Taming the Beast: 9. Breaking the Mask

Elodie didn’t leave.

She stood rooted in the doorway of the gym, still trembling, her body marked by his trial. Her blouse hung open, wrists bruised, skin aching from leather and teeth. She should have gone back to her quarters, swallowed down the heat in her veins, pretended this night had never happened.

But something in Ciaran’s voice—before I do what I swore I wouldn’t—gnawed at her.

Fall.

The word wasn’t a threat. It was a confession.

And she wasn’t about to let him bury it beneath iron and shadows.

So instead of retreating, she followed him. Up the stairs, down the hall, to the heavy oak door of his private suite.

He didn’t lock it.

That alone was invitation enough.

Ciaran stood by the window when she entered, mask back in place, broad shoulders rigid as though holding the entire city on his back. His reflection in the glass was half-man, half-ghost, carved by fire and fury.

“You don’t knock?” His tone was ice, though