BEATLY INFERNO: 8

"Baby.. i got my hand's dirty"

~Luna Heather

First step. Second step. Third step. I counted in anticipation as his footsteps approached. Each step sounded heavier than the last, as though he carried the weight of something unseen. The door creaked open, revealing Tristan—this time clad in fresh clothes, his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, and his eyes... sharper, colder, as though he knew something was amiss.

"I, Neroli Anderson," I began, my voice trembling but resolute, "reject you as my mate. I will neither honor you nor stay loyal to you."

The silence was a living thing, thick and suffocating. Tristan's body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly that I could see the strain of the muscles beneath his skin. His narrowed eyes bore into me, not with anger, but something else—something primal. Without a word, he turned and stalked past me, his movements unnervingly calm for someone I'd just rejected. The air shifted as I heard the slam of a door down the hall. The echo rang through the house, leaving me standing there, frozen, my heart pounding wildly.

Did it work? I thought. I didn't know.

I glanced toward the front door, my mind torn. I could leave, but the night was dark, the kind of darkness that clung to everything, making even the smallest step uncertain. I sighed and sank onto the couch, trying to gather my thoughts.

The sound of shattering glass snapped me out of my daze. My head jerked toward the hall where Tristan had disappeared. My breath caught as I heard another crash, then silence. The oppressive quiet pressed on me until my curiosity—and perhaps foolishness—won out.

I moved cautiously toward the source of the noise, each step hesitant, my heart thundering louder with every inch I closed. Roarrrr.

The sound was primal, animalistic, a guttural cry that reverberated through my entire body. My knees buckled as I instinctively covered my ears, but the sound pierced through regardless. Something told me to stay away, but something stronger—something unexplainable—drew me closer.

With trembling hands, I pushed the door open.

What I saw stole the breath from my lungs. The room was unrecognizable. Furniture lay in splinters, claw marks scored the walls, and scorch marks blackened the floor. The smell of smoke and something metallic—blood, maybe—hung in the air. My eyes locked onto Tristan, huddled in the corner. His broad back glistened with sweat, muscles taut as tremors racked his body.

"Tristan?" My voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't respond, only let out another guttural roar. It was agony personified. Against my better judgment, I crossed the room, my feet moving on their own as if compelled.

I knelt beside him and, without thinking, wrapped my arms around his trembling form. His skin was burning hot, like fire beneath my hands, and I almost pulled away, but something in me couldn't let go.

"Tristan, are you okay?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned, his movements slow and deliberate, until his arms encircled me. He buried his head against my torso, clutching me tightly as though I were the only thing tethering him to reality. His whimpers of pain were low and raw, and for a moment, I froze, unsure of what to do.

"Take it back." His voice was a hoarse whisper, but the words carried an undeniable weight.

I looked down and met his eyes—wild, pained, and full of something I couldn't quite name.

"I... I take it back," I stammered, the words tumbling from my lips before I fully understood what I was doing.

In an instant, the shaking stopped. He released me and stood, his movements fluid but terrifyingly abrupt. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel the tension radiating from him like heat waves.

"I... I'm so sorry," I blurted, tears streaming down my face. "I just... I'm so tired of everything. I don't understand any of this."

He didn't respond. Without a word, he walked out of the room, leaving me surrounded by the wreckage. His retreating figure felt like a silent condemnation, and the weight of it crushed me.

The Next Morning

The sunlight streaming through the window felt too harsh as I opened my eyes. My body was stiff, my mind heavy with the memory of the night before. How am I supposed to face him after everything?

After a quick shower, I pulled my hair into a neat bun and braced myself. When I stepped into the dining area, there he was, sitting at the table like nothing had happened. His face was an emotionless mask, but the air around him felt charged.

I hesitated, then took a seat across from him. He stood without a word and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned, setting a plate of pancakes in front of me. My eyes widened in surprise.

Tristan settled back in his chair, his own plate laden with raw, bloodied meat. The sight of it churned my stomach, but I forced myself to focus on the pancakes in front of me. I cautiously poured syrup onto my plate, half-expecting it to be something sinister, but it was just syrup.

We ate in silence. The occasional scrape of utensils against the plates was the only sound. When we were done, he cleared the table, his movements deliberate and measured.

Finally, he sat back down and pinned me with an intense gaze.

"We need to talk about last night."

I swallowed hard. "I... I don't know what to say. I just wanted to go home. You killed those men, Tristan, in cold blood, and everyone just... cheered, like it was normal. It's not normal. Not in my world."

He sighed, his expression dark ening like a storm cloud gathering in the distance. "Last night should never happen again. Your ignorance, Neroli, almost cost us both something irreplaceable. I won't forgive you if it happens a second time."

The sharpness of his words stung, but I couldn't back down. "Ignorance? How can you expect me to accept... this? Killing people, like it's a sport? I'm not built for this world, Tristan. I just want to go home."

His jaw clenched as he leaned forward, his golden eyes narrowing. "This is your home now. What you saw last night is normal here. Those men were rogues. They crossed boundaries they had no right to, and they paid the price. That's the law of our world. You'll have to adjust because there's no going back."

The tears I'd been fighting finally broke free, streaming down my face as I shook my head. "You're asking me to accept something I can't. I don't understand this place, or you, or why any of this is happening to me."

Tristan's expression softened for the first time, though his features were still shadowed with something I couldn't place. Without a word, he stood and reached for my hand, pulling me gently to my feet.

"Come," he said simply, guiding me to the living room.

We sat down on the couch, and to my surprise, he pulled me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. His hand threaded gently through my hair, the gesture so soothing it made me want to cry even harder.

He turned on the television, a lighthearted comedy flickering across the screen, but I couldn't focus. All I could think about was the man holding me—the enigma I couldn't unravel.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words shocked me. I tilted my head up to look at him, my breath catching at the vulnerability etched into his face.

"I try, Neroli," he murmured, his hand stilling in my hair. "I try to balance them all, but it's a losing battle. I don't have control—over them, over myself—and it terrifies me."

"Who?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Who are you talking about?"

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, he looked so tired, so broken, that it made my heart ache. "If you had three sides to yourself, demons battling for dominance, which one would you let win?"

I frowned, confusion swirling in my mind. "I don't understand... Tristan, I really don't."

He gave me a sad smile, one that felt heavier than all the words he hadn't spoken. "You will, Neroli. Sooner than you think. I just hope that when the time comes, it won't be too late. I hope we don't lose ourselves in the process."

His lips grazed my forehead in a gesture so tender it left me breathless. The hand in my hair began moving again, soothing me despite the storm of questions raging in my mind.

"Tristan...," I started, but he shook his head, silencing me.

"Rest," he said softly. "You'll need your strength."

I didn't understand what he meant, but I closed my eyes anyway, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a sliver of safety—however fleeting it might be.