Page 17 of The Beast Between Us
For years, I’d heard whispers…tales passed from village to village about Thorne Evermere. They said he was once beloved beyond any royal line, his family’s castle overflowing with loyal workers and warm laughter. His father, a wise and respected ruler, had built a kingdom of peace. I was but a child at the time.
But when Thorne came of age, something ancient stirred within him.
His Beast challenged his father Beast for dominance.
The men fought it, tried to resist…but the Beasts would not be denied. Forced into their massive, wolf-like forms, father and son battled for days, locked in a savage duel of instinct and fury.
In the end, only one remained standing.
Thorne.
The stories say he wept over his father’s broken body. The grief consumed him, and in his sorrow, he surrendered himself entirely to the Beast within.
For years, it ruled in his place. Not as man. But as Beast. Slaughtering anyone it wished. The once-beloved man soon became the most hated and the most feared.
Until one day, the man stirred again. Man and Beast clashed, not with claws but with will. Each demanded control. Neither would yield.
The magic that binds the shift grew tired of their war. It punished them both.
Now, man and Beast are fused…neither whole, neither gone.
They live as one.
“The stories are true,” Oswin confirms quietly.
“Since the house feels angry… does that mean Mr. Evermere is angry as well?”
“I’m afraid so, my Lady.”
I pause, the heaviness pressing against my chest again…only now, it feels more like sadness than fear.
“Well… is there anything we can do to make him happy?” I ask, for some reason, desperate to find a way.
Oswin sighs, soft and a little sad. “I’m afraid not, my Lady. Sire is never fully at peace. It doesn’t take much to rile the Beast.”
I look down at the chipped teacup sitting safely in the cupboard.
“But surely,” I say softly, “there must besomethingthat soothes him. A memory. A scent. A song, maybe?”
Oswin hesitates, his cloth still in hand but no longer moving.
“There were things… once,” he says. “Before the divide. Before grief and guilt took root.”
He glances toward the far end of the hall, where the shadows seem thicker, the silence deeper.
“But it’s been a long time, my Lady. Too long.”
“Then maybe,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, “he just needs someone to remind him.”
Oswin says nothing. But when I finally meet his eyes, there’s a flicker of something there… hope, or fear. Maybe both.
Taking a deep breath, I make a decision.
If the house feels what he feels… maybe I can shift something. Even just a little.
I cross the room and tug back the heavy curtains. Sunlight spills in, golden and warm…but the air doesn’t lift.
Not even a little.
