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To anyone else, those words would give pause.
They would make fear reign.
Because they are not an empty threat.
But I’ve seen what The Beast is capable of, and I’m not going to cower away from him when he needs me the most. When he needs a reminder that I’m safe, that he took care of the problem and ensured he could take me far away from that basement cell and whatever else might have happened there.
“Didn’t you already?”
He stiffens, never looking away from me. “Does that scare you, Beauty, knowing that I killed those men in that house?”
It should.
It absolutely should incite fear in any sane woman, but staring up at him, the last thing I am is afraid.
All I want is for him to hold me. For him to touch me. For him to tell me it’ll be okay, that he’ll protect me.
I don’t fear him.
Not even a little bit.
Because he may be The Beast, but not to me. To me, he is Weston. And somehow, in the span of less than a month, and despite a myriad of reasons not to, I’ve fallen in love with him.
I shake my head. “You don’t scare me.”
Instead of my words releasing some of his tension, they only seem to anger him more. His brow tightens, and he holds out his hands. “I should. You saw what I was capable of today. You saw the blood on these hands.”
His voice breaks with his words, and I see what’s really behind this.
He thinks I can’t see him the same way anymore, that witnessing what he did will somehow change what we created and erase what I felt for him before I left the mountain.
“You hurt those men, but they would’ve hurt me. God knows I wasn’t there as a welcomed guest. I wasn’t there so they could cook me lavish dinners and bring me bubble baths and body washes and beautiful clothing. All the things you have done.”
“I did them so you wouldn’t try to run, so you’d stay without a fight. Not because I’m a good man, Beauty.”
I shake my head again. “That’s not true. You may have had an ulterior motive, but you are a good man somewhere in there.”
He opens his mouth to fight me, but I try to shift off the bed and his focus quickly jumps to helping me get to my feet.
I groan slightly at the pain that shoots through my hip when I put pressure down, and he scowls and scoops me up.
“I can walk.”
Lips next to my ear, he nips at it. “No, you can’t.”
By now, I’ve learned not to fight Weston when he’s like this. It only ends with both of us frustrated, and tonight, we’re without an outlet.
I loop my arm around his neck, staring at his profile. “This is starting to become a thing with us.”
He snorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches with genuine amusement he tries to hide. “I hope not.”
Me too.
As much as I enjoy being in Weston’s arms, I would much rather it not be due to being saved from my own stupidity, wild animals, or unknown kidnappers.
He carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the counter, then checks the temperature of the water in the tub and pours in half a bottle of bubble bath and bath salts. “Soaking in this should help with your muscle soreness.”
“Thank you.”
