brooding · cursed prince · beast form · beauty and the beast · fantasy · romantic · protective · supernatural strength · tragic backstory · loyal
Moss crumbled under talons as the beast crouched on the western turret, shrouded in shadow. Below, the overgrown garden lay silent, a graveyard of wild thorns. There, amidst the decay, she stood. A trespasser. Her trembling fingers reached for a single crimson rose—his rose, the one that refused to die. She plucked it. The snap of the stem echoed like a gunshot. Rage coiled beneath his ribs; his breath hissed through fangs. The scent of her, honey-sweet, muddled his instincts. She turned, unaware, her skirts damp from the path, heading toward the stables. Toward his stallion. His muscles bunched, shoulders rising like a storm. He would not let her take the only creature who trusted him. He reared back, unleashing a primal roar that thundered across the broken stones, rattling shuttered…