The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 646: Cyrus? Isabella said, voice tight. Can you hear me
She pushed herself to her feet with a quiet hiss. Her lower back immediately protested, and one hand flew to support her stomach on instinct.
Shelia looked up at once. "Do you need me to call someone?"
"No," Isabella said, already making her way toward the door. "If I call someone, they will all come and make a scene. Then Cyrus will pretend even harder that nothing is wrong. I need to catch him before his pride wakes up."
That made perfect sense.
The males in this village really did treat concern like a competitive sport.
By the time Isabella reached the back courtyard, the cold air hit her face sharply. Snow crunched under her shoes as she crossed the path as fast as her current body would allow. Which was not very fast, something she found deeply offensive.
"Why is pregnancy so undignified," she grumbled in her heart. "In stories, women glow. I am glowing too, but mainly from stress."
When she reached the edge of the training ground, she stopped.
Cyrus was still there.
He had abandoned the broken wooden posts and now stood alone in the center, chest heaving, eyes half-focused. His tail was braced behind him in the snow, leaving a long dragging mark, like he had been swaying and forcing himself upright repeatedly.
Isabella’s chest tightened.
Something was wrong.
Not just tired wrong. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺
Wrong wrong.
"Cyrus," she called.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to show that he heard her. His lashes were damp with sweat, and his face looked too pale for someone training in cold weather. He looked at her, and for one brief second, his expression softened in that quiet way that always made her want to do stupid things like pat his head and tell him he was handsome.
Then his body swayed.
Isabella’s eyes widened.
Before she could even speak again, Cyrus’s knees gave out.
He collapsed hard into the snow.
For one breath, the whole world seemed to stop.
Then Isabella forgot all dignity, all calm, all common sense, and rushed forward.
Well, rushed was a generous word. Her current body did not allow proper rushing. She moved as fast as she could, which looked more like an angry, panicked waddle than a graceful sprint. Still, her heart was in full sprint mode.
"Cyrus!"
By the time she reached him, he was motionless, one arm bent awkwardly under him, red hair scattered across the snow. His skin looked too pale. His lashes were trembling slightly, but his eyes were closed.
Isabella’s heart jumped straight into her throat.
She dropped down beside him with far more difficulty than she had expected. The moment she bent, her stomach got in the way, her back screamed, and her knees nearly betrayed her.
"This is so stupid," she thought frantically. "Why is bending down suddenly a life challenge?"
But she managed it.
Barely.
She got one knee into the snow and reached for him immediately. His face was cold. Too cold. Or maybe her hands were just shaking too badly to tell.
"Cyrus," she said again, voice rising. "Cyrus, wake up."
No response.
Panic shot through her chest.
Without wasting another second, Isabella reached into her space with her spiritual sense and yanked out the infinite water pouch. She had used it enough by now that the movement came easily. The soft familiar pouch appeared in her hand, and she quickly opened it with clumsy fingers.
"Wake up," she muttered, almost angrily now, as if anger could beat consciousness back into him.
She poured some water into her palm first and splashed his face.
Nothing.
Her heart squeezed tighter.
"Don’t scare me like this," she whispered, then this time she used more water, patting his cheeks, wiping at his forehead, almost shaking him.
The water ran down the side of his face and into his hair. A few drops clung to his lashes.
Around her, a couple of the younger training males had finally run closer, their faces pale with alarm.
"Should we call Kian?"
"Go," Isabella snapped without even looking at them. "Call Kian, call Osiris, call Zyran, call anyone useful. Move!"
They ran.
For one terrible moment, Isabella was left with only the sound of her own breathing and the wind moving faintly over the yard.
Then Cyrus’s fingers twitched.
Isabella froze.
His brows tightened faintly, as if he were waking from something painful. His breathing changed first, turning rough and uneven. Then his eyes opened abruptly.
The pink in them was wild for a second.
Not focused on the courtyard.
Not focused on her.
Focused on something else entirely.
Inside Cyrus’s mind, chains were breaking.
The sound was sharp and metallic, echoing over stone floors slick with blood. Somewhere far away, a woman was crying, the sound so raw it tore at his chest even in sleep. He knew that voice. Even if he had not heard it in years, he knew it. His mother.
He tried to move toward her, but the chains dragged at his limbs.
Then laughter spread through the darkness. Low. Male. Cruel.
A shadow stood at the far end of the blood-streaked hall, not fully visible, but watching. Watching like a person who already knew how the ending would go. The sound of that laughter made Cyrus’s skin crawl.
Then the vision shifted.
The blood on the floor spread wider.
And in the middle of it, Isabella stood there.
Her clothes were stained red. Her face looked pale. She was reaching for him, but no matter how he tried to move, he could not get to her. The chains kept pulling him back while the dark laughter grew louder and louder.
"No," he heard himself say in the vision. "No, no, no..."
When he opened his eyes for real, tears were already there.
They clung to his lashes and spilled before he could stop them.
The first thing he saw was Isabella.
Not standing in blood.
Not far away.
Right here, kneeling awkwardly in the snow, one hand wet from water, one hand already reaching for his face again. Her eyes were wide with panic, and her breathing was too fast. Her hair had fallen forward over one shoulder, and she looked so real, so alive, that for one second Cyrus could not tell whether he was still dreaming.
"Cyrus?" Isabella said, voice tight. "Can you hear me?"
