Page 9 of The Beast Between Us (Once Upon A Forever #2)

Thorne

“Sire, I’ve returned with your items.”

“You know full well they belong to the woman,” I growl from my shadowed corner. My voice scrapes low, threaded with irritation…and something darker. “Deliver them to her room. And remind her to triple the amount of food she’s been preparing.”

A pause.

“The Beast is starving.”

“Of course, Sire,” Oswin replies, bowing slightly before disappearing down the hall.

The moment he’s gone, I clench my fists, claws biting into my palms.

Triple the food.

Like I’m some ravenous creature barely restrained.

Maybe I am.

The Beast paces beneath my skin, restless, growling, unsatisfied. She brought me a rose, spoke kindly, dared to see me…and now she’s in my home, changing things without permission.

Without understanding the danger.

Part of me acknowledges that she’s my mate and that I would never harm her. But, I can’t say the same thing for the Beast.

A low snarl rumbles in my chest.

Outside, the sky darkens.

Clouds gather…thick, fast, unnatural.

The first rumble of thunder answers the growl rising from my throat.

I move deeper into the room, shadow to shadow, breath ragged. Rage coils through me, hot and sharp, not just at her… but at myself.

At the way she looked at me.

At the way I didn’t want to look away.

At the cursed rose, still resting near my desk like it belongs here.

Lightning splits the sky.

The windows tremble in their frames.

The storm isn’t coming.

It’s already here.

***Ella***

“Oh my,” I gasp, bracing myself as another boom of thunder shakes the floor beneath my feet.

Just moments ago, the sky had been clear…soft, blue, peaceful, calm.

Now, darkness coils around the manor like a living thing.

Rain lashes the windows. Wind howls against the walls. The very air crackles with energy, electric and wild.

“Where did it even come from?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the storm.

Oswin appears in the doorway, his expression calm but tight.

“Sire,” he says simply. “He’s starving, apparently.”

I glance at the food I’ve been preparing…my hands trembling now, heart beating too fast.

What happens if I don’t finish in time?

What happens if I fail?

The spoon slips from my fingers and clatters into the pot.

Somewhere above us, thunder cracks again…closer this time.

And I have the awful sense that the storm isn’t just outside.

It’s inside, too.

“Sire requests triple the amount of food for tonight’s meal,” Oswin says, already peeling another potato with calm efficiency.

“Are we having guests?” I ask, reaching quickly for more herbs and vegetables to expand the stew.

“No,” he answers simply. “Beast and man have been fighting a great deal lately. It makes Sire… ravenous.”

I pause, hand tightening around the ladle.

Ravenous.

The word sits uneasily in my chest, echoing with something deeper than hunger.

“How often does that happen?” I ask, keeping my voice as steady as I can.

“Often enough.” Oswin doesn’t look up. “The longer they remain at odds, the more the hunger builds. And the more dangerous it becomes to ignore it.”

Thunder rumbles again…closer now.

I stir the pot faster.

“Do you think I caused it?” I ask quietly. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Nonsense, child,” Oswin says at once, his tone firm but kind. “You’ve changed things, yes…but none of this is your fault.”

He sets down his knife and looks at me fully, eyes steady beneath furrowed brows.

“The storm, the hunger, the unrest… those have long been brewing. You didn’t bring them. You’ve only stirred the waters that were already troubled.”

“Regardless,” I murmur, returning to my stew, “I should apologize for my part.”

I stir a little faster, thinking aloud.

“Perhaps I can go to market and buy him a gift.” A pause. “Oh… I haven’t any money.”

My brow furrows, undeterred.

“Maybe I could paint him a portrait. That is, of course, if he already has the supplies…” I trail off, chewing my lip. “Okay…maybe I could draw him a bath? Is there a tub here that he can fit into?”

Oswin chuckles behind me, and I feel my cheeks heat.

“Sire has never been one to have others do such a simple task he can manage himself,” Oswin tells me.

“I hardly think drawing a bath is a simple task,” I reply, tossing him a look over my shoulder. “It would take a lot of legwork to carry enough water to the second floor for a bath big enough for Mr. Evermere.”

“You misunderstand,” Oswin says, amusement flickering in his voice. “There are large water tanks on top of the building that store rainwater. The system uses pipes…gravity-fed. They lead straight into Sire’s private rooms… and the kitchen, of course.”

“Oh,” I blink, surprised. “No wonder you were able to get my stew water so quickly.”

I pause, then smile as curiosity gets the better of me.

“I’ve read of systems like that, but I’ve never actually seen one in person. How fascinating.”

Oswin chuckles softly. “It’s a clever system. Old, but well-maintained. Sire ensures the mechanisms are kept in working order, though he pretends not to care.”

I smile faintly, stirring the stew again. “That sounds about right.”

He begins chopping carrots at a calm, steady rhythm while I chew on my next thought.

“So… he draws his own baths,” I say thoughtfully. “Does he cook his own meals too?”

Oswin raises an eyebrow. “He could, if needed. But no. He tends to avoid the kitchen unless it’s absolutely necessary. His mother’s heart failed while in this very room. It’s never good for him to remember that pain so vividly.”

“Ah.” My chest tightens a little, but I nod.

I glance toward the storm-blurred window, rain still tapping steadily against the panes.

“I just… I want to do something kind for him,” I admit. “But everything I think of feels too small.”

Oswin gives me a long, knowing look. “Small things, when done with care, can matter more than you think, my Lady.”

I nod slowly, unsure, but clinging to the hope in his words.

“Then I’ll find a way,” I whisper. “Even if it’s just one small thing at a time.”

∞∞∞

I’m nervous.

No… I’m scared out of my mind.

I hope I made enough food.

I hope he doesn’t hate it.

“Well?” Mr. Evermere says, voice low and rough.

“I’m sorry?” I blink, startled.

“Sit down, Ella,” he growls.

“But, my Lord…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Everm…”

“No.”

His tone is sharper now, final. My throat dries.

“Oh… uhm… what shall I call you?” What was it Oswin called him again? “Sire?”

He looks at me then, eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight.

“Thorne,” he says.

The word settles between us like a drop of ink in clear water… bleeding out slowly, changing everything.

“I couldn’t,” I say softly. “It’s not proper.”

“Why not?”

His voice is low…not angry now, but curious. Testing.

“Well… because I work for you, of course.”

He leans back in his chair slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You live in my home. You cook my food. You brought me a rose.”

I swallow hard.

“You don’t simply work for me, Ella. You live with me. As does Oswin. But he’s an old man set in his ways. You, however, are not. So, call me Thorne.”

He says it like a truth I haven’t yet earned the right to believe.

“So,” I say, swallowing the fear lodged in my throat. “I can leave whenever I want? Find a place of my own?”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

Then, finally…

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice quiet but taut. “Do you want me to grant your freedom, Ella?”

Do I?

The answer is surprisingly easy.

“No,” I admit. “I’ve only been here a few days… and yet I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been.”

“You seem rather tense for someone who claims to be relaxed,” he says, still not touching the food in front of him.

I thought he was starving…

“I’m nervous,” I confess.

“Why?”

“You,” I say simply. “I’m afraid of doing or saying something that would upset you.”

His head lifts slightly, eyes narrowing.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he growls, deeply offended.

And as if to echo his mood, thunder cracks overhead…loud enough to rattle the walls.

“Oh! You misunderstand,” I say quickly, hands raised. “It’s not because I’m afraid you’ll hurt me. ”

I draw a breath.

“I’m afraid that I’ll hurt you. Even in a small way. Even if I don’t mean to. It would still tear me apart knowing I caused you grief.”

Again, it takes him a moment to speak.

It’s as if he weighs every word before he breathes it into existence.

“Sit,” he says at last, the command firm. “Where is your food?”

“I’ve already eaten,” I reply.

“Don’t do that again,” he growls. “You will sit here and dine with me each evening.”

“Oh, sure,” I smile, surprised but warmed by the idea. “Can Oswin join us?”

“He’s always welcome,” Thorne mutters, “but good luck getting him to sit down and eat. Old man’s more stubborn than I am.”

“Well, that’s saying something,” I giggle.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile.

I go still, the warmth slipping from my face as I move quickly to obey. But as I sit, a sharp twinge flares in my lower back, and I grunt softly.

His eyes snap to me.

“When I finish my meal,” Thorne says, finally beginning to eat, “you will tell me what is causing you pain.”

“Oh, it’s nothing…”

“And you will not lie,” he interrupts, his voice low and unwavering.

“Do you always get what you want?” I mutter.

“No,” he mutters back, just as low.

I sigh. “It’s not a big deal. I guess I can go ahead and tell you now.”

“No.”

I blink. “Why not? It won’t take long. I could have the whole story finished before you’re even halfway through one of your four bowls of stew and bread.”

He doesn’t look up, but I see the faintest twitch of his mouth…just a flicker.

“I said I want to know the reasons,” he says. “And I do. But not until I’m done eating.”

“And why’s that?” I press, more curious than annoyed.

He finally lifts his gaze to mine, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Because I don’t want to be angry while I eat.”

Oh.

“Thank you for the clothing,” I say with a smile, shifting the subject. I know when to push and when to take a step back.

“It’s nothing.”