The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

"Exactly how you like it," Cyrus said, his voice low and calm as he handed the steaming bowl to Isabella, carefully wrapped in thick animal hide to protect her hands. Isabella took it with both palms and looked up at him from where she sat on the thick log. The fire nearby crackled, casting a soft orange glow across his sharp cheekbones and bare, muscular chest. She couldn’t help but smile—because Cyrus never got anything wrong.

"Thank you," she said, grinning at him like he’d just gifted her the moon. And in this world, maybe he had. Her stomach had been grumbling for hours, and the smell alone had nearly made her cry. Now that the bowl was in her hand, warm and fragrant, she wasted no time. She scooped a spoonful and took it straight to her lips.

The moment the rich, earthy flavor hit her tongue, her eyes fluttered shut.

A low moan escaped her, shameless and satisfied. "Gods, Cyrus... you know I’ve been starving all day. This? This is like being rewarded by the heavens themselves." She barely swallowed before taking another bite. "You’re simply the best," she said between slurps, licking her lips with delight.

Cyrus, who had been standing silently nearby, swallowed—though not food.

His gaze shamelessly followed the trail of her tongue as it flicked over her lips. His eyes lingered just a beat too long before he suddenly turned his face away, a flush creeping up his neck. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, hands brushing over his animal skin skirt as if trying to distract himself. But it was too late—Isabella hadn’t missed that look. Not that she said anything.

And not that she understood what she felt about it.

Just then, the faint sound of footsteps rustling through dry grass reached them, and both turned at the same time. Isabella lowered her spoon. Cyrus subtly shifted in front of her, as he often did when something unknown approached.

But it wasn’t a threat.

It was Ilyana.