Her pulse was a concentrated mess, drumming so hard in her ears that it drowned out the room as it beat with anticipation, excitement, and a modicum of fear, not because she was afraid of Don and his disfigurements, but because she feared he would always keep some part of him locked away as he hesitated to step into the light.

He seemed of two minds, confessing his true love for her in one tortured breath, only to cling to his self-preservation tactics the next.

If you look upon my unsightly face and feel nothing but disgust and loathing for me, then I vow to release you and disturb you no more.

It was disheartening, that after all this time, after everything that had transpired between them, he would still insist on self-disparagement.

How could he not see that it was the parts he considered undesirable, and the selfless acts he disguised behind cynicism and a mercurial temperament, that had attracted her the most. It was the underlay of melancholy and rancor in his gravelly voice, the loneliness forced upon him in the wake of his unending curse, and the unmitigated guilt that drove him to desensitize from an unsympathetic world that made her realize that if anyone needed affection and understanding the most, it was those deemed unlovable by society.

"If you want my heart," Elle swallowed, choking back tears as her lungs inflated with an overdue breath. "Take it. It is yours; I ask for nothing in return, but ..." she wet her lips, allowing the weight of her words to register. "I simply ask that you relinquish this standing belief that I could feel anything other than horror or pity for you."

"A reasonable request, nymph, were you opinion not an unbiased one. I fear once you truly see and know what renders me ghastly, what lurks deep in my heart that I humbly surrender to you, that your ardent feelings may dramatically change."

"No," she replied firmly, her steady voice belying the fervid feelings churning within her. "When have I ever given you the impression that I had unrealistic expectations of love? I would never ask you to go against your beliefs, but if we are not willing to compromise or be transparent when needed, our love may never flourish. It is what nurtures familiarity, fondness, and trust. I want this. I want you, Don. Your ghastly moniker. Your ironclad curse. All your failings and imperfections. I want them all because they are every bit apart of you."

"You deserve everything that is good and unsullied."

Elle shook her head in disbelief. "I never asked for perfection, nor do I want it."

"You did not ask for a monster either."

Frustration burned hot across her chest as she gaped at him – or rather, his shadow. It was as if her words were falling on deaf ears. Moisture pooled in her eyes and began to dampen her cheeks, furious that Seraphine had wounded him so deeply that even when faced with unconditional love and understanding, he still believed that her feelings would not uphold against his scars and the sins he had committed in his past.

There had to be something else. Something he was withholding from her.

"I may be new to sight, Don, but I have seen what monsters are truly made of," she paused, a flurry of disturbing images flitting through her gutted memory.

Large beasts made of asphyxiating smoke. A diabolical witch with changing emotionless eyes. A leering man with bruising hands. A fire that never seemed to stop burning, and a bloody, gaping throat belonging to an innocent girl.

Elle blanched, her breath faltering.

Remnants of her panic attack bloomed at the edges of her frayed awareness, threatening to resurface should she linger on the images that haunted her. Don was the only thing keeping her unpleasant reflections at bay. His presence a soothing balm that assuaged a surplus of fear and uncertainty, making it easier for her to breathe, to think.

But it wasn't just her troubling memories that competed to overwhelm her. Next to nearly losing her life to a powerful witch intent on possessing her body, the enormous, visible world with all its jarring colors and shapes were a staggering shock to her system, and when paired with sounds, a learned means of navigation for her, it clashed horribly with the too bright and unpredictable vastness that moved too quickly for her to keep abreast of.

As beautiful and breathtaking as it was visually, it was tenfold as terrifying and overwhelming, but with Don alongside her, she felt as though she could conquer anything – that the world was a little less intimidating.

Elle knew from experience that it wasn't easy to abandon caution, and although it had mortified her for him to have seen her in such a vulnerable position, tending to her, comforting her, his strength and virility were all that kept her from falling to pieces. He made it easier for her to find clarity amongst the uproar and anxiety that were her racing thoughts, and just like that day on the beach, when he bid her to trust his guidance, she needed him to do the same, to dismantle two decades of conditioned defenses so that she could be that same source of comfort and relief for him.

She knew it wasn't going to be easy.

"I can distinguish a mistreated heart from a cruel one," she continued softly. "And you do not compare to the barbarity I have witnessed and encountered. Seraphine beguiled and deceived you, using your feelings for her against you, but that one blunder does not align with the man I know and have come to love. How long must you punish yourself for it? How long will you wallow in self-hatred?"

Don stepped deeper into the shadows, her reassuring words only serving to dissuade him from the honest light. When his reply came, it was equal parts fire and ice, sending a distinct chill down her spine. "That's where you're wrong, nymph. You cannot mistake murder for a trivial blunder. As much as I regret what I did, it was a choice that I consciously made, and one I would just as easily do again."

Elle frowned, her heart sinking with a discouraging beat. "I do not understand. Are you saying you would ... kill again?"

"Yes," he replied emphatically. "I set fire to that village in hopes of saving my mother, not because of my feelings for Seraphine and if I had the chance to redo it again, to go back to that tragic day, I'm not certain I would do anything differently."

She balked, her shoulders stiffening as she uttered faintly, "Your ... mother?"

"Seraphine lured my gentle, unsuspecting mother into her trap, tortured her for an ungodly amount of time, and then brutally killed her. Her remains were discovered in my underground cells ..." his voice broke with cold, discernible pain. "She was right below my feet the whole time, and I failed to save her. Sera led me to believe that if I massacred the south village, the same village that had burned Vivian de Ceville at the stake, that she would be returned safely to me, unharmed. I had no reason to believe that Sera would hurt my mother, much less kill her. I believed her heart to be misguided by despair and grief, but it was fueled by bitterness, revenge, and ultimately greed and I failed to see how depraved she really was."

"If you loved each other, why would she kill your mother? Why would she betray and hurt you without rhyme or reason?"

"I was required to marry, and at first, our union was initially arranged solely for political gain. When I met Seraphine, I was immediately enraptured by her golden beauty, by her kind and endearing disposition. We began our tentative courtship and it quickly fostered deep, passionate feelings for one another. I fully intended to marry her, but when it came close to announcing our official engagement, vicious gossip began to circulate about my sweet-natured betrothed – that she was secretly a witch and had been experimenting with the dark arts, conducting unspeakable and heinous things against the rabble, and even the gentry, which is how I discovered her true habits. I had no substantial proof that she was a witch, she had kept those proclivities from me, and when I confronted her, she became defensive and outright denied any evildoings but as time went on, my suspicions grew, and ..."

"You ended the engagement?" Elle whispered softly.

She could see his head nod in agreement. "I jilted her. I told her we were incompatible, ill-suited, when really I wanted no affiliation with a woman that engaged in wicked pursuits and preyed on the less fortunate. She slapped me and stated that her reputation would be in ruins and that I did not deserve her. I had no idea just how evil she really was until it was too late."

"She used your mother against you, no one can fault you for trying to save her."

"Is that an act of love, nymph? Or an act of greed? We're talking an entire village for the sake of one. Do you think I would not do the same for you? That is the risk of love. It can compel even the softest of hearts to do monstrous things. You, with your romanticized outlook on life, render me fucking reckless. You make me quick to do feral things, and if the world were to come between us, I would not think twice before igniting another village aflame, all to spare you undue agony. I would kill every living creature that had the effrontery to disturb a single hair on your beautiful head. I would destroy all of England, leaving no corner untouched, if it meant protecting your rare and gentle sentiments. For you, my darling, I would regale the masses with untold horrors and relish being their beast, all to keep you safe. That is my grave confession to you.

Seraphine would steal bodies to slake her greed; I would decimate a legion of armies and countless colonies to slake my rage on anyone or anything that dare comes for you, because you are my vulnerability, and the only way I know how to love, the only way I can love, is with violence and that violence may cost you your softness. Can you live with that, nymph, because I fear you may come to resent me for it. I fear it may harden your tender heart against me, and I could not bear that."

"No," Elle shook her head adamantly, her watery eyes riveted on his silhouette. "I'm not Seraphine, I would never hurt you the way she did. I would never demand or expect violence from you."

"You wouldn't have to, sweetheart. The way I feel about you would ultimately breed violence and bloodshed because you are everything I am willing to live for, and everything I will readily fight for. My scars are just a reflection of my baser animal self. If that frightens you, if you cannot accept that unsavory part of me, then you can choose to walk away forever, and I will not lift a hand to stop you." Don paused, his voice darkening with an undertone of lethal heat. "But if you choose to stay, then heed my warning well, little one. You will be mine in every sense of the word, and I will fight with every dark atom of my being to keep you. Do not ask me to let you go, because I cannot ... I will not. If you run from me, nymph, I will give chase every time because my heart is directly aligned with yours and I cannot live without you."

He was making a last ditch-effort to frighten her away, but she was no stranger to this song and dance. His fervent admission alluded to domineering qualities that otherwise would've had her alarm bells tolling, or at the very least, bristling – were it another man, but this was Don, and his clear intonation of possessiveness and obsession made her more inclined to leap into his unsuspecting arms and kiss away his fears of rejection and abandonment, because she was equally, and madly, as obsessed and possessive of him.

Don longed for fondness and affection, but his apprehensions and doubts kept him steadfast to the shadows, but she was determined to draw him out. To show him that love could still be gentle, pure, and forgiving, and that it did not always equate to violence and heartache.

No amount of encouraging words – or even her earnest feelings, were going to persuade her beast from the vying dark, so she would have to go to him.

With a shaky, but fortifying breath, she inched her legs over the side of the bed, her lax muscles instantly objecting.

"Elle ..." her name was a breathless entreaty in his dithering voice.

It was a precarious move, she knew that given her feeble state, but saw no other way to get through to him; to make him understand that his scars and tortured heart were everything she was willing to fight for, and that they would not deter her from what she knew to be real and true.

That she loved him, and he loved her.

The fur duvet slipped from her grasp as she made slow but efficient work of adjusting her chemise. It was difficult to do with one working arm, and with how weak she felt, but she managed to pull the undergarment up and over her breasts, tucking the loose sleeves underneath her shoulders.

She felt his heavy gaze on her as she rearranged her clothing but oddly enough did not feel insecure or ashamed about her nudity, in fact, she felt emboldened by his riveted stare. It made her feel more confident, more feminine than she had felt in all her eighteen summers. It also made her acutely aware to how attuned her body was to his, how his possessive claim on her made her incredibly hot and tingly in places his eyes could not touch.

Once Elle was satisfied that the garment would not slip, she reached with her good arm for the bedpost and hoisted herself up. As soon as she was on her feet dark spots danced before her vision, a wave of dizziness accompanied by a burning pain washing over her.

It was a stinging reminder of just how fragile mortality really was, and a larger reason to fight for what she believed in and loved.

"Nymph ..." Don growled a terse warning, his inflection deepening with worry. "You are not strong enough yet. If you fall, you are likely to injure yourself further."

Elle breathed through the pain, dots of perspiration forming along her brow as she nudged her chin high to say. "Then you best catch me as you promised to do."

With a tentative step, she swayed, every laborious breath forcing the bandages around her midriff to cinch tight. Her heart thudded against her breast out of exertion and a titillating rush of adrenaline that blissfully dulled the aches and pains.

Her searching eyes panned for some visible feature. "Will you show me the parts you deem horrendous and unforgiving, because I know it's not your heart, no matter your capacity for violence." Her body began to tremble, her knees knocking as her knuckles whitened around the knotted wood. "Or must I seek them out myself?"

It was seconds, maybe even minutes that ticked by before his deep timbre rumbled through the tense quiet, sparking a pleasant warmth low in her belly. "You strike a hard bargain, little one, but how can I deny you anything?"

Don edged closer to the light, and she stilled, her breath quickening within her chest. As he stalked toward her, this hulking frame of a man comprised every bit of the shadows that worked to unsheathe him, she took an involuntary step back, fearing the space was ill-equipped to accommodate his considerable size, his height recognized as the darkness melted away in slow increments, the firelight shifting to illuminate him.

Her fingers loosened around the railing with the urge to brush against her fluttering pulse, its bounding rhythm much like a flock of birds flapping madly against her flushed skin as the first detail to come to light were his leather muddied boots. They immediately gained her rapt focus for how many times had she turned a keen ear, listening for that definitive scuff in her air of nothingness, announcing his presence to the hushed room.

His long, lean legs were quick to follow, garbed in dark breeches, the linen straining against his massive thighs. Her gaze drifted higher, her breaths growing more ragged and harsher in her slow perusal as it came to rest on his lower abdomen, his breeches sitting low on his hips, so low, her cheeks flushed an immediate red as she thought of the appendage below his navel. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his smooth, taut flesh, and she knew without looking any further that Don had a physique honed specifically for battle.

It wasn't hard for her to come to that conclusion. He was far bigger than any of Sera's men, and he was three times the size of her father.

In their shared moments of chaste intimacy, she had longed to run her curious fingers over his large, strong body, hoping to depict a mental image of her grudging but kind captor. However, in truth, her searching hands would have never been able to render Don accurately. She was certain her imagination would have fallen short of his real image.

Elle paused in her bold study, almost losing her nerve to go any further, but from the partial darkness of the room, his voice crooned deeply, "Look your fill, nymph, because the only thing keeping me from touching you, from tasting that sweet mouth of yours, are your expressive eyes."

"I'm not afraid," she was quick to say, although it came out as a needy, breathless whisper, doing little to disguise her wander, and the blatant desire growing at the base of her spine.

His muscled forearms flanked his hips, thick veins protruding from beneath the skin and giving way to his curled fists, his knuckles a startling spectacle of blood and torn flesh.

He stood as his heated words suggested, as if a restless energy barreled through him, as if he was sparing no effort to remain still.

Elle braved a glance lower, just below his bare navel, her cheeks flaming red as she found the hard evidence of his arousal bulging against his breeches. Her body instantly responded in a visceral way, her knees weakening, not for lack of strength, but because she had never burned hotter. A delicious shudder moved through her limbs; a demanding ache building in her loins at the thought of him touching her with those callused hands, kissing her with those scarred lips, and thrusting inside of her with that noticeable hardness.

She knew next to nothing about the male anatomy, but her mother had described in explicit detail the act of lovemaking, how it was something a husband and wife engaged in, and the thought of Don grabbing her hips roughly, rocking inside of her with deep, guttural moans, while touching her where no man had ever touched her before, sparked a carnal ferocity the likes of which she had never experienced before.

When her eyes landed on his immense chest, her pulse that thrummed a moment ago with molten desire, slowed to a dramatic pitch of shock and horror, not because of the number of crisscrossing scars that were carved into his impressive muscles, but because he was stained with blood, a lot of blood, that dark substance spattering in all directions across his flesh – his sharp collar-bone, his undulating throat, and she suspected, his face as well, though the latter was still masked in shadows.

"Now do you see, nymph," Don's voice had hardened, obscuring his hunger in a frosty warning. "Do you see the lengths I will go to, to keep you safe? I slashed that bastard's throat and plowed my blade through his flesh, taking his life for the attempt on yours and I will rival that violence every time a threat is made against you. Can you accept that?" he matched her involuntary step with two, the darkness slipping away to unveil his naked face, his striking eyes raking hotly over her. "Because what I feel for you, nymph, is anything but gentle."