others.

Now, he simply inclined his head in acknowledgment, uncomfortable with the praise but warmed by it nonetheless.

The meal she’d programmed was far more elaborate than their usual fare. Dishes appeared one after another from the POTTS, each more flavorful than the last. She’d even managed to program a bottle of wine, which they shared as they ate.

She chatted happily as they dined, telling him about her plans for the keep, asking questions about the garden. He found himself responding more than usual, his words coming more easily in this form.

But as the meal progressed, her cheerful demeanor began to fade. Her smile grew forced, her laughter less frequent. She fell silent for long stretches, staring into her wine with a distant expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the words emerging as a growl despite his efforts to modulate his voice.

She sighed, setting down her glass. “I’m worried about my father. I know I told him that I’d return once I was done here, but I was sure he’d come back anyway once he recovered. But he hasn’t.” She twisted her napkin in her hands. “What if he’s still sick? What if he needs me?”

Guilt lanced through him. His Vultor side recognized the wrongness of keeping her from her family. But his beast snarled at the mere thought of letting her go, even temporarily.

Mine. Keep. Protect.

He struggled to find a compromise that would ease her worry without triggering his beast’s territorial rage. The sight of her unhappiness was unbearable. He needed to find another way to comfort her, to make her smile again.

An idea struck him, and he rose from the table, picking up one of the portable lanterns she’d repaired.

“Come,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She placed her hand in his without hesitation—a simple gesture that never failed to astonish him—and allowed him to lead her through the keep.

He took her to a part of the fortress she hadn’t yet explored, a wing that had remained mostly untouched during his rages. At the end of a long corridor they reached a set of double doors, ornately carved with scenes of Vultor history. He pushed them open, revealing a vast room lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. Books filled every available space—bound volumes of various sizes and materials, some ancient, some newer, and data crystals glittered amongst the shelves.

She gasped in delight, stepping into the room with wide eyes.

“A library!” She turned in a slow circle, taking in the extent of the collection. “I had no idea this was here.”

He watched her reaction with satisfaction. His beast had never been interested in this room, preferring to rage through the more opulent spaces that reminded him of his former glory. But he remembered spending time here in his youth, before ambition had consumed him. Dust covered everything, but the room had escaped most of his destructive rage.

She ran her fingers along the spines of several volumes, then selected one bound in dark leather. “Do you read these?” she asked, turning to him.

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

The beast found written language difficult to process, the symbols meaningless and frustrating. Even now, looking at the page she’d opened made his head ache slightly.

“Yours,” he said, gesturing around the room. “All of it.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? But these must be valuable?—”

“Yours,” he repeated firmly.

Her face lit up with such joy that his breath caught. “Really? I can read any of these?”

He nodded, something warm unfurling in his chest at her delight. This was better than the garden, better than the mechanical systems she’d repaired. This was something that spoke to her soul. She beamed at him, her earlier melancholy momentarily forgotten, and his chest swelled with satisfaction. This was what he wanted—to see her happy, to be the cause of that happiness.

She pulled another volume from a shelf, carefully opening the aged cover.

“I wish I could read your language,” she said wistfully, showing him a page of elegant script.

“Perhaps I can…” He paused, uncertain if the offer was wise. “I can read to you. Someday.” When his mind was clear enough, he meant.

Her smile was radiant. “I’d like that.”

She moved deeper into the library, lantern held high as she explored and he followed, content to watch her excitement as she explored the library, pulling books from shelves and examining them with reverent hands. Most were in the Vultor language, but some were in the common trade tongue that humans used.

She found one that particularly interested her and looked up to find him still watching her. Something in his expression must have revealed his thoughts, because her smile softened.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “This means more to me than you know.”

He nodded, unable to find words for the emotions churning within him. The sight of her surrounded by his books, her face alight with curiosity and pleasure, stirred something deep and primal in him—not just desire, but a profound sense of rightness.

This was where she belonged. Where they both belonged.

She stopped at a section where maps were stored in long drawers.

“Maps of what?” she asked, pulling one out and unrolling it carefully.

“Cresca,” he said, recognizing the detailed rendering of the continent. “And others.”

She studied the map, tracing the mountain range where his keep was located, then the valley where her village lay. Her finger lingered there, and her expression grew wistful.

The sight pierced him. She was thinking of home, of her father. His beast stirred, possessive and angry, but he pushed it down.

“You miss him,” he said, the words difficult to form through his beast’s resistance.

She nodded, not looking up from the map. “He’s all I have. And he wasn’t well when he left.”

He fought an internal battle, his rational side arguing against his beast’s possessiveness. He couldn’t keep her prisoner forever. She had come willingly, had stayed willingly, but that didn’t make her his property.

“We could…” He struggled with the concept, with the words. “Send message.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with hope. “Really? You’d let me contact him?”

The beast howled in protest, but he nodded stiffly. “Small message. Not leave.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

She set the map aside and approached him, reaching up to touch his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, now more defined as his fur continued to recede.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That would make me feel so much better.”

The simple touch, the gratitude in her eyes, soothed his beast’s agitation. She wasn’t trying to escape. She was acknowledging his concession, his gift.

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “Find way.”

She smiled, and the last of his tension eased. She returned to exploring the library, pulling out more books that caught her interest, exclaiming over illustrations and maps.

He leaned against the wall, content to watch her. The library had never been his favorite place in the keep, but seeing it through her eyes transformed it into something magical.

As she moved through the stacks, lantern light casting her shadow against the shelves, he realized something had shifted between them. The bargain that had brought her here—her service in exchange for her father’s freedom—no longer defined their relationship.

What they were building now was something else entirely. Something his beast craved and his Vultor side had long forgotten how to seek.