A snowstorm raged outside, the wind battering the palace’s tall, dusty windows.

Inside, the only light came from the fireplace, its glow flickering across the empty room. The Beast sat in his armchair, shoulders tense, as you dabbed at the wounds he earned saving you from the wolves that attacked when you tried to escape.

Each sting made him flinch, a low, impatient rumble in his chest.

“You could’ve been killed,” he said gruffly, golden eyes narrowing, though his voice carried more frustration than anger.