The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 624: Who is your wife? Do not call me that. I will throw you off this cliff
He listened to traders talk about a lion tribe that had become stronger.
He listened to poachers complain about a pregnant goddess who had ruined their plans.
Sometimes he went deeper, toward places where only those who knew about hidden gates could pass.
He visited his own secret city, a place where dark stone towers rose among river mist, where souls and strange beasts moved under the watch of carved jackal statues.
Here, in the land connected to Anubis, he was no longer a playful, shameless male chasing after a stubborn female. Here, he was a prince, a ruler of shadows.
Reports waited for him.
"Divine movement has increased," one of his agents told him. "Strange beasts from the higher realm are leaking into mortal grounds more often. Some seem drawn to the same region you are in."
Zyran frowned.
"That region has my woman in it," he thought.
Aloud, he said, "Watch them. Do not let them get too close. If the divine realm wants to look down, let them look at me first."
He handled a few matters there, then gathered rare materials only the underworld could provide. Metals that drank light, stones that could hold enchantments, herbs that only grew where dead gods had once walked.
He returned to the lion tribe quietly, stepping back into the snow as if he had simply gone out for a walk.
He nearly walked straight into Isabella outside the stone palace.
She stood there with her cloak wrapped over her shoulders, staring at him with narrowed eyes.
"You were gone for a long time," she said. "What are you doing."
He stiffened slightly.
In his hand, hidden by a fold of his cloak, lay a small dark object that pulsed faintly with power.
If she saw it, she would ask questions. If she asked questions, he would either have to lie or tell her things that would drag her into his world.
He did not want either.
In one smooth motion, he shifted his fingers.
Black smoke curled around the object, swallowing it. In a blink, it vanished into a hidden pocket of space he had woven long ago.
Isabella’s eyes narrowed further.
"What did you hide," she asked.
"Nothing," he answered too fast.
She stepped closer, circling him like a suspicious cat.
"Move your cloak," she ordered. "I saw something. Where did it go."
He moved as well, staying between her and the place where his hand had been.
His mind raced.
If he distracted her, she might forget for now.
So he did what he was best at.
He became shameless.
"My little wife," he said suddenly, lowering his voice and spreading his arms. "You must be tired, standing in the cold. Instead of worrying about boring things, you should worry about yourself."
Her foot froze midstep.
"Who is your wife," she demanded. "Do not call me that. I will throw you out this village."
He took the chance to close the distance and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.
"Careful," he murmured. "Do not twist yourself. Your center of gravity has changed. You will fall and blame me."
She planted her hands on his shoulders and tried to push away.
"Let me go," she said, wriggling. "You shameless black panther. I can walk by myself."
He tightened his hold a little, careful of her stomach.
"You must be tired," he repeated. "You walked around teaching and checking things all day. Let your male carry you. It is good training for me too."
"Who is ’your male’," she snapped.
"Me," he answered cheerfully.
Before she could insult him again, he bent and swept her up.
His arms slid under her knees and back in a smooth practiced motion. He lifted her in a bridal carry, her cloak wrapping around them both.
She gasped and grabbed his neck automatically. Her face turned red.
This panther is really shameless.
"Zyran," she hissed. "Put me down. Right now."
He ignored her.
Instead, he turned and began walking toward the palace entrance.
Inside, his heart beat a little faster. Holding her like this, feeling the weight of her and the babies in his arms, made something deep in his chest relax.
"She fits here," he thought. "Too well."
Outside, guards and passing villagers slowed.
Eyes widened.
Some of the young women covered their mouths and squealed softly.
"Look, look," one whispered. "Zyran is carrying Isabella like a bride."
"He are really bold," another murmured, cheeks pink. "He doesn’t fear her scolding him."
"They are always like this," an older woman said, but even she smiled.
A few men scratched their heads, feeling that they should pretend not to look, but they still peeked from the corners of their eyes.
Isabella felt every single gaze.
Her face burned.
"Zyran," she whispered fiercely. "Everyone is watching."
"I know," he replied, completely calm. "They should see that their goddess is cared for properly."
"If you do not put me down, I will make you copy a hundred pages of letters," she threatened.
"I do not know how to write that much yet," he answered. "You will have to teach me. That means more time together."
She opened her mouth to insult him again, then closed it.
Her heart had already softened despite herself.
His arms were strong and steady. The way he adjusted his steps to avoid jolting her belly, the way his hold tightened just a fraction when her body shifted, all told her that beneath the jokes, he took this seriously.
"Fine," she muttered at last. "Carry me. But if you ever drop me, I will cut off your tail in your sleep."
He grinned, his eyes bright.
"Understood, my future tailless fate," he said.
She rolled her eyes and turned her head away, pretending not to see the villagers blushing and whispering as they passed.
Deep down, though, as he carried her through the stone palace doorway, something warm and soft settled under her ribs.
Her village was full of idiots.
Loyal, ridiculous, overprotective idiots.
And she would fight the whole world for them.
