The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 229 - 230: Did you kill them?

She didn’t even have time to feel relieved.

The second their heads hit the ground—wet thuds, necks spurting red like broken pipes—Isabella froze in place. Her entire body locked up, her grip on her fan turning rigid, blood pounding in her ears.

The silence that followed was terrifying.

A strange, thick silence. Too heavy. Too complete.

Her heart began to race, her lungs working in fast, uneven gasps.

She didn’t move. She didn’t blink.

Her wide, terrified eyes stared at the mess sprawled across the dirt. The bodies of the three men twitched once. Then stopped. Lifeless.

"What the actual hell..." she whispered, voice dry, thin.

She’d just been arguing with them—swinging her baby-damage fan and calling them swamp creatures. And now... just like that... their heads were off. Severed like melons at a street market.

Her stomach twisted.

"Oh my God," she breathed, pressing her fingers to her lips, stepping back slowly—eyes still on the corpses like they might rise up again. "Who the fuck killed them... why the fuck did they just die?!"

She turned her head, scanned the shadows behind her, above her, everywhere.

There was no sound. No footsteps. Not even a leaf shaking in the wind.

And that made it worse.

Her mind was spiraling now.

Oh my God, what if there’s someone stronger than them? Strong enough to do this in one swipe? What if they’re still here? What if I’m next? What if I don’t even get to scream—

"Bubu, if you do not reply me right now—" she began, voice rising in panic.

But before she could finish, a familiar voice rushed in—

"Isabella!"

She spun around just as Cyrus emerged from the shadows, brows knitted with pure worry, eyes immediately darting around the scene.

He looked down.

Then up.

Then at her.

His eyes widened.

"Did... did they do anything to you?" he asked, stepping closer.

Isabella blinked. "Did you kill them?"

He froze.

"No—no, I didn’t—" His voice was soft, breathless, and so honest it almost made her knees wobble.

Isabella narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but before she could question him again, she leaned in slightly, whispered urgently, "I think someone is coming to kill us."

Cyrus stilled.

Then without a word, he stepped even closer to her, his body moving on instinct.

Glimora, who had been oddly silent, leapt down from Isabella’s arms and pressed herself against her leg, body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Her fur was puffed out, claws scratching slightly at the dirt as she cowered.

Isabella was about to speak again—form a plan, say something biting or clever to keep herself steady—but Cyrus’s hand reached out and gently cupped the side of her face.

She stilled.

"Are you hurt?" he whispered, voice cracking with worry. His other hand began moving—light fingers brushing her arms, then her shoulders, then her waist—checking for wounds, looking for blood.

Isabella tensed. "Cyrus—stop touching me like that. I said I’m fine."

But he wasn’t hearing her.

He was already moving again, brushing her hair back, cupping her head, checking the back of her scalp for bruises. His breathing was shallow now—quick, ragged puffs. His eyes were wide, pupils blown with fear.

She’d never seen him like this.

Calm, soft-spoken Cyrus, who never raised his voice, who always carried that gentle air like wind over still water... was panicking.

And not for himself.

For her.

"I’m okay," she said again, voice firmer. "I said I’m fine, Cyrus—seriously—"

Still, his hands moved. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, eyes scanning every inch of her face like he needed confirmation, like hearing her voice wasn’t enough.

He was unraveling.

And seeing that—

Seeing that she was the reason his calm had shattered—

Her chest tugged painfully.

Without thinking, she grabbed his neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Hey," she whispered, resting her chin against his shoulder. "It’s okay. I’m really fine."

His arms didn’t move at first.

Then slowly—tentatively—he wrapped them around her waist. His grip was tight. Too tight. But it wasn’t aggressive. It was desperate. Like someone who’d just found air after nearly drowning.

"I thought..." he whispered, lips near her ear, "I was too late. I thought I..."

He didn’t finish.

She didn’t let him.

She just held him tighter.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she hated how warm he felt. How good. How safe.

She didn’t want to admit it, but her hands were shaking a little too.

They stayed like that for a moment, cocooned in each other’s hold, surrounded by dead bodies and warm silence.

Then—softly—he pulled back just enough to see her face. His fingers trembled as they brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and before she could even blink—

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Her body stiffened.

Her heart stopped.

Oh no.

He pulled back a bit, eyes searching hers, soft and open.

Isabella blinked at him, her mouth parting—but no words came out.

Instead, she looked away quickly.

What the hell was that?! Why was her stomach twisting like she just ate sugar and shame?!

"I—I’m fine," she said again, voice a lot softer now. Too soft.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Which made it worse.

She took a small step back, but not because she wanted to.

More like... because she had to.

Her heartbeat was wild.

Her face was hot.

"Okay, okay," she said, clearing her throat, waving him off. "I’m fine. I’m not bleeding. I’m breathing. Stop fussing. You’re going to make me wrinkle."

She tried to sound annoyed.

But her voice cracked a little, and it betrayed her.

He was still staring.

She turned her face away even more.

Damn it. Why was that kiss messing with her brain?

A moment passed.

Then her eyes dropped, and she saw Glimora still crouched by her leg, tiny body shaking, claws barely gripping the ground.

She blinked.

"You too?" she murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching faintly.

Isabella bent down and scooped Glimora up into her arms.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺