Page 11 of The Beast Between Us (Once Upon A Forever #2)

Thorne

“Are you alright, Oswin?” I ask, my voice still thick with the storm that hasn’t quite left me.

Ella disappears up the staircase, her steps quick but silent.

Oswin adjusts his collar and gives a soft smile. “Like I said before. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He glances toward the stairs, then back to me, that knowing look in his eye.

“Miss Ella, on the other hand…” he continues, “is somewhat of a different story. Wouldn’t you say?”

I don’t answer.

Because I can’t.

Not without admitting that she’s my mate.

Oswin watches me but wisely says nothing else.

I turn away, jaw tight, every step toward my study feeling heavier than the last.

She infuriates me.

Marching to the door like she could command the very storm my Beast unleashes. Standing toe-to-toe with Byron like she wasn’t in danger of being torn apart.

Foolish. Reckless.

And yet…

The moment his hand touched her, my Beast surged like I hadn’t felt in years.

Not out of hunger. Not even simply out of rage.

Out of need. The need to get to her. To save her. To destroy the one who thought they could touch her.

She calms him.

Even now, the storm in my veins slows with her scent still lingering in the hall.

And somehow… somehow, she drives me mad.

I run a clawed hand through my hair and sink into the chair by the fire.

I don’t understand it. Not fully.

But I know one thing with absolute certainty.

If Byron had laid claim to her… Harmed her in even the smallest way.

I would’ve stopped being merciful.

I’m not sure how long I’m lost in thought when I hear her soft, bare footsteps enter my study.

Even now, I can tell that she’s favoring one side over the other. Subtle, but not enough to escape me.

She tries to hide it.

But I hear it.

I feel it.

I already have a strong suspicion about who hurt her.

What I need now is the how.

So I can kindly repay the debt.

With interest.

“Lord Evermere,” she says softly from the doorway. “May I enter your study?”

“What did I tell you to call me, Ella?” I reply, still watching the fire.

“Your given name,” she murmurs. “But… I must say, it doesn’t feel proper. I feel as if I’m being disrespectful.”

“How can it be improper,” I ask, voice low, “if I’m the one asking?”

The fire crackles.

I still don’t look at her.

Because if I do, I might forget why I asked her here in the first place.

“Because you’re more than just a man,” she says gently. “You’re a Manor Lord. You’re Lord of Brackenford Valley. I can’t simply call you by your first name.”

I finally turn my head, just enough to glance at her.

She’s standing there barefoot, hands clasped in front of her, eyes steady but unsure.

“I lost the right to that title the day my Beast took control,” I murmur. “Whatever power I held… whatever honor came with my name… it died with the man I couldn’t protect.”

She doesn’t look away.

“I don’t see a monster when I look at you,” she says. “And I don’t see a failure. I see someone who still protects what matters. No matter what it costs.”

The fire pops behind me, but I barely hear it.

What I do hear… is the faint, uneven rhythm of her breathing.

She’s still in pain.

She steps farther into the room, and that’s when I truly look at her.

Her sleep clothes are soft. Simple trousers and a loose top that brushes against her frame like clouds. Her hair falls freely around her shoulders, slightly damp from washing, curling at the ends.

She looks…

Unarmored.

Not fragile…never that. But undressed in a way that unsettles me. Not because of impropriety.

Because she trusts me enough to appear this way.

And suddenly I need to know how much pain she’s in.

“Come and sit,” I demand, voice lower than I intended.

She hesitates just a moment before moving to obey.

I wait as she crosses the room, watching the way she moves. Slowly, carefully, favoring her right side just slightly.

She lowers herself into the chair across from me with a quiet breath, shifting her hair over one shoulder like it’s a practiced habit.

“This really isn’t a big deal,” she says softly.

I don’t respond right away.

Because she’s wrong.

Everything about this is a big deal.

The way she hides the wince in her breath. The way she pretends not to notice that I’ve noticed.

The way she still feels the need to protect me from the truth of her own suffering.

My claws ache beneath my skin.

I lean back in my chair and wait.

There’s no need to repeat what I want to hear.

She already knows.

She takes a slow breath, then releases it with care. Like she’s trying not to shatter something inside her.

“My father isn’t a good man,” she begins quietly. “He has… anger issues.”

Her gaze stays fixed somewhere near the fire, not on me.

“Sometimes he needs an outlet. Someone to take the edge off his temper so he doesn’t embarrass himself in public.”

Her voice is so calm. Too calm.

“But mostly… I’m the cause of his anger. My mother died in childbirth, and he blames me.”

She pauses, then adds almost gently, “I know it wasn’t my fault. These things just happen. But… I understand his blame. I took her from him.”

My hands curl into fists. I make no move. No sound.

She continues.

“Other times, I forget tasks he’s asked of me. Or I daydream too long. He says it’s his job to bring my mind back to the real world.”

And just like that, I understand exactly where her pain lives.

And exactly who will pay for it.

“The day my father told me he sold me to pay off his debt…” she pauses, fingers lacing tightly in her lap, “I was scared. Confused.”

She takes a breath.

“But if I’m being honest… I was also relieved.”

“Relieved how?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

“The day before he gave me the news, I had this thought,” she says softly. “About the rumors. The ones about the Beast killing anyone who stepped onto his land.”

Her eyes flick to mine, then back to the fire.

“I planned to do just that. Walk right in. I thought… maybe death would be kinder than another year in that house.”

A growl rumbles low in my chest before I can stop it.

She doesn’t flinch.

“Anyway,” she continues, “he told me I was to leave immediately. I begged to pack a few of my favorite things. An outfit. A couple of books.”

She smiles, just a little. Sad.

“I didn’t have many, but the ones I had were full of the most amazing stories. Stories where girls like me were rescued. Where monsters turned out to be heroes.”

Her smile fades.

“He said I needed a final lesson in obedience. Said the Beast wouldn’t put up with my disobedience the way he had.”

She shifts in her chair, just barely.

“So he tossed me to the floor. Kicked me. Once in the back. Once on the side. Said that would remind me to be good.”

A pause.

“But it wasn’t that bad,” she adds quickly, as if it matters. “Just one kick each.”

My claws dig into the arms of the chair.

The fire crackles louder behind me.

And still…I say nothing.

Because I can’t trust what I might say next.

My mate lived a short walk away, on the land of my father, being abused for years…and I had no idea.

“So, you see,” she says with a small shrug, “it’s nothing really to fuss over.”

“Stand,” I say, my voice low.

She sighs, but does as I ask.

“Raise your top,” I say.

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I want to see where he kicked you.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“You only think you’re fine, Ella,” I growl. “Now… raise your top.”

She hesitates, just for a moment.

Then, slowly, she lifts the fabric.

What I see steals the breath from my lungs.

Bruises…angry and dark…spread across her side and lower back. Some new. Some not.

The beast surges inside me, howling for release.

It takes everything in me, every ounce of control I have , not to let him loose. Not to tear through the night and hunt the man who did this.

Our woman was hurt.

No. Ella was hurt.

Right.

Just Ella.

And yet…

“Hello, Beast,” Ella says with a soft smile, lowering her top with careful fingers.

The way she says it…calm, almost fond …unsettles something deep inside me.

“I’m grateful for your anger,” she continues. “For what happened. It means… it mattered. That I matter. But I truly am alright. Oswin gave me a tea with some herbs to help dull the pain. I feel much better.”

She says it like a truth she’s determined to hold on to.

But I can still see the shadow of pain in her movements. The tension she hides in her shoulders. The quiet in her voice that doesn’t belong.

She’s trying to protect me …still.

Even now.

“Come,” I say, rising to my feet and leaving the study.

Her footsteps quicken behind me, and I slow mine just enough.

“Where are we going?” she huffs from somewhere at my back.

“Not far,” I admit.

We stop at the final door on the floor. I open it and step inside, hurrying to light the candles along the wall so she can see.

The moment the soft glow fills the room, I hear her gasp.

And I smile.

A real smile.

I knew she’d like this room.

I may never be able to claim my mate, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make her happy.

“I’ve never in my entire life seen so many books at once,” she breathes, wonder filling her voice.

I take a slow turn, looking around my library…not through my own eyes, but through hers.

Hundreds of books line the shelves, floor to ceiling. Some spines cracked with age, others newer. Fantasy. History. Philosophy. Tales from foreign lands and stories written by hand in journals I’d collected over the years.

My own collection.

My sanctuary.

And now… I wonder if it could be hers, too.

“It’s so wonderful,” she whispers, eyes wide with awe as she drifts between the shelves, fingertips gently brushing the spines of worn leather and parchment.

“However did you obtain so many stories?”

Her voice carries the kind of reverence most reserve for sacred places.

I watch her carefully…how she walks slower here, how her shoulders ease for the first time since Byron stepped onto my land.

“I’ve been collecting them for years,” I say. “Some were gifted. Others I hunted down myself.”