The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 631: Red Beast

Among them, one man in particular gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He had already lost several brothers tonight.

He had watched his carefully chosen group fall under the claws of lion, panther, strange fire, and now this ridiculous pink object that cut ropes and flesh like it was nothing. His hatred boiled in his chest.

He had thought the stories about the goddess of the lion tribe were exaggerated. Now he had to admit they were real.

She was beautiful even with snow in her hair, her belly round with unborn beasts, eyes sharp and merciless. She killed with no hesitation, using a pretty toy in her hand.

He hated her.

"She is a pregnant female," he thought viciously as he moved along the wall, avoiding another gust of wind by ducking low. "If she dies, this whole place will break."

He signaled to two of his remaining men, then waited until the defenders were occupied in front.

Then he shot forward, feet barely touching the stone. With the training of many winters, he slipped through a gap like a shadow and suddenly appeared in front of Isabella.

For a heartbeat, time slowed.

Isabella saw him coming. She lifted her fan, preparing to press the button again, but her body was slower than her mind.

Her stomach dragged at her center of gravity, and the stone under her feet was slick from snow and blood.

The masked man’s blade glinted as he swung for her.

"Red Beast’s woman," he hissed under his breath, hatred twisting his words. "You should have stayed in your den."

The curse was quiet, swallowed by the noise, but it traveled like a spear point straight into someone else’s ears.

Cyrus had reached the west wall only moments before. He had moved quickly through the inner paths after finishing his tasks in the palace, his heart tight with the feeling that something was not right.

When he saw Isabella’s silhouette against the firelight, fan raised, his chest clenched with something between pride and fear.

Then he heard that phrase.

Red Beast’s woman.

The world around him blurred. For a split second, he was no longer on a cold stone wall.

He was back in a dark underground hall, chains clinking against scales, a crimson figure sitting on a bone throne, laughing lazily as he dragged a screaming woman across the floor.

He remembered the sting of the brand on his back, the taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of burning feathers far away.

His entire body reacted before his mind could form a thought.

Something inside him broke free of its careful cage. His pupils blew wide and then snapped thin. The pink in his eyes deepened until it almost glowed. Every muscle in his body tightened.

From Isabella’s point of view, one moment the masked man’s blade was descending toward her, and the next, a streak of movement flashed across her vision.

She barely saw Cyrus move. One instant he had been several steps away, and in the next, he was between her and the attacker.

His speed did not look like normal serpent speed. It looked like the world had slowed down for everyone else and only he was moving at normal pace.

His hand tail out and clamped around the attacker’s wrist. The masked man gasped as his arm bones felt like they had been caught in iron. Cyrus moved in a blur.

He circled the attacker and started constricting. It was a slow, painful and agonizing death for the man.

At that moment Cyrus’ eyes glinted and gis hair transformed. He did not need to command and the little snakes on his head did their jobs.

They started biting into the man’s neck. It was painful he could not help but scream. Bits of flesh was removed until nothing was left.

Isabella’s eyes widened. The sight was too brutal she could not help but throw up.

Blood sprayed, warm against the cold air. The masked man’s eyes widened behind the cloth as if he had not expected to die so quickly.

Cyrus did not give him time to make another sound. He twisted, using the man’s own momentum to fling his body over the inner side of the wall. The corpse hit the ground below with a heavy thud.

Cyrus stood where the man had been a breath ago. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath coming out in white puffs that looked like smoke.

The air around him felt different, thicker, charged with something that made nearby men’s skin crawl. His aura spilled out of him like a sudden tide, oppressive and fierce.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

The remaining masked attackers on that side froze. Even some of the villagers took an involuntary step back.

They had all seen Cyrus fight before, but he had always been the quiet, efficient guardian, killing cleanly without much display. This, however, felt different. It felt like a lid had been taken off something deep in the ground.

Isabella’s own breath caught. She stared at his back, at the way his shoulders trembled slightly, as if he was holding something in. Her heart hammered so hard she felt it in her throat.

At that exact moment, the snake mating mark on her chest burned.

It was not the gentle warmth she sometimes felt when he cuddled her. It was a sharp, sudden heat, like someone had pressed a hot metal coin against her skin from the inside. Pain lanced through her chest. Her knees almost buckled.

She reached out, grabbing the nearest part of the parapet with one hand and pressing the other over her chest. Her fingers curled into her robe. Her babies shifted uneasily inside her. For a moment, black spots danced at the edge of her vision.

Bubu buzzed loudly in her mind, alarmed. [Host, your heart rate just jumped. Sit down, sit down, sit down.] 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"Shut up," Isabella hissed under her breath, teeth clenched. "I am fine."

Her gaze did not move away from Cyrus. His back looked suddenly unfamiliar, a little too straight, a little too tense. The pink light in his eyes dimmed slowly, but it did not fully disappear.

He lifted his head, and for a brief second, she saw an expression on his face she had never seen before, something wild and empty at the edges.

"Cyrus..." she called softly.

He flinched slightly, as if dragged back from far away. His head turned. When his eyes landed on her, some of the madness melted. The serpentine pupils loosened a bit.

"Isabella," he answered hoarsely.

She understood one thing clearly in that moment. Whatever he hid in his past was not small. The words "Red Beast" were not simple insults. They were keys, and someone had just pressed one deep into his scar.

She wanted to go to him. She wanted to grab his face, force him to look at her properly, and demand that he tell her everything.

But before she could take a step, another horn blew from the south, signaling that the remaining attackers were fleeing in that direction. Men shouted. The entire wall moved again.

Isabella forced herself to straighten. The pain in her chest dulled to a throb, but her body felt heavier. She watched several masked figures slipping away into the night, their shapes shrinking between the trees.

Her fingers tightened around the fan. She wanted, very much, to chase them down and personally drag them back by their ankles. They had come to her home, tried to take her people, almost hurt her, and on top of that, they had pulled at Cyrus’s old wounds.

Unfortunately she could not.