The Beast King's true nature,
lurking beneath the surface. The story has it;
The beast was in him, and it was alive, even now in his human form. Or may be it's in my head
His muscles, honed and dangerous, moved beneath the tight fabric of his clothes,I knew that if he wanted, he could tear me apart with the flick of a finger. His body radiated with the promise of violence.
I swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to back away, but it was impossible to look away. There was an invisible pull between us, like a magnetic force, something that tugged at me and made my stomach twist in knots. It was a hunger—raw and primal, one that made me feel small and insignificant, yet I was drawn to it. My pulse quickened as I stood there, frozen.
I wasn't just standing before a man. I was standing before the Beast. The rumor has it;
The Beast King's beast form was monstrous—twice the size of a regular wolf, with claws like obsidian and glowing markings that ran down his body, like veins of fire. His very presence as a creature was enough to make entire villages tremble in fear. But it wasn't just his appearance that made him terrifying—it was the way he existed, with a certainty that no one could ever oppose him. His power radiated from his every pore, and now I could feel it pressing against my skin, like I was suffocating in it.
I trembled.
And yet, even as his gaze devoured me, he didn't look at me like a man looks at a woman. No. He didn't see me as something to be desired, not the way a lover might look at his mate. No. It was more like… a wolf hunting a deer. A predator stalking its prey.
I wanted to scream, to fight, but I couldn't. My body betrayed me.
I wanted to break away from his gaze, but it felt like chains had shackled me in place, binding me to him with invisible force. I had never felt so small, so vulnerable.
And then… his lips parted, and the cold silence shattered with the rumble of his voice.
"You… are the one they gave me."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a statement. It was something darker, something like an accusation. His eyes narrowed, and he looked me up and down, taking me in, scrutinizing every inch of me with the intensity of a man who had waited centuries for this moment.
His gaze lingered on my face, my neck, and then, finally, my waist. That's when it hit me—he was thinking of how easily I could be crushed under him. He was imagining me, powerless, beneath him.
A shiver ran down my spine.
He stepped closer.
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't blink.
My body obeyed the threat in my bones—don't fall. Don't faint. Don't speak unless spoken to. Be the perfect little lamb. Be brave.
Or your mother dies.
So I tilted my chin up. I made my spine straighten.
Even as my knees threatened to buckle.
Even as my throat burned from holding in a sob.
Even as those silver eyes made me feel naked, like he could see everything they'd done to me.
And I whispered inside my mind, like a prayer:
I will die if I must.
Just don't let them hurt her.
"I was promised the strongest," he growled, low and dark. "But all I see is a broken thing, a delicate piece of glass. What have they done to you?"