Villainess is being pampered by her beast husbands-Chapter 405 --.

Outside, on another ledge of the mountain, Veer finally stirred.

He blinked awake to the dim light of his room, muscles heavy from the storm and the flight. His arms ached. His back ached. His head throbbed faintly where a scratch ran along his scalp. He stretched once, ready to flop back down and sleep again.

Footsteps.

A lot of them.

Veer froze, then pushed himself upright, listening. Boots on stone. More than five. More than ten. Coming straight toward his cave.

And in the middle of it, a tread he knew too well—heavy, impatient, used to being followed.

"Oh, no," Veer muttered. "Not now."

He scrambled to sit properly just as the door curtain was shoved aside.

His father walked in first. Behind him spilled elders, uncles, senior warriors—almost twenty vultures crowding into his space, feathers and robes and serious faces filling the room.

Veer stared, dumbfounded.

"...Good morning, Dad," he said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

He was dead tired. He had zero interest in one of his father’s "talks." All he wanted was water, sleep, and maybe one quiet hour where no one shouted about debt.

Veer’s father looked at his son—and for a moment, his heart squeezed.

There was a scratch on Veer’s head.

Just a thin line, half‑healed. But on that beloved face, to that father, it might as well have been a stab wound. Parents often react strongly to even small injuries on their children; the emotional response can be wildly out of proportion to the physical damage.

His eyes darkened.

’That woman.’

That damned female who had dragged his son into blood and storms and someone else’s trouble. Who had made him spend money, bleed, nearly die.

He clenched his jaw, rage burning hot again.

Today, he decided, looking at Veer’s tired face and the scratch on his skin, he was either going to throw that woman out of the tribe—

Or make her wish she’d never stepped onto his mountain.

make it like he ask more question kaya was definely suscpicius by his behaviour even veer found it strange and thannveer father looked at kaya anf propose the idea

Veer’s father was still chewing on his anger when Kaya’s door opened.

She stepped out slow, rolling one shoulder like she was testing it. Today she wasn’t in her usual fighting clothes; instead she wore a loose dress that fell to her knees, fabric soft and plain, hanging easy off her frame. Her hair was half‑tied with a thin ribbon at the side, one small knot holding back a bit of fringe. It made her look... lighter. Younger. Almost like a bright village girl who’d never seen blood.

On her, it felt wrong.

Veer’s father’s eyes narrowed. Something in his gut said ’off’, but he couldn’t say why.

At his elbow, Robert coughed lightly and tapped the back of his hand—small signal. ’Now.’

Veer’s father sucked in a breath, shoved the snarl off his face, and turned toward her.

"Oh, you’re awake too," he said, voice suddenly warm.

Kaya stopped dead.

Two tiny steps back. Chin tipping away. Her mouth tightened, eyes flat and cold. Disgust flickered across her face so fast most people would have missed it, but her body told the truth—weight shifting back, shoulders angling as if to put distance between them.

No way this bastard was being nice for no reason.

The urge to grab her by the throat burned up Veer’s father’s spine. His smile cracked for a second, teeth clenching, and he actually took half a step toward her.

Robert latched onto his sleeve in a death grip.

Veer’s father dragged air into his lungs, forced his face smooth again, and pasted on another smile.

"So," he tried again, tone almost gentle, "how was your trip?"

Kaya’s eyes thinned a little more.

"Wet," she said.

That was it.

Veer, standing off to the side with his hair still a mess and a faint bandage at his temple, stared between his father and Kaya. His father, ’asking questions’ instead of shouting. Kaya in a dress. The two together felt like someone had swapped his world out for a bad play.

Veer’s father cleared his throat.

"And your injuries?" he asked. "You rested well? No... lingering pain?"

Kaya’s brows twitched. Since when did this man care if she’d slept?

"I’m fine," she said. "I can walk."

"Good, good." He nodded too fast. "You must have... plans, then? For after this. Where to go. How long to stay."

Her suspicion sharpened.

"Not sure yet," she replied. "Depends."

"Depends... on us, perhaps?" he prodded, grin going tight. "On whether our tribe can... accommodate you?"

Veer actually frowned now. "Father," he said slowly, "what are you—"

His father shot him a look that said ’shut up or I throw you off the cliff myself’, then softened it again when he turned back to Kaya.

He took a step closer, hands spread like he meant peace.

"I was thinking," he said. "You’ve been here a while. My son has done so much for you. Our tribe has... opened its doors." He smiled wider; it looked painful. "If you want to stay safely under our protection, we should... set things properly."

Kaya didn’t move.

Her face was blank stone now. Only her eyes were alive—sharp, guarded, watching every word.

Veer’s father swallowed once, then finally pushed the plan out.

"If you wish to remain in the vulture tribe," he said, "you must marry my son."

The words dropped into the silence like a rock.

Veer choked on air. "What—"

Robert’s fingers flew to his shiny head on instinct, as if checking it was still there.

Kaya just stared at Veer’s father.

No flush. No flutter. No smile.

Just that cold, assessing gaze, as if she were measuring how fast she could throw this entire cave off the mountain if she tried.

Veer’s father watched Kaya’s face, waiting for the disgust, the refusal, the storm.

Instead, her expression stayed blank. Cold. Measuring.

’Yes. Yes. Just say no,’ his mind chanted. He tilted his head slightly, forcing his smile wider.