THE BEAST’S CURSED SLAVE
“I don’t know why. But I’ve served long enough to know that when Gorvane looks at someone the way he looks at you, it means one of two things: destruction, or something worse.”
Kaerith’s fingers curled against the fabric of the dress. Her nails scraped the smooth silk. “I don’t want anything from him.”
Madame Marita gave a dry smile. “That’s not the point.”
She picked a stray curl from Kaerith’s shoulder. “The Beast doesn’t have affection. Not for his court. Not for his mate, Vythea. Not for his whores. And not for you. He takes what he wants, and when he’s done, there’s nothing left of who you were.”