Page 22 of Beast's Wife

Cupping her cheek, he pulled her down toward him and kissed her lips. He heard her soft, subtle moan, and he swallowed down the sound.

“I will do as you ask,” he said.

He didn’t know how she would be able to handle it, but they had to try.

She put her hands on his cheek. She touched his scar and didn’t jerk back. “Thank you,” she said.

This was new for him. He’d never had a woman want his company for longer than what she could get out of him. Staring into Morgan’s eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder what made hertick.

“Why are you not afraid?” he asked.

“I am afraid,” she said, startling him.

This made more sense to him.

“What have I done to make you afraid of me?”

She frowned. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“What else do you have to be afraid of?”

“The whole world. There is nothing you can do or say that is going to change the way the world is. It’s a horrible place, even outside of what my family did, of what Romone does. It’s still full of mean people, bullies, nothing is going to change that.”

“I scare you?” he asked.

“No, you don’t. You’re the only thing right now that makes sense to me, and I know that is insane because of your reputation, but you don’t scare me. I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Much to his surprise, she leaned in close and pressed her lips against his. It was such a soft touch. At first, he didn’t react because the truth was, he didn’t know how. He was used to people fearing him, and he loved it. Not that he took a long time to think about it, but he liked that people moved out of his way. Even before the scars on his face.

“How did you get these?” she asked, stroking the scars down his face.

“The same way you got these,” he said, stroking the ones he’d discovered on her back when he’d been taking care of her.

The moment he had seen them, he’d known they had come from a belt—her father’s belt—or something with metal. The anger he’d not been able to control. The very thought of anyone hurting her and enjoying themselves had filled him with a rage he’d never known.

Carver had felt anger. He rarely killed when he felt that way, as to him, that made for sloppy work, and he took pride inhis work.

So, he had no choice but to wait, to allow himself to calm down, and as he did, he took care of Morgan. Even sick, she’d been nothing short of a lady. So sweet, lovely, and kind. It angered him to think of what other people had done to her. The fear she must have felt.

“They were gotten because I didn’t follow direct orders. I made a mess on the hallway carpet. Did you know sometimes my brother stole my towel just so I would get into trouble?”

“He sounds like an evil fucker to me,” Carver said.

She laughed. “Trust me, he was. He loved beating up women. He asked Dad if he could help all the new arrivals to adjust. I never saw a woman leave his company smiling. They were always crying, limping, in tears. The fear in their eyes palpable.”

“He won’t harm anyone.” He’d taken care of the brother. He’d dealt with them all. None of them had been laughing when he arrived.

There was silence and he stared at her, expecting to see fear or anger, or remorse. He didn’t detect any of that, and he frowned, waiting for her to tell him she hated him, that he shouldn’t have done that to her family.

Nothing.

“How did you get yours?” she asked.

“A fight gone bad,” Carver said.

“How did you become The Beast?”

He reached out and pushed some of her hair off her shoulder. “I fought hard. I’ve killed a lot of people, Morgan, and that number will keep getting bigger.”