BEASTLY INFERNO

BEASTLY INFERNO:8

"Baby.. i got my hand's dirty"

~Luna Heather

First step. Second step. Third step. I counted in anticipation as his footsteps approached. Each step sounded heavier than the last, as though he carried the weight of something unseen. The door creaked open, revealing Tristan—this time clad in fresh clothes, his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, and his eyes... sharper, colder, as though he knew something was amiss.

"I, Neroli Anderson," I began, my voice trembling but resolute, "reject you as my mate. I will neither honor you nor stay loyal to you."

The silence was a living thing, thick and suffocating. Tristan's body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly that I could see the strain of the muscles beneath his skin. His narrowed eyes bore into me, not with anger, but something else—something primal. Without a word, he turned and stalked past me, his movements unnervingly calm for someone I'd just rejected. The air shifted as I heard the slam of a door down the hall. The echo rang through the house, leaving me standing there, frozen, my heart pounding wildly.

Did it work? I thought. I didn't know.

I glanced toward the front door, my mind torn. I could leave, but the night was dark, the kind of darkness that clung to everything, making even the smallest step uncertain. I sighed and sank onto the couch, trying to gather my thoughts.

The sound of shattering glass snapped me out of my daze. My head jerked toward the hall where Tristan had disappeared. My breath caught as I heard another crash, then silence. The oppressive quiet pressed on me until my curiosity—and perhaps foolishness—won out.

I moved cautiously toward the source of the noise, each step hesitant, my heart thundering louder with every inch I closed. Roarrrr.

The sound was primal, animalistic, a guttural cry that reverberated through my entire body. My knees buckled as I instinctively covered my ears, but the sound pierced through regardless. Something told me to stay away, but something stronger—something unexplainable—drew me closer.

With trembling hands, I pushed the door open.

What I saw stole the breath from my lungs. The room was unrecognizable. Furniture lay in splinters, claw marks scored the walls, and scorch marks blackened the floor. The smell of smoke and something metallic—blood, maybe—hung in the air. My eyes locked onto Tristan, huddled in the corner. His broad back glistened with sweat, muscles taut as tremors racked his body.

"Tristan?" My voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't respond, only let out another guttural roar. It was agony personified. Against my better judgment, I crossed the room, my feet moving on their own as if compelled.

I knelt beside him and, without thinking, wrapped my arms around his trembling form. His skin was burning hot, like fire beneath my hands, and I almost pulled away, but something in me couldn't let go.

"Tristan, are you okay?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned, his movements slow and deliberate, until his arms encircled me. He buried his head against my torso, clutching me tightly as though I were the only thing tethering him to reality. His whimpers of pain were low and raw, and for a moment, I froze, unsure of what to do.

"Take it back." His voice was a hoarse whisper, but the words carried an undeniable weight.

I looked down and met his eyes—wild, pained, and full of something I couldn't quite name.

"I... I take it back," I stammered, the words tumbling from my lips before I fully understood what I was doing.

In an instant, the shaking stopped. He released me and stood, his movements fluid but terrifyingly abrupt. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel the tension radiating from him like heat waves.