Beast (MC Fables #1)

Chapter 41

CHAPTER 41

B EAST

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Belle whispers, her lashes glittering with tear drops.

A warmth spreads across my body and a thousand butterflies take flight in my gut when she reaches up and brushes her delicate fingers across the scars on my face.

Her touch is soothing and so fucking addictive, I don’t ever want her to stop.

“I was careless,” I say.

“It doesn’t mean you deserved it.” Her voice is still a whisper, but it’s also strong as she trails her fingers along the silvery scars. “You were young and foolish but that doesn’t give anyone the right to take anything from you.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine as she speaks her words with determination. “No one has the right to make you feel unworthy.”

She continues to trail her fingertips over my face, and I close my eyes. Her touch goes deeper than the surface of my skin. I feel it all over. But nowhere more than the cold corners of my heart.

“Has there been anyone since Jennifer?” she asks.

My eyes open. I think of the thousand lonely nights I’ve spent since then, and a knot tightens in my chest. “No.”

Her perfect brows pull together when she realizes what that must mean, and again her expression fills with empathy.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” she asks softly. “Why would you deny yourself the chance to be loved?”

It’s a question I’m used to. Over the years, my brothers have asked me the same thing.

Granted, when they ask it’s less eloquent and blunt. Why the fuck would you deny yourself pussy?

But when Belle asks it, it feels like I’m being flayed open with the same knife used to destroy my face. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s the gentleness in the way she asks that reminds me of what I’ve denied myself. Or the expression of sadness on her face telling me the soul-destroying loneliness I’ve put myself through hasn’t been worth it.

“Beast,” she says with a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

I look into her beautiful face. “Anything.”

She brushes her fingertips down my cheek. “Do you believe you are worth loving?”

And just like that, another piece of me is flayed open and exposed, and suddenly I feel very vulnerable. As if I am lying here cut wide open, with my pain and fears spilling out from the wound in my chest for her to see, ready for judgement. Ready for scorn.

“Love hurts,” I whisper.

Her smile is soft as her fingers graze my lips. “Not when you love the right person.”

“That sounds like a fantasy,” I say.

She runs her finger across my lips. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes.”

“Ever fucked anyone in this kitchen?”