Beast_A Filthy Sweet Fairy Tale Romance

by Miranda Martin

  I crack it open, skim a few pages but I need time to read it, time I don't have right now, and I can't risk Adir finding it out of place. I carefully push it back, wanting so badly to hold on to it. Maybe I'll get another chance but I want to look at what else is here while I can. I turn to the center of the room. Right in the middle, situated front and center, is an impressive desk and large chair. Frowning, I walk over, looking over the books stacked neatly on top. There's one large, leather bound book sitting open on the desk. I don't even know where he'd find leather. It must have been recycled from another binding. My eyes fall on the pages, curious what he would choose to read. The words are clearly hand written. Unusual. Maybe it's a journal? Something of historical value?

  I angle my head to read the elegant script, admiring the almost calligraphy-like quality of it even as the words seep in. It's a poem. A poem about desire, longing, frustration. Fear. A poem about a woman. I can feel the writer's anguish, the conflicting emotions boiling up inside. Who wrote this? It isn't anyone I'm familiar with. I pick up the book and insert my finger to mark the page while I examine the cover and the spine but they're both bare. There isn't even a title. Same with the first page of the book when I flip to it. Stranger still.

  I look over at the desk again, looking for some kind of clue, and find a pen. With an odd surge of emotion, I pick it up, running the smooth shaft thoughtfully between my fingers. No. That can't be...is it possible... did Prince Adir write this? I stare at the book, still holding the pen. The poem, it's so sensitive. So thoughtful and heartfelt. I touch the page, considering the tumultuous emotions in the words and in the man himself. Complicated, passionate. He definitely feels. He isn't stoic and cold. And the way he looks at me.

  I look at the poem again, biting my lip. It's ridiculous, but... is this about me? Taking the book, I walk over to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Flipping through the book, there’s page after page of work in the same writing. Poems, essays, some portions where thoughts and emotions are just written out. There's so much here. I look up, out the open door to the rest of the place. It's still quiet. I should have time. Settling in, I start from the beginning. And I'm glad I do, the writer is talented. Beyond talented. The words hold my attention, transporting me somewhere else, making me feel anger, pain, sorrow. I run through the gamut of emotions and can't help but think about the man who may have written this.

  Is this who Prince Adir really is inside? This artist, this person who feels everything so keenly, so much that he keeps this part of himself completely locked away, protected. As I delve deeper and deeper into the pages, I make the mistake of completely losing track of time. A very stupid mistake. As I turn another page, entirely engrossed, I freeze, my heart stopping as the door slams open. My breath catches in a silent gasp.

  Caught. With my hand still in the cookie jar. Too afraid to look up, I stay in the chair, my eyes on the page.

  "What are you doing?" Adir's deep, growling voice fills the room, sinking into me, taking up all the air around me.

  I swallow, my throat clicking dryly as I consider my utter lack of options.

  Shit.

  Chapter 10

  Adir

  I can only stay away for so long. The elevator opens and I stumble slightly as I walk out into my home. Perhaps I tried to drown my sorrows a little too deeply tonight, but thoughts of Isa plagued me even as I tried to forget. An evening out with Herne and Zane usually does the trick, helps me keep my mind off things I'd rather not think too hard on. Unfortunately, I forgot how well they know me. It only took one look for them to ask me what was wrong, like they could sense it was something serious, something different. And I, in my weakened state, made the mistake of divulging the situation with Isabelle.

  My mind wanders back to our conversation.

  "Perhaps you should add a few more...duties...to her list," Zane suggests with a smirk. "After all, you want to make sure the amount of debt forgiven is worth it."

  I shake my head. As much as I want Isa, I don’t want her to be with me because I force her. She loves her father, using that against her in such a manner... No.

  Then Herne chimes in. "Women like you," he says, a twinkle in his eye. "I have no idea why, with that ugly face. But they do. You don't need to add anything to her list." He leans forward with a charming grin. "Just make sure to spend more time with her while she's around the house. Let her see that you want her. She'll be warming your bed in no time. And you'll stop moping around like a schoolboy."

  I would take offense to that last comment but it’s true. Unfortunately, the advice is not at all helpful. Isa would have to be a dimwitted fool not to notice how much I want her. And a fool she is not. I get irritated with their suggestions and they only tease me harder about Isa. Like they know it will get under my skin.

  "I don't see the problem here," Zane says, shrugging. "Seduce her, claim her, make her your own. Problem solved." He raises his glass with a wink. "On to the next."

  If only it was that simple. The temptation of having her under my roof, sleeping just a few doors down from me, it drives me mad enough to abandon my own home in search of some kind of peace. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring her here when I know how much I want her. How much I crave her. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. If it was just lust, just desire for her body, I could control it. I have in the past without much of a problem. I've had beautiful women and I've never felt this pull, this urge to have more than her body. To have the female herself. I've never felt this mixture of respect, admiration, and lust all for one person. It's all encompassing. It's too much and I fear it's growing into even more the longer she’s around. How can I not be drawn to her intelligent mind, her fierce protectiveness coupled with such vulnerability?

  And all of that wrapped in such a temptingly attractive package. I groan. I shouldn't have made her wear that dress. It shows too much the length of her legs, the slender softness of her neck, the curve of her waist cinched tight with that tiny excuse for an apron. But I also know the dress isn't the problem. Not really. It's the person wearing the dress. It's her. Isabelle Stone.

  Moving deeper into my home, I run into a table and quickly shuffle to the side, shaking my head. This is what poets speak of. The desire, the anguish, the turmoil. I am falling in love. Falling for the human female I essentially paid to live with me, to be my servant. Falling for the female that doesn't even want to be here. Growling, I rake my fingers through my hair. I need to let her go. I want her too much. More than anything I've ever wanted. She's always on my mind, I'm preoccupied while working, while spending time with my friends. Hell, even while I'm sleeping thoughts of her just won't leave me! I dream of those big, warm eyes, that defiant chin. That curved body. And that is exactly why I need to let her go. I know I do. My beast is already too close to the edge, my control a tight band just waiting for the slightest increase of force to snap irrevocably.

  If I try to make her mine and she rejects me— I know I couldn’t handle it. My beast couldn’t handle it. I will go feral, become an outcast among the Singarti, a pariah to society. I will be locked away, a threat to myself and others that cannot be allowed to walk freely. An abomination that none of the others wants to see or acknowledge. The Singarti, we like to pretend we are civilized creatures, that our urge to spread farther and farther from our home planet stems from the urge to explore, to learn. Not from the urge to conquer. Not from the urge to expand territory. Both urges very familiar to our inner beasts. So we hide the examples that show the truth of that half of our nature and caution our children to moderation. To living within a rigid set of boundaries. All the while hoping not to end up on the other side of those bars, lost to the beast we try so hard to hide. Even from ourselves.

  I shake my head. I already skate the edge, my appearance drawing concerned and judgmental looks from my peers. And now even Herne and Zane. They didn't bring it up again tonight, but I saw the concern and worry shading their expressions even as they teased me about Isa. There
’s no hiding how close my beast is to the surface. And while I call those very same people small-minded and almost relish their fearful looks at times, I know deep down that they are at least partially right. That I am a cause for concern.

  I blindly put my hand out to lean against the wall, my head hanging as an internal war surges through me, ripping me apart where nobody can see the destruction. Keep what I most desire close? Risk losing myself completely if she can't see past the beastly exterior? Or let her go. Protect her from myself, from my raging lust and barely leashed internal beast. I know what the safe option is, the path I should take. The path that is most likely the best for us both, that will keep us both safe.

  I raise my head, wondering if I have the strength to choose that path when I want her so badly. Am I this weak? So weak that I cannot prevent myself from making an almost assuredly disastrous decision? I take another step. Maybe a shower will clear my head. I’m running around in circles, traveling the same mental loop over and over again. Determined, I start moving with more purpose but then I freeze as I catch something from the corner of my eye. I turn my head in disbelief. The door to my study is open. I never leave it open.

  My heart clenches, I am immediately sober, like a bucket of cold water was dumped on me. I rush across the room to the door, shoving it open, scanning the familiar space rapidly. My familiar space. My sanctuary, where I am free to be myself without others watching. But it has been broken into. Violated.

  My eyes land on Isa. She is sitting in front of the fireplace, with a book in her lap. I look at the book, at the familiar binding and my stomach drops. No. It can't be. My eyes dart over to my desk in the hope that I am wrong. I must be wrong. But I am not. There is no open book on the desk. She has my journal. Isa has my journal and she's clearly been reading it. My private journal, where my innermost thoughts spill out freely. No filter. The words are meant for my eyes only.

  I slowly turn to meet her eyes, raw and exposed, all of my protective layers and armor ripped away. Leaving my soft, vulnerable self completely at her mercy. No. She cannot see this part of me. If she sees my inner self— if she knows the true me and still rejects me, I will lose myself to my beast. Forever. I am so much more vulnerable now to her. How could she do this? My fear fuels my anger as I stalk forward.

  "What part of never come in here did you not understand?" I say in a quiet, biting voice.

  "I—" she starts, licking her lips nervously. "I just thought—"

  "Get out," I snarl, taking the book from her limp hands. "Get out!"

  I pull her out of the chair, her gasp burning me in my rage. Even as the anger surges through me, the idea that she is afraid of me doesn't sit well. But she cannot be here, here where I cannot hide from her. Where she can see right into me.

  "Leave! Now!" I bellow, closing my journal with a snap. There’s fear in her eyes as she backs away. "You do not belong here! Go!"

  Whirling, she finally sprints out of the room, her dress fluttering behind her as leaves my sight. Snarling, I cross the room and slam the door shut behind her. But even alone, with the door closed, my sanctuary is no longer so calming. It has been breached. It’s no longer a safe haven and I can still smell Isa's scent with every breath I take. It's too much. I scream, all of my emotion boiling out in that hoarse burst of sound. What has she done?

  I look down at the book, at my hair covered hands.

  What have I done?

  Chapter 11

  Isa

  I run out of the room, all the way to my bedroom. My heart is beating hard and fast, my stomach in knots. But not from fear of Adir, or at least not all of it. I remember the look on his face when he saw me sitting in his chair with his writing on my lap. The look of utter vulnerability. Of betrayal. Like he couldn’t understand why I would hurt him like that. In his eyes, I could see he thought I had stripped him bare and he wasn't ready for it, and in that moment, I was ashamed. Ashamed to have violated his privacy, snooped through the one area he told me was off limits. Read his private journal.

  But, if I’m honest with myself, I don't regret it. Not when I consider the knowledge I've gained. Not after catching a glimpse of who he really is inside. He never would have let me see that side of him voluntarily. Not when he actively maintains such a gruff, uncaring exterior; only showing lust, anger, ruthlessness. No, I don't regret taking the chance, but I do regret hurting him. I turn to my closed bedroom door, my breath slowly calming. He shouldn't be ashamed of himself. He’s beautiful. I consider the door. He should know that I admire everything I discovered. That I admire the him I saw in that journal.

  I hesitate with my hand on the knob, he probably doesn't want to see me right now. This could just be one more bad decision after the last. But then I recall the expression of utter vulnerability, and yes, fear in his eyes. I can't let him worry over me judging him. He needs to know what I think. Shoring up my courage, I open the door and walk out. This is probably an extremely stupid idea. I rub my damp palms on my dress as I make my way back over to the study. The door is closed again, but there’s light coming out from underneath, through the crack. He's still inside.

  Taking a breath, I raise my hand and knock lightly. No answer. I wait, wondering if I should just leave. It's most likely the smartest move, but I wait. Father always tells me I'm too stubborn for my own good sometimes. I have to admit he may have a point.

  "Lips soft as a rose, words spilling forth sharp and pointed," I say quietly at the door, knowing he'll hear me. I repeat a few more lines from the poem then pause, hoping for some kind of response. None comes. "It's beautiful," I finally say when it's clear he isn't going to say anything. "Is it yours?"

  I wait. Nothing. Maybe he doesn't want to hear what I think. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. Why would he even care about my opinion? Maybe he’s just angry that I didn't listen. I take a slow step back, disappointed. Maybe I'm reading way too much into everything.

  The door opens.

  "You liked it?"

  His face is carefully composed, his eyes painfully vulnerable. This is him. The part of him that wrote all of those beautiful words, the part that he hides away like a dirty secret. The part that makes me want him even more.

  "Yes," I say with a smile. "I'm sorry for reading your work without your permission," I take a step forward, "but it was beautiful."

  "Beautiful?" he repeats, his face still unreadable.

  "Yes," I agree, stepping even closer.

  This isn't smart. In fact, it's incredibly stupid. But I find I just don't care. The Prince with the dominating presence and dark sensuality is temptation enough, but the Adir whose secret place is surrounded by books, who keeps his words hidden to protect himself— he’s irresistible. And I'm feeling reckless.

  I place my hand on Adir's chest. He looks down at it, going still.

  "I want that part of you," I say quietly, his heart beating faster under my hand. He looks up at me, his eyes intense as they meet mine. "I want that part of you...to have me."

  "Be careful," he warns, his voice deeper as he watches me. "You don't know what you're playing with. Or how far I'll go."

  I should heed his warning. It would be the safe thing to do.But I've already come this far. Safe is apparently no longer in my vocabulary. I swallow, taking another step closer until the front of me skims the front of his body and I know just how much he wants me.

  "I want that you," I repeat, licking my lips. "I think...I know you want me too."

  He growls, reaching down to wrap his hands around my wrists and twists my arms behind my back, pushing me firmly up against him with his grip. I gasp at the abrupt heat of the contact, our bodies pressed together in one, long line. The beat of his heart hammers through the hard length of him.

  "Yes, I want you," he says in a low voice. "But do you really know that you want me? Think carefully," he says quietly, his eyes searing. "Your innocence will be gone. I will not hold back."

  I frown, irritated at the almost condescending words. "Do
you think I’m incapable of knowing who I want to give myself to?" I shoot back, pulling at his hands but finding mine firmly, yet gently, trapped.

  "No," he says, shaking his head slowly. "I just want to be certain before I take you." He lowers his head until his hot breath hits my ear. "Before I make you scream with pleasure. Before I make every inch of you mine." He bites my earlobe gently, making me shudder. I'm well and truly out of my league. "I won't be a pretty, gentle lover. I want you too badly. Are you sure that is what you want for your first time?"

  My heart beats so hard in my chest I know he can feel it. Heat pools between my legs, my breasts are full, tender against him. My body is ready for everything he's promising. And I want the man I caught a glimpse of. Badly.

  "I've never wanted anyone like this before," I whisper.

  He nods and then sweeps me up in his arms, walking me away from his study.

  "Where are we going?" I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck, butterflies in my belly. I want this but I'm nervous too. What if he thinks my inexperience is unattractive? What if I don't know what to do? What if this whole thing is a mistake and it turns out to be a complete and utter disaster?

  "To my room," he says in a low voice, his eyes hot as they look at my body. "I want a bed for your first time."

  I nod, thrilled at that simple statement. Then we're in his room and he kicks the door shut with a foot. I catch a glimpse of a modern, large space complete with a sitting area and a bed bigger than any I've ever seen. But I don't have time to admire the room. He sets me down on my feet and unzips the yellow dress, not wasting any time. Nerves flutter in my belly as I help him take it off, until I'm standing in just my bra and panties.