Chapter 10
TEN
HANNAH
When I awaken, I’m alone.
And deliciously sore from the remnants of...
I blush and shift in the enormous bed, only to find each of my limbs aching in the most satisfying way. I look around the medieval castle room, a brief hope filling my chest when I see two heavy oak doors.
I slip out of the massive bed as quickly as my tender limbs can manage and push open one of the doors.
Thank goodness it’s a bathroom!
And while it’s no modern luxury suite, the toilet is recognizably functional and spotlessly clean, carved from what appears to be white marble veined with silver.
The elegant clawfoot tub is made of the same pristine stone, polished to a mirror shine and large enough for someone twice my size.
Brass fixtures gleam like gold in the filtered light streaming through a tall, arched window that overlooks the frozen lake.
After I finish relieving myself, I twist the ornate handles, and crystal-clear water flows from the spigot.
After a few minutes, it even runs warm, then blissfully hot.
Thank God for plumbing, even medieval-style. I genuinely had no idea what to expect in a monster’s castle.
I sink into the tub while the water is still running and do a quick rinse to clean myself. The water still shimmers faintly as it swirls down the drain, and my cheeks heat with the memory of last night.
Then I plug the drain and let the steamy water rise around me, finally taking a chance to examine my surroundings properly.
Like the bedroom, it has ancient stone walls throughout—massive blocks of granite fitted with medieval precision, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of castle life.
The stones are pale gray with darker veins running through them like rivers, and occasional patches of moss cling to the mortar between blocks, a testament to the perpetual dampness.
The only concessions to modernity are the plumbing and a thick Persian rug covering the cold flagstone floor, its once-vibrant patterns now faded to muted burgundy and gold.
But it’s absolutely frigid in here. Whoever built this ancient fortress clearly prioritized defense over comfort—there’s no insulation anywhere, just thick stone that holds cold like a tomb.
My bathwater cools almost as fast as the hot flow can replenish it, steam rising in ghostly spirals that dissipate instantly in the arctic air.
I sink deeper into the precious warmth, watching my breath form small clouds even inside the bathroom.
The warmth works magic on my deliciously aching muscles.
My brain keeps dancing around the reason for my soreness.
But finally, like something I’ve been avoiding looking at directly, my mind locks onto the truth—my muscles are tender because I used them extensively making love!
And not simple, careful intimacy like I had with Drew.
No, the monster and I shared intense, consuming, mind-altering passion.
I climaxed.
Maybe multiple times. I’m honestly not sure. Was it one incredible wave or several building together? How would someone who’s never experienced that intensity even know?
I wrap my arms around myself in the warm water and shiver with more than cold. Then, as I try to absorb heat into my tender muscles, I swear I hear a distant sound—like a cry echoing from somewhere deep in the castle.
I sit up straighter, water sloshing, eyes wide. Is someone else here besides me and—
But as I strain to listen, there’s only silence. Just wind and my imagination.
I settle back into the warmth, my mind drifting to last night’s revelations. It couldn’t have been as earth-shattering as my memory insists.
But even thinking about how it felt when he opened my thighs and pressed inside, how my body stretched to accommodate his impressive—
I let my hand drift down my hip toward the heat between my legs.
“How beautiful to find my consort comfortable and content.” The deep voice rumbles warmly from the doorway.
I gasp and sit up, exposing my heated skin to cold air before quickly sinking back into the water’s embrace.
“Privacy, please!” I call out, flustered. “I’m not dressed!”
But the monster simply leans one powerful forearm against the doorframe, his magnificent wings folded behind him, his massive frame blocking most of the morning light.
I can’t decide if he’s more imposing as this dark silhouette or in full sunlight, where I can see every detail of his leonine features and occasionally glowing chest.
“My naked consort is always a welcome sight,” he says, and there’s enough light to see his mouth curve into something between affection and hunger.
“Bath time is finished. Your introduction to castle life begins today.”
My brows draw together. “Introduction? What do you mean?”
But he approaches and reaches into my bathwater to pull the plug.
“Hey!” I protest.
“Much to show you,” he says gently. “Come, little consort.”
I look down at myself, pink from heat and embarrassment. I cover my breasts with one arm and my center with the other as I stand. It’s clear he’s not leaving, and my clothes are in the other room—what remains of them, anyway.
I reach for the towel, but he’s quicker, lifting it beyond my grasp with an almost playful expression.
He approaches with the soft fabric in his large hands. Clearly, he intends to dry me himself. My first instinct is to refuse.
Yes, we were intimate last night, but that was part of our agreement, wasn’t it? Physical connection in exchange for my healing.
But this feels different somehow—more personal than our bargain requires.
When he begins gently patting away water droplets, though, my head goes pleasantly dizzy.
I want to tense or pull away, but my entire body relaxes under his surprisingly tender ministrations.
For all his intimidating bulk, he can be remarkably gentle.
So gentle, in fact, that like a fool, I let my eyes drift closed in contentment.
I hear the soft metallic clink too late, jerking back to awareness just as cool metal settles around my throat.
“What—?”
But he’s already secured what feels like an ornate collar around my neck, a chain of elegant links hanging to the floor, and locked it into place with an antique key.
I grasp at it—the metal is warm and smooth, clearly crafted rather than crude iron. My fingers barely span the decorative band.
“What is this?” I demand, though my voice wavers more than I’d like.
He looks genuinely puzzled by my distress. “You are my consort. This shows you belong to my household, under my protection.”
He steps back toward the bedroom, the long chain trailing between us like an elegant leash.
When I don’t immediately follow, he gives a gentle but insistent tug.
I stumble forward, disoriented from leaving the warm bath for the cold air. And I’m still completely naked!
But he doesn’t slow his pace, clearly knowing his destination as he leads me back through the bedroom toward the second door.
My thoughts race chaotically. If he has this magnificent castle, why was he living in that filthy cave in Alaska? Why wait until this morning to... claim ownership?
He tugs me forward by the chain when I hesitate too long—guiding me toward the bedroom’s second door.
What have I gotten myself into?
Is it any comfort that as I follow him, it’s on strong, steady legs? The sensation is still so new I can barely believe it.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we pass through the door into a corridor.
All I receive in return is a low rumble that might be amusement.
A rumble. Ever the reminder that I’m not dealing with an ordinary man.
We move down a long stone corridor that stretches into shadow, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into darkness above.
Ancient tapestries line the walls between flickering torches—some depict hunting scenes with creatures I don’t recognize, others show battles between winged beings and armies of humans.
The fabric is rich but faded, deep crimsons turned to rust, royal blues now navy with age.
My bare feet move silently across worn flagstones that countless others have walked before me.
My mind spins, wondering what comes next as we reach a steep spiral staircase carved directly into the castle’s stone heart.
His powerful wings shift and flutter ahead of me as he descends with purpose.
I’ve always been stubborn—a Taurus born kicking and screaming, according to my mother.
I was wild before illness tamed me, and since I got sick so young, I never fully appreciated those unrestrained years.
I kept trying to match the other children. Climbing playground equipment meant for able-bodied kids. When a boy mocked me for sitting out during recess, I challenged him to a race.
I lost spectacularly, of course. I’d just gotten my first crutches and hadn’t mastered them yet. But I still raced around that track as fast as I could manage.
“What were you like as a child?” I ask suddenly as we descend. Humanize your captor, isn’t that what they always advise?
Tall windows punctuate the stairwell walls at regular intervals—narrow archer’s slits that speak to this castle’s defensive origins.
Each opening frames a vista of endless white wilderness beyond, but they’re just holes in the stone with no glass to block the elements.
Frigid mountain air pours through them in constant streams, carrying ice crystals that swirl and dance in the pale light.
Snow has drifted onto the stone steps in small white mounds that crunch under my bare feet, sending shocks of cold straight to my bones.
I touch the decorative metal at my throat as I attempt casual conversation. I can’t believe something so archaic still exists—much less that I’m wearing it while being led around by this... whatever he is.
“Never was a child,” he rumbles over his shoulder. I catch a glimpse of his strong jaw between his folded wings. “Always existed as I am.”
I blink. “Well, what was it like when you first... began existing?”
The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer.