Page 37 of The Beast Between Us
“Then so be it,” I murmur. “Years it is.”
As I watch Ella search for her first book, fingers trailing reverently over the spines, eyes full of wonder, it hits me.
I love her.
I love her with every beat of my beastly, broken heart.
As a man, I would court her with flowers and stories, with whispered promises beneath moonlight.
As a man, I would hold her close and show her just how radiant she is, inside and out.
As a man, I could marry her.
But I am not just a man.
There is a monster in me.
Clawed hands. A snarling shadow. A storm waiting for an excuse to break.
How could she ever lovethis?
We could never be together. Not truly. Not while there is still a Beast between us.
“Mate.”
I ignore my Beast’s claim and lean against a shelf, watching her from the corner of my eye. I’ve had to remind the fool several times these past few days that we lay no claim to Ella.
But as always, he doesn’t listen.
He fights me at every turn.
The battle leaves me drained by nightfall, my energy worn thin from holding him back.
“I’m going for a snack,” I growl. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll take care of the candles before bed.”
***Ella***
He leaves without another word, his broad back disappearing down the hall like a storm fading into the distance. The sound of his boots fades too, though the air still feels charged, like thunder is waiting just outside the window.
I let out a slow breath.
There’s something about him. Something that unsettles and calms me all at once. He can be sharp-edged and growling one moment, then thoughtful and silent the next. One heartbeat, he’s terrifying. The next, he’s handing me the key to his sanctuary.
I trail my fingers along a nearby spine, the leather worn and soft from years of use. He trusted me with this room. That has to mean something.
And yet… what was that flicker in his eyes when he watched me? Was it his Beast? I’ve only ever seen his eyes glow red when he was angry. But this time, his eyes were somewhere between red and brown. More golden.
They say the Beast is cursed and cruel.
But that’s not all he is.
I’ve seen glimpses of something more.
Something lonely.
I curl up in one of the large chairs, pulling a worn and very loved book into my lap and tucking my legs beneath me. It smells of parchment, old ink, and just a trace of firewood smoke.
It smells like freedom.
