Page 37 of Betraying the Beast

He blinked slowly, golden eyes flickering. The slitted pupils had softened, no longer wild with rage.

“Ceryn...” His voice was hoarse, ruined from roaring. “You came back.”

“I never left you. Not really.”

She pressed her forehead to his, uncaring of the blood, the soot, the fur. Her fingers stroked his mane, tangled and scorched. He was immense, too large for the moment, too wild for the fragile tenderness she poured into him—but still, she held him like something sacred.

“I love you,” she said, voice barely a breath. “I love all of you. The man, the beast, the broken places. You are not a curse to me. You are the only truth I’ve ever known.”

A shudder rippled through him, deep and visceral.

Something shifted inside his chest—a loosening. The red haze that had gripped his mind like claws began to peel away. The poison that pulsed through his limbs dulled, not by antidote, but by her words, her voice, the way her hands touched him with reverence instead of fear.

The orchard responded.

Its light flickered, and then calmed. Trees ceased their trembling. The silverfruit no longer pulsed with fury, but glowed soft and steady. Like a heartbeat. Like hope.

He closed his eyes. For the first time in centuries, clarity returned.

And with it—peace.

“The madness…” he rasped. “It’s slipping away.”

She kissed his brow, fierce and sure. “Then let it go. I’ll hold the rest of you.”

A low sound, not quite a sob, escaped him. One of his massive arms came around her, claws retracted, trembling slightly as he pulled her into him, holding her like a lifeline. She pressed her hand to the wound at his side, and the orchard shimmered again, a soft exhale of magic that sealed the worst of the poison’s damage.

He wasn’t human. He would never be again. But he was whole.

The sound of boots on stone echoed behind them.

Ceryn turned, instinctively shielding Vael’Zhur with her body—though she had no strength left to protect anyone.

But it was Rorik.

He entered the space with slow, reverent steps, his dark armor stained from the skirmish, his face drawn with awe. He took in the scene—the Beast cradled in the arms of the woman who had undone a tyrant.

And then—Rorik dropped to one knee. Head bowed. Fist to heart.

“My sword is yours,” he said, voice steady. “My loyalty, freely given.”

Vael’Zhur stirred, shifting just enough to see the man kneeling before him.

“I don’t want your oath,” he said, quiet but firm.

Rorik looked up, startled.

Vael’Zhur’s voice deepened, strong again.

“You’ve served enough masters. Too many who did not deserve you.”

Silence fell like dust around them.

Then Rorik’s expression broke, cracked open with something Ceryn didn’t expect—relief.

“Then let me choose one who does,” he said softly. “One who remembers what it means to protect, not rule. I would be honored to serve a creature who fought to stay kind… even when the world called him monster.”

Vael’Zhur—Auren—studied him. Then nodded once.

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