Taming the Beast: 13. In the Quiet

The bed was too big for the two of them, yet somehow it felt too small. Sheets tangled around their bodies, damp with sweat, carrying the faint smell of smoke that clung to their skin.

Elodie lay half-curled against him, her cheek pressed to the scars across his chest. She traced them with her fingertips, not flinching, not pitying—just touching. Mapping him like he was more than wounds, more than violence.

Ciaran’s hand rested on the back of her neck, possessive even in sleep. Except he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was uneven, caught between exhaustion and vigilance.

“You’re staring,” he muttered.

“I’m memorizing,” she whispered.

His lips quirked, humorless. “There’s nothing beautiful in ruin.”

She lifted her head, met his eyes. “There’s everything beautiful in survival.”

The words cracked up in him. For once, he didn’t answer with a smirk or deflection. He just exhaled, long and shuddering, and turned his face into her hair.

“I don’t