Page 8 of My Brutal Beast

Knowing her name makes me feel as if I’ve obtained a small victory, and it’s the key I need to learn more about her. I use my computer to run a quick background check on her using her name, birthday, and address. In minutes, I have the name of where she works, her social media profiles, and that she has two overdue romance novels at the local library.

There aren’t many photos of her on her social media profiles—mostly work functions, a few where she appears to be in the background of a large party. She looks younger there, and I figure this must have been a few years ago, possibly when she was at college.

But the one thing that comes across in each photo is that she never looks happy or comfortable. There’s something missing when she smiles, and her eyes call out to me. It’s as if she’s been alone for just as long as I have.

You’ll never be alone again.

The thought is a promise, a sacred vow. Even if she wishes to leave, I will be with her. I’ll follow her, stalk her anywhere she goes, and keep trying to win her heart. There is no other option.

I click onto the most recent post she’s made online, something on Reddit. Reading it, I find out exactly how my little star ended up at that bar tonight, and that her horrible, manipulative friends left her alone, only bothering to speak to her when they wanted her to take them somewhere else.

From her words and the comments, it’s clear this has happened before. Whether it’s her friends or others, it appears she has been taken advantage of and mistreated regularly. I think back to her eyes in the pictures, to the way she hid in large groups of people, and clench my fists.

She should be a queen, with the world bending to her will, and I will be the one to give that to her. She’s worthy of that and so much more. I will be her loyal subject, and when she chooses me to be, her king.

But I see now that everything Daniella said is correct. My little star will need her freedom. Even if it’s something she struggles to realize she should have, she will need it. She won’t be able to trust me or love me without it. I cannot force her to stay here against her will. As much as I want her by my side, she must make that choice on her own.

I will do whatever I can to not only earn that trust, but show her the goodness she deserves, the care and love, the way she should be valued and treated like the goddess she is. I will do everything possible to convince her that we belong together while still allowing her the choice, no matter what she may choose.

She will never feel used or uncared for again. I will put her needs first and make her happiness my singular purpose. She is my mate, and I intend to cherish her in a way no one else ever has.

With that, I send an email to Fallon, my personal shopper. I include the pictures of Cassandra from her social media profiles, a picture of her dress, the brand name, size, and I also take measurements of its neckline, arms, shoulders, bust, waist, and chest. I include the brand name of the makeup I found in her purse and photos of her purse and wallet as well. I explain to Fallon that Cassandra is on the shorter side, perhaps around five feet. I also tell Fallon to get her any toiletries she may need in every popular scent available and anything I may have left out.

Within five minutes, Fallon responds to my email and asks if there’s any budget she needs to adhere to and how many days of clothing Cassandra will need. I tell her there is no budget, and decide on a month, with a note that once Fallon meets Cassandra, she can learn more about her personal preferences and create a full wardrobe from there.

I make my way to the kitchen and take stock of the fridge and pantry. I’ll need to order plenty of food to make sure my little star has everything she might want when she wakes up. I place a large delivery order from my favorite bakery—muffins, croissants, danishes, bagels, and different kinds of breads. I also get produce, vegetables, cheeses, and other dairy items sent over from the farmers’ market. At the butcher shop, I order several pounds of chicken, beef, pork, and fish. And from the supermarket, I make sure to get eggs, milk, yogurt, cereal, chocolate, snacks, condiments—one of everything I can find.

The deliveries will be here first thing in the morning, and once I’m sure of my little star’s favorites, I’ll keep them on hand for her. I’m so busy trying to make sure I’ve covered everything she may need that I don’t hear her. But I do sense a change in the air, the freshness of her scent and the purity of her soul and aura. My eyes lock onto her form in the doorway and I lose my breath.

For a moment, I’m stunned speechless. She looks far too vulnerable standing there in only my shirt, which falls down to her ankles like a dress, her beautiful curls spilling over her shoulders. I’m hit with the want, the need to make her mine, and I have to swallow to soothe the dryness in my throat.

“You’re awake,” I finally manage to say.

She gives a small nod and takes a single step forward.

I move closer, looking for any signs of lingering pain or disorientation. “Are you feeling alright?”

Again she nods, but her eyes are still slightly glazed, her movements somewhat languid. I don’t believe the drugs have fully left her system yet.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” I suggest. I intend to pick her up and take her back to the bedroom, but then she does the most surprising thing: With a soft smile, she lifts the hem of the shirt up and off.

I freeze, utterly transfixed by the expanse of warm brown skin revealed to me. Every honorable intention flees my mind, replaced only by the urge to touch, taste, and claim what she’s offering. It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to give in to the desire.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

She sways slightly on her feet. “Want you,” she murmurs.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, my little star,” I grit out, and steady her.

As I reach for the shirt on the ground, she clasps my face. “No.”

“Cassandra,” I whisper, begging her to take pity on me.

She pouts. “That’s not fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” she slurs.

“Give me one, my little star.” I meet her eyes, and my control begins to slip away.

She tilts her head to the side. Then she looks me over, her gaze roaming from the top of my head, to my wings, to my feet. When she meets my eyes again, there’s no fear, no concern, only the same desire I feel within myself.

---