To Love a Beast

Getting It Straight

When Sinclaire imagined a Lycan, she pictured a fanged beast foaming at the mouth. What she didn't expect was a clingy man, hell-bent on becoming attached at her hip. Between the contented purrs and nuzzling, Sin figured the Lycan was more a domesticated kitty than a ferocious canine. And at that thought, her fears melted away into discomfort. She wasn't used to physical affection and didn't welcome the sudden excessive display.

Earlier, the beast-Cedric, as he introduced himself-asked for her name and she hesitated. Because how could she know he wouldn't try to find out more about her or worse, return her to the coven. Knowledge is power and mate or not, Sin didn't like the thought of anyone holding any form of power over her. Yet, even as she made her decision to deceive him, her traitorous mouth formed the sounds to her name.

And he smiled like he knew the war inside her mind. Then he murmured her name as though savoring the taste and texture of the syllables on his tongue. Revering. Coveting.

"Sin," he said, eyes meeting her own, "you are my sin."

She shivered, remembering the intensity of his stare. No one ever looked at her in that way; as if she mattered a great deal. The thought almost made her feel guilty for wanting to leave her supposed mate-almost. Which explained what she was doing wandering in the halls of the great structure, seeking out potential exits. Or at least, that was her initial plan, before she let her curiosity guide her into halls unknown.

Now she sat crossed leg in a dusty room cramped with all sorts of odd objects. Statues, lamps, rusted hardware, you name it.

Sin sighed, thinking how the Lycan was never going to let her out of his sight again if he found out she left the bedroom she promised to remain in. Sue her, but another second of unnecessary bedrest in the damned room, and she'd combust.

After eating under the careful watch of the beast, Sin felt herself regain strength and besides the wound on her neck, her body was feeling remarkably restored.

Picking up a glass orb, Sin peered through, admiring the way light slanted through the colored ornament.

"You are not in our room." A voice said from behind.

Sin jumped, almost dropping the object in her hands.

"Do you have a habit of sneaking up behind people?" she said, voice shriller than she'd like.

Cedric narrowed his eyes.

"And do you have a habit of deceiving people?"

That was a low blow! Yet guilt robbed the retort sitting on her tongue before she remembered he was the one who spirited her away from her home.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I'm a chronic liar with a bad case of shitty personality syndrome. Maybe you should rethink your decision of keeping me here."

If possible, he narrowed his eyes even more.

"The only time you lie is to persuade me to let you go," he said, drawing closer until he held her hands—try as she may escape his grasp," or when you try to escape bedrest, but I can see your pure nature."

He pressed his forehead against her own.

In the context which Cedric performed the gesture, Sinclaire deduced there was a sentimental value to the action in the Lycan world. Again, the display of obvious affection discomfited her.

She tugged herself from Cedric under the guise of wanting to admire a random trinket.

"Why do you insist on idealizing me?" she asked.

Sin didn't suffer from a lack of confidence-though she wasn't exempt from insecurities at times-but even she didn't view herself in such high regards.