Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 30: A Very Confused Palate

The walk back to the King’s Nest was a blur.

Ren walked mechanically, clutching the jar of honey to her chest like a holy relic. Syris had his hand on the small of her back—his touch no longer freezing, but pleasantly cool against her heated skin—guiding her through the dark corridors.

But Ren wasn’t paying attention to the architecture. Her mind was entirely focused on her mouth.

’He kissed me.’

She ran her tongue over her lips. They still tasted of wildflower honey.

’And I kissed him back.’

Ren groaned internally. ’What is wrong with you, Ren? You have a husband! A seven-foot-tall, devoted, white tiger husband who is currently probably tearing trees out of the ground to find you!’

But the memory of the kiss wouldn’t fade.

It hadn’t been human. That was the problem. If it had been a normal kiss, she could have categorized it as "assault" or "a mistake." But this?

His tongue.

It was forked.

Ren shuddered, and not from the cold. The sensation of that split muscle sweeping into her mouth, tasting her, flicking against her own tongue with a dexterity that defied anatomy...it was alien. It was weird. And god help her, it was incredibly hot.

’It was like being French kissed by two people at once,’ Ren thought hysterically. ’Is that a kink? Do I have a reptile kink now? Oh god, I need therapy. I need a drink!’

"Your heart is beating fast," Syris commented from beside her.

He sounded smug. Satisfied. Like a cat—no, a snake that had just swallowed the canary and found it delicious.

"It’s the cardio," Ren lied quickly. "Walking in these boots is a workout."

"It is not the boots," Syris murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed her ear. "It is the flavor. You tasted the King. It is overwhelming for a mammal."

"You tasted like pancakes, Syris. Get over yourself."

Ren stumbled. He caught her instantly, his arm tightening around her waist.

"Careful," he purred. "My floors are slippery. I would not want you to drop the Sweet-Gold."

The Nest

When the heavy doors of the Nest clicked shut, the atmosphere changed.

In the kitchen, Syris had been performing for an audience. He had been asserting dominance. But here, in the dim, private cavern of his bedroom, the performance dropped.

He didn’t let her go.

He walked her to the center of the furs and sat down, pulling her into his lap. He arranged her so she was straddling his thighs, facing him.

"Syris," Ren warned, putting her hands on his bare shoulders to keep a distance. "The cooking show is over. Let me up." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"No," Syris said simply.

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

His amethyst eyes traced the line of her face, her red hair, which was frizzy from the humidity, and her lips, which were slightly swollen.

"I have questions," Syris announced.

"What?"

Syris reached out and touched the zipper of her red puffer coat.

"Why are you so... enclosed?" he asked, his voice genuinely puzzled. "Mammals are open creatures. Kael runs naked in the woods. But you... you wrap yourself in layers. You hide your skin."

"It’s called modesty, Syris. And warmth."

"Is it?"

Syris leaned forward. He didn’t try to undress her this time. He just rested his forehead against hers.

"Or are you afraid that if you take off the shell, you will like the cold?"

Ren held her breath. "I hate the cold."

"Do you?" Syris whispered. "My skin is cool. It soothes the burns. Kael is fire. Fire burns. Fire exhausts. But stone... stone endures."

He moved his hands down her back, over the puffy coat.

"You are frantic, Little Chef. Your mind buzzes like a fly. But when I hold you... you stop."

Ren swallowed hard. ’He’s right.’

It was annoying, but it was true. Kael was high energy. Being with Kael was like standing next to a nuclear reactor—exciting, passionate, overwhelming. Being with Syris... it was quiet. It was still. It was a dark, cool silence that made her brain stop spinning.

"That’s just the hypothermia setting in," Ren deflected weaky.

Syris smiled. He reached into the pocket of his sheer silk wrap—which Ren was trying very hard not to look at—and pulled out a small object.

"I have a gift," Syris said.

Ren blinked. "A gift? Is it a key to the front door?"

"Better."

He held up a hairpin.

It wasn’t just a pin. It was carved from a single piece of iridescent black pearl. The top was shaped like a coiled serpent with tiny emerald eyes. It was exquisite. It looked like it cost more than Ren’s entire culinary school tuition.

"This is..." Ren stared at it. "Where did you get this?"

"From the vaults," Syris said casually. "It belonged to my mother. She had red hair, too. Not as bright as yours. Duller."

Ren froze. "Your mother? Syris, I can’t take this. This is a heirloom."

"It is a rock," Syris shrugged. "It sits in a box in the dark. It is useless."

He reached up and gathered Ren’s messy hair. His cool fingers brushed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. With a practiced twist, he coiled her hair up and secured it with the pin.

"There," Syris murmured, leaning back to inspect his handiwork. "Now I can see your neck."

He traced the line of her throat with his thumb.

"In the Snake Clan," Syris explained softly, "we do not give dead animals as gifts. Meat rots. We give stone. Stone lasts forever."

[System Notification: Host has received a ’Betrothal Gift’.] [Item: The Serpent’s Coil.] [Effect: +50 Charisma with Reptiles. +100 Rage with Tigers.] [Status: You are now technically engaged to a Snake.]

"Syris," Ren said, panic rising in her chest. "I can’t wear this. It means... things."

"It means your hair is out of your face," Syris lied smoothly. "And it means you belong to the Palace."

He shifted his hips, adjusting her weight on his lap. Ren felt the distinct hardness of him beneath the silk. The honey and the pancakes had done their job too well. His energy was back, and it was focused entirely on her.

"Now," Syris whispered, his hands tightening on her waist. "You have fed the King. You have oiled the scales. You have accepted the stone."

He leaned in, his forked tongue flicking out to taste the air near her lips.

"The Molting is finished, Little Chef. Now begins the Breeding Season."

Ren scrambled off his lap so fast she almost tripped over her own boots.

"Nope! No! Nuh-uh!" Ren backed away toward the corner of the room, holding her frying pan like a cross against a vampire. "Breeding is off the menu! Kitchen is closed! Health inspector says no!"

Syris laughed. He didn’t chase her. He just reclined on the furs, looking like a dark god of temptation.

"Run to the corner," Syris purred, closing his eyes. "The room is locked. The swamp is endless. And tonight..."

He opened one eye, the pupil a razor-thin slit.

"...tonight, the temperature drops. You will come back to the nest. You will come back for the heat."

Ren stood in the corner, clutching her pan.

"I hate it here," she whispered to the System. "I really, really hate it here."

[System Comment: Host’s heart rate suggests otherwise. Would you like to purchase ’Snake Anatomy 101’ for 50 points?]

"Delete yourself," Ren hissed.