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“I don’t want to be like that. I want to be a good and honest person,” I say.
He fills his cup with water and stares at me with a raised brow. “Not everything in life is good and honest.” He takes a big gulp.
“Just because we’ve been thrust into a bad life,” I respond, “doesn’t mean we have to stick with it.”
He puts his cup down on the counter and gazes at it for a second. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”
My face softens. His life was nothing short of cruel, and I understand why he thinks he wouldn’t be able to.
“All I’ve known is how to steal. Hunt. Kill. Just to survive,” he adds, clutching the counter like it hurts him to even think about it.
“But you had a life before you lived on the streets too.” I place a hand on his chest where his heart is. “You were a good person then, and you’re still a good person now.”
His eyes home in on mine, searching for something, but I don’t know what. It’s almost as if he’s digging into his own memories.
“I don’t know …” he mutters, and he quickly looks away.
“There must be something you remember. Something you used to love doing. Maybe we can look at something like that,” I say, hoping to find a way in.
Because if I give up now … what hope do we have of even a semblance of a normal life together?
He walks off, but I push back the anxiety and follow him to the living room.
“Don’t shut me out, Beast.” I follow him to the window, where he stares out at the busy street. “Please.”
His fist tightens. “My life before I was taken, before I became an orphan … it’s all a blur.”
My brows draw together, and I can’t help but lean in to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was still that painful.”
He places his hand over mine, squeezing gently. “I have nothing, no money, no clothes, no home. Only you.” When he turns to look at me, the agony in his eyes makes me swallow back the tears. “And I want nothing more than to protect you. But I don’t even know who I am without fighting. Without that collar and these scars.” He gazes at his own hands and chest like it’s the first time he’s actually looking, really looking, at his own wounds.
I gently move in to stand in front of him so he can’t look anywhere else but at me, and I place my hand on his face. “You can be so much more than what they made you.”
“How? When I don’t even remember who I was before?” he says.
His misery cuts into my soul like a knife. I’ve never felt this kind of pain before, so visceral, so … profound.
“But you weren’t called ‘Beast’ to begin with, right?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Nothing?” But when he closes his eyes, the answer is clear.
I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. “I want to help you remember.”
“Why?”
I lean away to look into his eyes. “So we can find the boy hidden deep inside this killer’s body,” I say, pointing at his chest. “Because I know he’s still in there, somewhere.”
He grabs my fingers tight. “That boy … was left behind the day his parents died.”
“Then we will find him there,” I reply.
His brows twitch. “What are you thinking?”
I grab his hand and drag him along. “Let’s go.”
“Aurora,” he growls but still lets me tag him along.
