The peace didn't last.
Just as she began to feel safe enough to breathe, the heavy doors of the office burst open. Voices filled the air — harsh, accusing, proud. His family.
Three of them stormed in — elegant, predatory, wearing the same arrogance in their eyes that he sometimes hid behind calm words.
"What is she doing here?" one of them hissed. "You brought her into the house, brother?"
He stood immediately, his chair scraping across the floor. "Get out."
"She's one of them, isn't she?" the tallest sneered. "Sanctuary filth. You let that near our bloodline?"
Her heart pounded. She wanted to move, but their eyes pinned her like prey.
He growled — not quite human.
It started low, vibrating in his chest, spreading through the room like thunder beneath the floor.
"I said, leave."
When they didn't, the air itself seemed to tremble. His pupils narrowed. His breathing deepened.
And then—
Bones shifted. Muscles surged. His body arched, twisting with an otherworldly grace that was both terrifying and beautiful.
Clothes tore.
Black fur rippled across his skin, sleek and gleaming like midnight silk.
Before her eyes, the man became something far larger — a black panther, towering, muscles coiled with power, eyes burning gold.
The family froze.
For a heartbeat, no one dared move.
Then the first one lunged. The room erupted.
She stumbled back as shadows clashed — growls, claws, the sound of furniture splintering against the walls. It was chaos, wild and primal. Yet even in the frenzy, he fought to protect her. Every motion was measured, every blow meant to drive the others away.
When it was over, the intruders limped out, leaving only silence and dust behind.
He stood still for a long moment, his great chest heaving. Then, slowly, the black fur shimmered and pulled back into skin. Bones straightened. Within moments, he was human again — naked, bruised, breathing hard.
She couldn't look away.
He turned his head toward her, expression unreadable. "Does it bother you?" he asked quietly. "Seeing what I really am?"
She swallowed, her heart still racing. "No," she whispered. "It's… different. Beautiful, even."
One of his brows lifted, surprised. "Beautiful?"
She nodded. "Are all cat families like yours? Or… is your shape different?"
He took a slow breath, stepping closer. The golden glow in his eyes hadn't yet faded.
"Every bloodline has its form," he said. "Some smaller. Some weaker. Mine is old — one of the first. We were born to rule the night."
"Then they're wrong," she said, her voice trembling but sure. "You're not like them."
He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled a faint laugh — half relief, half disbelief. "You really don't know what you've stepped into."
"Maybe not," she said softly, "but I'm not afraid anymore."
His gaze darkened, something dangerous and tender flickering there. "You should be."
He stood there for a while, silent, watching the faint scratches heal across his skin. The golden gleam in his eyes faded slowly, leaving only the man — strong, tired, and somehow… uncertain.
She moved closer, the soft fabric of her dress brushing against the ruined carpet. "Sit," she said quietly.
He hesitated. No one had ever spoken to him like that — especially not one of them. But something in her voice was firm, almost soothing. He obeyed, sitting on the edge of the table.
She brought a small towel from the side cabinet, dipped it in warm water, and knelt before him. "You shouldn't fight like that," she whispered. "You'll get hurt."
He almost laughed. "I've been in worse fights since I was ten."
"Doesn't mean you should stop caring," she replied softly, dabbing at a cut on his arm.
Her touch was gentle, and it caught him off-guard. The scent of her — faintly floral, clean — made his chest tighten.
"They don't like me," she said after a moment. "Your family."
"They don't like anyone." He exhaled. "To them, bloodline means everything. Power. Territory. My father rules one of the oldest cat clans — descendants of the Black Fang. We were made to lead, not to… feel."
She looked up at him. "And you?"
"I was born different," he said. "Too human, they say. I can shift — stronger than most — but I can think like them, too. That's what they hate most." His eyes grew distant. "To them, females from Sanctuaries are nothing more than breeding stock. Tools to strengthen the line."
Her hands froze for a heartbeat, then continued cleaning the wound. "And what do you see when you look at me?"
He turned to her slowly. "I don't know yet," he said honestly. "You confuse me."
Silence filled the space between them — heavy, but not uncomfortable.
Finally, she said quietly, "If you wanted to hide what you are, you failed."
"Good," he murmured, voice lower now. "Maybe you'll understand that I'm not tame."
She met his gaze — the faintest smile touching her lips. "Maybe I don't want tame."
Something in him stirred — a dangerous softness, the kind that could ruin a man like him. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering too long.
"Rest now," he said finally, his voice rough. "Tomorrow, I'll show you the lands. You should know the world you've been brought into."
She nodded. "And maybe you'll tell me more about the other clans."
"Maybe," he replied, a faint smirk appearing. "If you promise not to run."
Her smile widened just slightly.
Soft light filtered through the curtains, golden and calm after the storm of the night before. Diana stirred, her body still heavy with sleep. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was — only that her sheets were warm, and something faintly scented like cedar lingered in the air.
Then she noticed the slight indentation beside her.
Someone had been there.
Her fingers brushed the pillow, still warm. She blinked, sitting up slowly. The room was quiet — too quiet. But then she saw it: a few strands of black hair caught on the sheet, almost gleaming in the morning light.
Her heartbeat quickened.
He had been here.
Her thoughts tangled. He hadn't touched her; she would have felt it. But his presence — his warmth — still clung to the space. Why did he come here? she wondered. And why does that make me feel… safe?
The door opened with a soft creak.
He stepped in, still half-dressed from the night before, hair slightly disheveled — looking less like the composed noble she had met and more like something raw, alive. His eyes found her immediately.
"You're awake," he said simply.
"Yes," she murmured, pulling the blanket up a little. "You… came here last night."
He didn't deny it. "You were cold."
She blinked at him, unsure what to say. "That's not usually what masters do."
"I'm not like most masters." His voice was quiet but firm. "I don't let my possessions freeze."
Something about the word possessions stung, but the warmth in his tone softened it. He seemed to catch it too, his jaw tightening slightly as if regretting the phrasing.
She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the bracelet on her wrist. "You don't have to protect me," she said softly. "I'll learn. About this world. About your kind."
He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his bare feet. "You want to learn about beastmen?"
She nodded. "I want to understand. The Sanctuary never told us anything real. Just stories meant to keep us quiet."
His eyes softened — a mix of surprise and something like pride. "Most wouldn't dare to ask. But you… you're different."
He reached for a tray a servant had quietly left earlier and set it on the table near her. "Eat first. Then I'll show you something."
"What?" she asked, curiosity lighting her eyes.
"Our world," he said, a faint smile curving his lips. "And maybe… who I really am."
The soft clinking of dishes filled the room as she sat by the window. Sunlight poured across the table, catching the gold rims of the porcelain cups. Everything felt far too elegant — too peaceful — for the confusion spinning inside her.
He set a plate before her himself, dismissing the servant with a glance.
"You can eat," he said. "You don't have to wait for permission when it's just us."
She hesitated, unsure if it was a trick, but his tone carried no mockery. Only quiet authority.
"Thank you," she murmured, picking up the fork. The food was warm — roasted vegetables, a bit of bread, slices of fruit. Simple, yet better than anything the Sanctuary ever offered.
He leaned against the table's edge, watching her eat for a few moments. Not in judgment — more like he was studying something rare, something he hadn't seen before.
"You eat like you're not sure if it's real," he said after a while.
She lowered the fork, embarrassed. "In the Sanctuary… we didn't always get full plates. Sometimes we traded food for favors, or for warmth. It's hard to believe something this nice is just given."
His gaze softened. "You shouldn't have had to live like that."
Her eyes flicked up. "And yet… you all made the Sanctuaries."
He didn't answer right away. A faint muscle in his jaw moved — the only sign her words had struck.
"Not all of us agreed with it," he said finally, voice low. "But it's… complicated. Your kind was protected that way. Or at least, that's what they wanted everyone to believe."
She frowned. "Protected… or caged?"
His silence was answer enough.
After a while, she reached for the fruit, biting into it quietly. The taste was sweet, bright, unlike anything she remembered.
"This world of yours," she said softly, "how big is it? Are there others like you? Other… clans?"
"Yes," he replied, straightening slightly. "The cat clans are many — panthers, lions, tigers, leopards, even the smaller ones like lynx and ocelots. Each with its own lands and rules. We gather only when we must — and when bloodlines are at risk."
Her brow furrowed. "So that's why females like me exist."
He nodded once. "To keep the balance. But most of my kind treat you as little more than tools."
"And you?" she asked quietly.
His eyes locked onto hers — dark, sharp, but not unkind. "I'm still deciding."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sunlight shifted, glinting off his black hair and the faint mark at his collarbone — something like an old scar, maybe a sign of his beast nature.
"I think," she said at last, "that I want to see it. Your world. Not from behind walls."
He studied her, expression unreadable — somewhere between approval and concern. "That's not something most of my people would allow."
"I don't care," she replied softly, surprising even herself. "If I'm to live here… I want to live. Not just serve."
A slow smile touched his lips. Not mockery, not amusement — something warmer, deeper.
"Then maybe I chose correctly," he said.
Her heart skipped.
He turned toward the door. "Finish eating. Afterward, I'll show you what lies beyond the villa."