The guard blinked once, wisely decided not to push it, and disappeared behind the animal hide flap with the soft thump of retreating footsteps.
Cyrus watched him leave, then turned back to Isabella, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the tremble in her legs—the strain in her shoulders. He stepped closer.
"You’re not fine," he said gently. "You’ve been swaying on your feet for the last minute."
Isabella opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance. His arms ca around her waist—gentle, careful—and she gasped.
"Cyrus—!"
"I said I’d help," he murmured, as if she hadn’t spoken. "You don’t need to be strong all the ti."
Isabella froze.
There was no teasing in his tone. No flirtation. Just warmth. Gentle authority. The kind of voice that could lt ice without trying.
Kian’s jaw tightened.
He hadn’t moved an inch, but sothing about his stillness felt louder than movent. His arms were crossed now, muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his clothing, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
Isabella, too stunned to react, let herself lean—just a little—into Cyrus’s chest. Her body betrayed her yet again, soaking up the kindness, the calm. She hated how good it felt. How easy it was.
And yet—
She peeked at Kian through her lashes.
He said nothing. Not a single word.
But his jaw twitched. His eyes followed every inch of Cyrus’s hand as it slid along her waist—never inappropriate, never forceful, just protective. Like she belonged there. Like he had the right to hold her.
And Kian...
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t object.
Didn’t move.
He just watched.
Silent. Intense. Like a predator with a muzzle strapped to its mouth.
Cyrus started guiding her toward the exit, his touch never slipping. "You need water, food, and rest," he said, brushing her hair away from her face as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Not a staring contest."
"You’re such a mother," Isabella muttered weakly, but her voice had no bite. She was leaning into him now, her body too exhausted to keep up the fire in her head.
"Soone has to be," Cyrus said, lips twitching in amusent.
They walked past Kian—who still hadn’t spoken. Still hadn’t blinked.
As they passed, Kian’s head turned ever so slightly.
And he inhaled.
A deep, slow, dangerous breath—like he was taking in sothing forbidden.
Isabella’s scent.
His eyes darkened.
Visibly.
His throat bobbed once, a harsh swallow, as though his body was fighting sothing it didn’t want to na. Or maybe couldn’t.
The mont stretched too long. Too silent.
He still didn’t speak.
Weakness.
The word rang sharp and cold in his skull. Not hers—his. The loss of control. The scent. The need.
...
The water shimred under the soft morning light, cool and inviting, but Isabella barely noticed. Her head still felt like it was caught in a thunderstorm—and his stupid face was the lightning.
Cyrus had walked her to the river gently, his hand never once leaving her waist until she stepped into the clearing. "I’ll stay nearby—"
"No," Isabella cut in sharply, though her voice didn’t sound half as strong as she’d hoped. "I’m not going to get swept away by the current. I’ll scream if a bear attacks."
He blinked, concern flickering in his soft gaze. "Are you sure—?"
"Yes," she insisted, already turning her back to him. "I’m not going to undress with soone hovering, even if it’s you."
There was a beat of silence. Then, "Alright. I’ll wait beyond the trees."
He hesitated, but she didn’t look back. She waited until she heard the crunch of his footsteps fade into the distance before finally letting out the breath she was holding.
She muttered under her breath, "Great. Now I’m scaring off sweet guys, too."
Then she thought about that stupid Kian and god mad again.
She crouched and splashed water on her face, muttering, "It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m not mad. Not even a little."
Then she scowled and slapped the water like it insulted her ancestors.
"Ugh! I hate him!" she growled, slapping the surface again, sending water flying. "With his stupid eyes and his stupid scent radar and his—his face! Who says that? ’You’re in heat’—what am I, a mating pamphlet?!"
She stood up, water dripping down her body, fists clenched like she was about to challenge the river to a duel. "I hope your cold, emotionally-repressed self gets caught in a stampede of hairy deer!"
The river didn’t respond, which only made her angrier.
"I swear," she said, aggressively rubbing her arms with a wet cloth, "next ti he looks at like that, I’ll—" Her voice cracked.
And then it happened.
The rage lted into a sudden tremble, her lip quivered, and without warning—
She bawled.
Not the cute teary-eyed kind. No. Full-on, ugly, hiccupy sobs.
"I just—" hic "—want good food and chocolates and soft—hic—blankets and WHY did he look at like THAT?"
She sat down in the water with a dramatic splash, arms hugging her knees, hair a dripping ss, nose red, eyes puffy.
"It’s not ," she sniffled. "It’s the hormones. It’s the—hic—scented pads. This isn’t fair."
The wind rustled the nearby leaves like they were politely pretending not to hear her emotional ltdown. Even the birds had gone silent. Probably out of respect.
She sat there sulking, cheeks damp from tears and river water, until the frustration started to fade. Her heart stopped trying to punch through her chest. Her thoughts began to untangle.
Eventually, with an exaggerated sigh, she wiped her face clean, grumbling to herself.
"Get a grip, Isabella. He’s just a cold, white-haired beastman with murder eyes and a jawline sculpted by sin. That’s nothing new."
From her space, she pulled out a fresh set of clothes—a pretty linen dress, delicate in detail and similar to the fine ones the strange man had given her before.
The strange man had given it to her, with just a na but no explanation. She hesitated before putting it on, her fingers brushing over the fabric.
That strange man...
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