Chapter 54: Even Beasts Remember Love

Warning: This chapter contains R-rated content and potentially triggering material. Reader discretion is advised. If you find such themes distressing, feel free to skip this section.

And then—without hesitation—he rose.

He came to her, slow but certain, the weight of years and hunger and rage bleeding from every step. His presence swallowed the chamber, heat rolling off him like a storm barely held at bay.

She stood still as stone, her breath caught in her throat, heart thundering like a trapped creature. He reached for her, his calloused hands cradling her face with surprising gentleness, thumbs brushing her cheeks as if memorizing every line of her.

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

As though she were the answer to every prayer he'd never dared to speak aloud.

And then his lips descended—fierce, desperate, starved.

It was not a kiss of tenderness. It was fire. A claim. A silent scream trapped in skin. It was him pouring every sleepless night, every unspoken word, every unshed tear into that one consuming moment.

Aria gasped into his mouth, her hands instinctively clutching his forearms, feeling the restrained strength beneath. The world around them fell away—no stone, no chains, no ancient blood binds. Only the wild crashing of two souls that had long known pain, now grasping at something that might resemble belonging.

He drew her closer, their bodies flush, his breath shuddering as he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“I dreamt of this,” he whispered. “Even in the darkness they locked me in… I remembered your scent. Your voice. And I dreamed of this.”

Her eyes stung.

“I never dared dream at all,” she whispered back, voice trembling. “Not until now.”

"You're just as I remembered. Even then—you were only a girl—but I could never forget you."

She didn’t understand what he meant, not truly. His words were distant echoes, but all her senses were locked on the man holding her.

Alpha Demetrius.

Why had fate tied her to his beast? Why forge a bond with someone her heart could never accept? Someone who had taken her mother’s life… who had turned her into nothing more than a slave?

Why him?

The one she loathed above all.

She tore herself from his grasp.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, retreating a step, then another—until her feet carried her faster than her own shadow.

\-

Lydia Fang stirred in her sleep, shifting beneath silken covers, only to awaken to a sight that turned her blood to ice—golden eyes gleaming from behind a mask, hovering above her like a specter of death.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Easy now, Lydia,” came the voice, smooth as velvet yet laced with menace.

She bolted upright in terror, throwing off the sheets. “You—how did you enter my chambers? Guards! Help—!”

But before her cry could reach the corridor, he was upon her. In the blink of an eye, he stood before her, his hand curling cruelly around her throat as he drove her back against the stone wall with an audible thud.

Her eyes widened in horror. “No wolf moves with such speed,” she rasped.

A smirk touched his lips beneath the mask. “Try again.”

“You are not... not a wolf?” she whispered, trembling. “Then what manner of creature are you?”

He leaned in, his voice dark and mocking. “I am your doom.”

He raised his hand to strike, but a sudden burst of heat flashed through the air. A flame surged toward him, halting his movement. He turned, his gaze falling upon a witch who hurled a second fireball with haste.

With one hand still holding Lydia aloft, his other arm stretched outward. Frost curled from his fingertips, spiraling toward the witch. In a heartbeat, icy chains bound her limbs, dragging her body toward him with magnetic force until she hung inches from his face. His fingers tightened around her throat as he stared into her eyes—black meeting black.

Their gazes locked, and the world around him faded. In its place, a vision unfolded—her memories, her deeds. He saw it all. How she had uttered the spell that cursed his beloved.

His jaw clenched. “You’ve just given yourself a second chance at life, witch,” he growled.

And then, they vanished.

The world blinked, and they reappeared in the heart of a shadowed forest. Snow clung to the trees, the air heavy with silence.

He cast the witch aside like a doll, her body striking a tree before slumping to the earth. With a flick of his wrist, she fell unconscious.

His golden gaze returned to Lydia.

“How dare you lay a hand on my mate?” His voice was low, cold, and laced with fury.

She gasped, struggling against the invisible force that kept her from shifting. “Demetrius —please! I did not know the slave girl was your mate!”

“Slave girl?” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, and his grip upon her throat tightened. She began to cough, clawing at his hand.

“I have seen it,” he said through gritted teeth. “The way you treated her… the cruelty, the torment. Just as you did to his mother.”

He stilled for a breath, and then his eyes narrowed.

“Your daughter—she is complicit, is she not?” A slow, dreadful smile spread across his lips. “You and your lineage have wrought great evil. And now, it ends.”

At once, Lydia gasped, her fingers clawing weakly at his wrist. Her voice broke in a ragged whisper, “Please... not her. My daughter—spare her. She knows not what she does. I forced her hand. I beg of you…”

His eyes flashed. Slowly, deliberately, he tightened his grip.

“I despise begging,” he said coldly. “It sours justice with cowardice.”

She whimpered, struggling for breath, but he only watched her with disgust.

“There will be no pardon. Not for her. And certainly, not for you.”

With a sudden movement, he disarmed her. The bloodied arm clattered to the forest floor as she screamed in pain. Blood poured from her shoulder, staining the snow beneath her.

He did not hesitate.

His fangs elongated, gleaming beneath the moonlight. With a savage snarl, he drove them into her neck, ripping free a chunk of flesh. Her scream choked and died. Her lifeless body slumped forward—but he was not yet finished.

A sound escaped his throat. Not a growl.

Laughter.

Low and twisted at first. Then louder. Wilder.

And then silence, as he crouched beside her corpse. With a single, fluid motion, he severed her head from her body.

It rolled to the base of a tree—eyes wide, lips parted in shock—before the snow drank its warmth.