Page 24 of Betraying the Beast

“Sustains me. Binds me. With each passing year, I require more to maintain what humanity remains. Yet each consumption strengthens the beast within.” His lips twisted. “A particularly elegant torment, don’t you think? To be forced to feed the very monster I sought to prevent unleashing upon the world.”

Ceryn shifted, rising to look directly into his face. “Did you ever try to burn it? To destroy the orchard completely?”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “Many times, in the early years. Fire. Poison. Magic. Nothing works. The trees regrow overnight, stronger than before. The fruit returns, more potent with each attempt at destruction.” His eyes met hers, centuries of futility reflected in their amber depths. “Now I protect it with everything I have, bound to it for all eternity. Better a single monster guarding the source than an army of them unleashed upon the world.”

Understanding dawned in her expression. “That’s why you kill those who trespass. Why you’ve been so feared. You’re not just protecting your territory—you’re preventing others from taking the fruit.”

“Yes.” His massive hand came up to cup her cheek. “And why I cannot give you what you came for, Ceryn. Not even to save your sister and mother. The consequences would be too dire.”

He expected argument, anger perhaps. After all, her family’s lives hung in the balance. But instead, she simply nodded, her eyes sad but clear.

“I know,” she said softly, surprising him. “I’ve seen enough to understand what the silverfruit truly is. What it does.” She settled back against his side, her arm draping across his chest. “But that doesn’t solve our problem. Aldaric still has my family. His men still wait for my return.”

Vael’Zhur tightened his arm around her, protective and possessive. “We’ll have to find another way,” he said slowly. “Aldaric seeks the fruit’s power, believing it will grant him strength without consequence. But knowledge can be a weapon as surely as any blade.”

Ceryn lifted her head, curiosity bright in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet. But perhaps it’s time Aldaric learned the true cost of what he seeks.” Vael’Zhur’s voice was grim. “And that the Beast he has long dismissed as mere legend is very real indeed.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just nestled closer into his side, her warmth a balm against the chill of ancient memories and bitter truths. He could feel her mind working, weighing options, considering paths forward. Even in this, she amazed him—her strength, her adaptability, her refusal to surrender to despair.

“Dawn approaches,” he murmured, noting the faint lightening at the edges of the heavy curtains. “You should rest while you can.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice already heavy with impending sleep.

“I will watch over you,” he promised, pressing his lips to her forehead. “For as long as I can.”

For as long as fate would allow. For as long as this impossible reprieve from solitude might last. For as long as the woman in his arms continued to see past the beast to the man he had once been—and perhaps, against all hope, might be again.

Chapter

Seven

Ceryn moved along the outer edge of the castle walls, the chill of the stone at her back doing little to calm the storm rising in her chest. Her fingers trailed along the moss-covered stone as if grounding herself in something solid—anything that might anchor her against the tide of doubt and dread. Vael’Zhur’s words haunted her. The truth of the curse. The silverfruit’s legacy. Its seductive promise of strength laced with uncontrollable rage.

She had known—somewhere deep in her bones—that handing that power to Aldaric was a mistake. But hearing how it had unmade Vael’Zhur, how it carved out the soul and left only fury in its place… that had changed everything. Aldaric was already cruel, already hollowed out by ambition. What would he become with the fruit’s magic burning through him? What kind of monster would she be unleashing?

Not just her mother and sister would suffer. Everyone would.

Her steps slowed as a flicker of motion caught her eye—just beyond the treeline where the dense forest licked against the castle’s outer boundary. A figure stood there, nearly indistinguishable from shadow. Tall. Broad. Silent.

Her breath froze.

Rorik.

The warlord’s second-in-command.

Panic surged hot in her veins. Was he here to drag her back? To put an end to her betrayal before it truly began?

She hesitated, but her feet carried her forward, drawn toward the inevitable. Toward the man who had the power to destroy her—either with steel or with words. He turned and stepped deeper into the woods. She followed.

The forest swallowed them in a hush of branches and frost-laced leaves. No birdsong. No wind. Just the thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

“Do you have the fruit?” His voice was low, sharp-edged.

She shook her head. “Not yet. There are… complications.”

His mouth twisted into something like disdain. “How hard is it to pick a piece of fruit and put it in a sack?”

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