Chapter 186: You shouldn’t end yourself because you want to be with him

Words : 1145 Updated : Oct 6th, 2025

Chapter 186 of "The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts" opens showing suspense: Chapter 186: Chapter 186: You shouldn’t end yourself because you want to be with him But... Continue the adventure!

Chapter 186: Chapter 186: You shouldn’t end yourself because you want to be with him But still, he stayed. Not because he didn’t want to search the palace. He’d already done that. Hours ago, before she’d even returned to the room. He already knew where Shelia was. He just hadn’t told her. Not because he was hiding it from her—but because he knew what would happen if he did. She’d throw off the blanket, put her slippers back on, and rush back into danger without thinking twice. She’d already done enough for everyone else today. She’d carried too much, too quickly. It was time for someone else to carry her. Without making a sound, Cyrus shifted to the far wall, his silhouette melting into the low shadows. His body stretched and shimmered in the dark, bones snapping silently as he transformed—pale skin folding into red scales, limbs lengthening until he became a massive, coiled serpent, his body lined with faint glimmers of pink. The transformation was fluid, silent—second nature. He rested his serpent head on a curled portion of his own tail, pink eyes half-lidded but always alert. From his quiet place in the corner, he stared at her. The moonlight pouring in through the high slits in the stone walls bathed her in silver, casting her hair in a soft halo and shadowing her back in gentle curves. To him, she didn’t look exhausted or stubborn or reckless like she had all day. She just looked... divine. An angel made flesh. And he would watch over her. For as long as she needed. ... Zara’s footsteps echoed faintly on the worn stone path as she hurried through the bustling city streets, the dust swirling around her feet like restless spirits. She pulled her tattered cloak tighter around her frail frame, though the cool air seemed to chill her bones far deeper than the wind ever could. Her pale face was drawn, cheeks hollowed from sleepless nights and a sickness that gnawed relentlessly from within. The massive stone buildings towered around her, their jagged edges casting long shadows that stretched like dark fingers across the crowded alleys. Yet amidst the clamoring city life, Zara’s gaze was fixed on a small dwelling wedged between two larger huts—a place she knew well from stories and fleeting memories. With a trembling hand, she gripped the rough wooden handle of the door and pulled it open. The air inside was stale and dry, scented faintly with smoke and old fur. The living area was sparse—rough-hewn stone walls, a few animal pelts strewn carelessly on the floor, and a small firepit that flickered weakly in the corner. No one was in sight. Her voice, weak but desperate, broke the silence. "Uncle?" she called softly, the sound trembling with exhaustion. In an instant, the hide curtain at the back of the room was whisked aside, revealing a man who stepped out hurriedly. His skin was weathered, marked with scars and lines of age, but his eyes were sharp and filled with concern. He wore a headdress fashioned from animal bones that rattled softly with his movement, and his hands were greasy, likely from eating food. One hand fumbled awkwardly at the hide skirt that kept slipping from his waist as he rushed forward. "Zara?!" he exclaimed, voice thick with worry. His hands caught her shoulders, firm but gentle, as if anchoring her to the present. He scrutinized her pale, drawn face, then his gaze snapped upward to her hair, eyes widening in alarm. "What happened to your bones, Zara?!" Zara leaned into his touch, her lips parting with a tired, almost resigned smile. "I think I might have used too much of that mix, Uncle," she whispered, voice ragged and weak. His brow furrowed deeply, confusion knitting his face. "What?" Her uncle’s expression shifted, darkening as the weight of realization dawned on him. "I warned you—that was the essence of a demon, Zara. Too much means possession of the body." Without waiting for her answer, he began guiding her carefully toward a pile of luxurious furs layered neatly on a stone bench against the wall. His touch was careful now, almost reverent, as he helped her lower herself onto the soft bedding. Zara’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she sighed, exhausted. "I know, Uncle... but after using it the way you told me, he didn’t even spare me a glance." Her uncle’s fingers brushed a stray lock of her hair from her forehead, a mixture of sorrow and frustration in his gaze. He turned to a rough wooden table cluttered with gourds and clay jars, searching quickly until he found one and poured a thick, dark liquid into a stone bowl. "So I thought—if I used more—" "No, Zara." His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of her desperation. "I told you before giving it to you. It might not work... and it might. Kian is no low-level beastman. You cannot easily trick him." He turned back to her, expression stern but not unkind. "You shouldn’t end yourself because you want to be with him. Staying by his side every day should be enough." Zara’s jaw clenched. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she struggled to hold back the flood of emotions crashing inside her. "But I love him, Uncle," she said, voice cracking with fierce determination. "You know that best. I love him more than I love my own life!" Her uncle took a deep breath and knelt beside her, lowering his voice to a calm but urgent tone. "Control your emotions, Zara. You will only feed the demon more if you keep this up." He gently pushed her back onto the fur bedding, his hands steadying her trembling shoulders. "You will have to stay here for some time," he said quietly, eyes never leaving hers, full of warning and something softer—hope, maybe—that she might yet survive this ordeal. "But—" Zara’s voice cracked, desperate, as she tried to sit up, her fingers twisting the edge of the fur beneath her. Her eyes shimmered with frustration, the kind that only bloomed from helpless love and a body pushed too far. ... Hey everyone, I just found out that my mom passed away. I started this story hoping to support my mom and younger siblings. Writing was a way to survive—and I truly believed it could change things. She never got to see that happen. I don’t earn much from this. Not yet. But I keep going because I have my siblings to care for, and because I’m trying to get us out of an abusive household. I may not stop writing, but if I ever disappear from here, it’s not because I gave up—it’s because I simply couldn’t keep up anymore. Thank you for being here, and for reading. It means more than I can ever express. —Melody.

Chapter 186: You shouldn’t end yourself because you want to be with him

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