Rage

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Steele

S teele stands under the shower, the announcement of tonight’s dinner with Reverie still fresh in his mind; as peculiar and intriguing as this experience is, what strikes him most is how her gaze cleaves into his soul. He’s never encountered someone whose eyes hold so much battle, a silent war etched into their depths. Her voice, heavy with the weight of heartbreak, carries a tone that seems to echo through centuries. He kicks himself for prying into her past, determined now to push the thought from his mind.

It was just hard not to focus on her with the giant erection he’s been sporting since she almost killed him in the library.

He wants to know her story.

Even through her beastly facade, he can sense the woman underneath.

The woman in the portrait was stunning, thick, ravenous.

Deep blue eyes the color of a midnight ocean pierced outward from a long and elegant face. Her inky locks are a fall of curls resting beside her pretty features. The portrait boasted a large-breasted woman in a dark blue dress, the heave of tits so enormous it’s hard to focus on anything else.

And the beast who’s taken her hostage.

Blue eyes stare at him like beacons in a stormy sea, moonlight mixed within the waves like frayed threads of a shooting star unraveled by a hurricane.

Her breasts are still enormous in her beastly form, and the clothing she wore earlier reflected her conflicted identity, mixing remnants of her former life with the raw, untamed nature of her curse.

She wore a flowing, tattered gown that clung to her beastly form, torn and burned in places from her own torment. Her jewelry made of sharp, natural elements—a necklace of obsidian and cuffs twisted in silver—adorned her, adding to her air of primal regality.

Trying to push back against the thoughts, his head full of visions he can’t seem to shake away, he tries to focus on showering. His dick throbs as he washes his hair, pulsating as he rinses. Rivulets of water slide over his chilled chest, cascading over his abs and falling beside the tower looming between his legs.

When he can’t help but slide his hand down his massive erection, he thinks of her, wondering what it would be like to get tangled up in the sheets together.

Both the beast and the maiden turn him on.

He could picture her kneeling before him in the shower, her gorgeous lips beholden to her fangs wrapping around his cock and sinking the whole thing into her throat.

He has always known he’s well endowed, and most women he’s been with have never been able to throat the whole thing.

But he has the feeling Reverie could take it in its entirety and not even gag.

Though sometimes gagging is hot.

He lathers soap onto his cock and thrusts his fist erratically, thinking of both the beast and the maiden riding him, those giant boobs bouncing in his face.

He’d take those tits and mouth them ferociously, nibbling and biting, causing a little sting.

As he imagines the sounds she’d make as he bit down, an explosion of cum shoots out and coats the shower wall. The release came swiftly, yet no less hot and freeing simultaneously.

It’s been a long time since he’s been with a woman.

Since his wife died in childbirth—both she and the infant—he hasn’t been with many women. Though his libido has been in overdrive since he turned twenty-five, he’s found little comfort in meaningless sex. And no one has come close to being his next wife.

While the thought of fucking Reverie in beast form is a little unsettling—she could tear him limb from limb in one swipe—it also turned him on like he’s never been before.

Although he just came, his dick is already getting hard again at the thought of her.

He tries his hardest to ignore the pulsating cock, finishing his shower and drying off. It’s still hard when he puts on the trousers from the wardrobe and does his best to tuck it under his belt.

But with a penis as large as his, it’s already awkward to maneuver when it’s soft. When it’s hard—it’s incredibly difficult to hide it.

When he arrives at dinner, she’s seated at the far end of the massive table.

Edmund shows him to his seat at the opposite end, and he sits timidly, moving carefully to keep his dick tucked in his belt.

She’s already eating the salad when Edmund goes over to the tray and puts a portion of the same salad in front of him.

Steele clears his throat, trying not to look at her for too long. “Thanks for, uh, having me down here tonight. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

Reverie uses the utensils to cut a tomato with deliberate precision, her blue eyes briefly flittering to his. “Consider it a gesture of hospitality. Rare as they may be here.”

He nervously adjusts his posture. “Right. Well, it’s appreciated. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious…about you.…and this place.”

Reverie pauses mid-chew and sets her fork down slowly. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Steele. Especially here.”

He smirks slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Good thing I’ve always been reckless, then. Got me this far, didn’t it?”

Full lips twitch in a near-untarnished smile, but it hardens. “And yet, you’re still here. Alive. For now.”

Steele leans forward slightly. “For now? Is that a threat?”

“It’s reality,” Reverie answers, her voice sharpening, though he can almost sense a flicker of vulnerability. “You should be more concerned about the things outside this room than me.”

“I’m concerned about you, too.” He takes a forkful of salad and puts it in his mouth. “The way you look at me sometimes…it’s like you’re carrying a weight so heavy, it’s breaking you apart.”

A cold laugh escapes her. “You think you’ve figured me out? From a few glances? You don’t know anything, Steele.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He swallows the salad with a sip of ale. “Why hide everything behind riddles and beastly snarls? You’re more than that. I can see it.”

Her hands clench the table's edges, her voice lowering to a growl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You sit there, oblivious, asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

Steel hardens even further, yet he tries to soften his tone, making it almost so he’s pleading. “Maybe I do. Maybe I want to understand what’s keeping you locked up in this prison of a house. What’s keeping you locked away from yourself.”

Reverie stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You think this is a prison? You think you can waltz in here with your petty and naive curiosity and fix something that’s been broken for lifetimes? You’re a fool.”

Steel stands as well, his tone firm but not unkind. “Maybe I am. But I’m here. You can’t scare me.”

Reverie’s blue eyes blaze, her voice trembles with anger and something else—fear? Pain?

“Then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

She storms out of the dining hall, her footsteps echoing in the vast space. Steele stands there momentarily, running a hand through his hair, his heart pounding.

He picks up his half-finished glass of ale from the table and downs it in one gulp.

Edmund sidles up to him.

“You’ve known her for a while, haven’t you?”

Edmund glances up at him, his gray eyes slicing as he clears some of the dishes. “I’ve served her for as long as she has needed me.”

Steele frowns. “She doesn’t seem the type to need anyone. Not that I’d say that to her face.”

Edmund releases a faint smile that quirks up the side of his face, deepening his crow's feet. “Wise. She’s endured much, more than you could imagine. Trust does not come easily to her—nor should it.”

Steele crosses his arms. “So, how do I get her to trust me? I feel like every time I say something, I make it worse. If I’m to live here for eternity with you two and the ghosts, I’d like to be on good terms with the estate's monsters and the maiden who governs it.”

Edmund pauses, meeting Steele’s gaze with a measured look. “Trust is not something you gain with words alone, Mr. Steele. Actions speak louder, as they say. But it’s not only what you do; it’s why you do it.”

Steele's bushy brows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Edmund resumes clearing the table and returns to the serving station. “She’s not one to be swayed by grand gestures or hollow promises. She values consistency. Integrity. She watches for cracks in facades because she knows how easily they shatter.”

Steel rubs the back of his neck, thinking. “So, what do I do? Just…exist near her until she decides I’m worth her time?”

Edmund smirks slightly. “It’s a start. But more importantly, she needs to see that you’re not afraid of her—not just the beast, but the woman beneath. And, Mr. Steele…” he leans forward slightly, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Be careful with her past. There are wounds there that are still bleeding. Show her you respect the scars without demanding to see them.”

Steele nods slowly. “So, be patient. Be honest. And don’t push too hard. Got it.”

Edmund straightens, lifting the serving tray with the next course for Reverie with an effortless grace. “Precisely. But I’d also add a little humor occasionally, which wouldn’t hurt. She hasn’t laughed in years.”

As Edmund turns to quit the dining room, Steele clears his throat. “Do you have anywhere in here that I can paint?”

Edmund turns, his white brows quirking up in curiosity. “Any one of the sitting rooms on your wing. Simply ask the house for supplies, and it will oblige.”

Steele salutes him in thanks and downs the rest of his ale.

The need to release the storm of emotions swirling inside him becomes too great to ignore. Steele makes his way to a large sitting room he had discovered earlier, grateful for the lack of murderous encounters with the manor’s more hostile spirits this time.

As he steps into the space, he looks around, hesitating momentarily before speaking.

“Um…” His voice feels awkward, almost absurd, directed at the empty room. “Can I have… a set of brushes, high-quality paints, a sketchbook, canvas, charcoal and pencils, palette knives, and an easel?”

A sudden whirl of bright, spinning light engulfs the room. Steele shields his eyes as the brilliance intensifies, accompanied by a gust of wind that sends loose papers and drapes fluttering. When the light finally dims, and the air settles, he opens his eyes to find everything he asked for neatly laid out before him, as if conjured from his thoughts.

He steps toward the stack of canvases propped against the stone wall, the light from the nearby window catching the pristine surface of the top one. Carefully, he lifts it onto the easel and settles onto the stool before it. He picks up a brush, dips it into the richly pigmented paint, and places the first stroke against the canvas.

At first, his movements are wild and chaotic, his emotions pouring out in raw, unrestrained strokes. But slowly, the frenzy gives way to form and purpose. Her eyes emerge from the chaos—those glowing embers pierce into his soul. Her fractured existence, beastly and human, takes shape in vivid, haunting detail.

Each line, each shadow, each color becomes an outlet for his turmoil, echoing the conflict he senses within her. The room soon transforms, the walls lined with paintings of her: fierce, vulnerable, radiant, broken.

Days bleed into nights as Steele immerses himself in his art, barely pausing to rest on the cot the manor conjured at his request. With a thought, food appears to sustain him, and even a bathroom materializes as if the manor itself anticipates his needs. Its magick becomes his refuge, allowing him to stay in his art room, crafting image after image of the mysterious being who both haunts and mesmerizes him.

On the eleventh day, as he works on yet another painting, a presence enters the room.

He doesn’t notice at first, so consumed by his work. But when he hears the soft intake of breath, he glances up to see her standing in the doorway.

Reverie’s eyes scan the room, taking in the countless depictions of herself. For a moment, her expression is unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face—a genuine, untarnished smile, as if for the first time in years.