Villainess is being pampered by her beast husbands-Chapter 391 --

Kaya snapped awake with a gasp that felt like drowning in reverse.

Her hand slammed flat against the rock, trying to ground herself. The stone was warm. Wrong. She looked down and saw the mark—a faint, ugly shadow burned into the surface where her palm had been, edges still radiating heat.

Her cut bled fresh, slow and thick.

She looked left. Cutie’s face was close, too close, his breathing rougher for a few seconds before evening out again. He hadn’t woken, but his body was tense now, like something in his sleep was telling him to be careful.

She looked down at her other hand. Still clamped over her pocket. Fingers white from the pressure. The Sparrow inside shifted the smallest amount, then went quiet again. She could feel his tiny heartbeat racing against her palm through the cloth.

"Not passive," she whispered, voice scraped raw.

She lifted her bleeding hand and stared at it. The mark on the stone. The heat still radiating from her skin. The way Cutie had pulled closer even though his instincts should have shoved him away.

"You’re not just sitting there," she said to whatever god-thing lived in her blood now. "You’re ’growing’."

The stars above her didn’t answer.

Kaya wiped her palm on bare rock, watched the fresh blood smear and smoke faintly before cooling. She held herself very, very still and counted her own heartbeat until her hands stopped shaking and the world felt solid again.

.

.

.

Cutie woke up to the sound of someone breathing too fast.

At first he thought it was him. His chest felt tight, his body heavy in that drained way that said he’d used too much and paid for it. But when he blinked the blur from his eyes, he realized the quick, harsh breaths weren’t his at all.

They were Kaya’s.

She was still next to him on the ridge, exactly where he remembered her last—back against the rock, head dipped a little forward, hair half hiding her face. One of her hands was fisted on the ground. The other was pressed flat, fingers spread, like she was trying to hold the stone in place.

Her shoulders hitched with each inhale.

"Kaya...?" His voice came out soft, hoarse at the edges.

She didn’t stir.

Cutie pushed himself up a little, moving slow so he wouldn’t jolt her. The world swam for a heartbeat, then settled. His head didn’t throb anymore. The place where it had been split open just felt... strange. Tight skin, nothing worse.

He let his gaze drop to her hand.

For a second, he thought the rock under her palm was just wet. But then he saw it better in the thin grey light. The stone right beneath her skin was darker, almost black, and the color spread out in a rough circle the size of her hand. Faint lines crawled from the edges like tiny cracks. A wisp of something—steam? smoke?—lifted and vanished in the cold air.

Heat brushed his face when he leaned closer.

"Kaya." This time his voice was a little stronger, but still gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something. "Kaya, wake up... please."

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

The shock almost made him let go. Her skin was hot—far too hot for this morning chill. Not fever-warm. Sharper. Like touching metal that had sat too close to a flame.

He held on anyway.

Her pulse hammered against his fingertips, too fast. Her jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped at the side. A tiny sound escaped her throat, low and rough, like she was trying to talk in her sleep and the words wouldn’t come.

"Kaya," he tried again, softer. His thumb moved in a small, careful circle on the inside of her wrist without him even thinking about it. "It’s morning. You’re safe. We’re on the ridge, remember?"

Her eyes snapped open.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t look like she recognized him. Her gaze was wild, unfocused, staring through his face at something far behind it. Then it clicked. Her pupils narrowed, her shoulders dropped a fraction, and he saw her pull herself back together right in front of him.

"...Cutie," she said, voice rough. "You’re awake."

"So are you," he answered, almost a whisper.

He didn’t pull his hand away from her wrist. She didn’t yank free.

They both looked down at the same time.

Her palm lifted off the rock slowly, like it weighed more than it should. Under it, the stone was marked—a dark, hand-shaped blotch, edges uneven, center almost glossy. It wasn’t glowing now, but it looked wrong on the pale grey, like something that didn’t belong here.

Fresh blood lined the cut across her palm. When she flexed her fingers, more welled up.

Cutie’s throat worked.

He didn’t ask what had happened. Didn’t say the word "burn" or anything close to it. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he shifted a little closer, still careful not to crowd her.

"Your hand..." he said softly. "It’s opened again."

Kaya stared at the mark for a long moment, then at her own skin.

"It does that," she said. Her tone was dry, but not sharp. "Bad manners."

He let out a tiny breath that wanted to be a laugh and failed halfway.

There was a pause. Wind slid over the ridge, lifting the ends of her hair. Veer still lay a little distance away, unmoving. The Sparrow in her pocket stayed quiet, a faint, warm weight against her ribs.

"Does it hurt?" Cutie asked.

Kaya’s eyes flicked to his face. There was something almost strange about how gentle his expression always was, even when he was scared. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Just waited, like she could take a whole minute to answer and he’d sit there the same way.

"A bit," she said finally. "Nothing new."

His brows drew together, the tiniest line between them.

"May I...?" He lifted his free hand a little, stopping halfway, clearly asking before he touched her.

She didn’t move away.

He took that as a yes.