The Cursed Beast Caught My Leash - Chapter 80

The adjoining room was a space Islay frequented whenever his thoughts became chaotic. Perhaps he sought to organize his mind in solitude; he had once mentioned that the depths of the night often led to idle musings.

Stella stepped into the dimly lit room, where a single candle flickered gently, but she suddenly froze mid-step.

“Ah…”

Her puzzled gaze fell to the floor. Scattered across the room, as if in the aftermath of a battle, were various wooden sculptures and pieces of lumber. Her wandering eyes eventually reached the corner by the window.

“Islay.”

He stood before the harpsichord, bathed in the faint dawn light. With his back to the flickering candle, his face was shrouded in shadow. Stella tilted her head, perplexed.

“What are you doing here?”

The sound of his labored breathing broke the silence of the space. As she looked closer, Stella noticed that Islay, leaning heavily on the massive keyboard instrument with one hand, was panting like a wounded beast.

Alarmed, Stella rushed toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

The moment her hand touched his arm, she froze, startled by the heat radiating from his body.

“You have a fever…”

His temperature was so high it could only be described as scorching. It was unlike anything she had ever felt from him. Furrowing her brows in concern, Stella was caught off guard when a gust of wind from outside extinguished the unsteady candlelight.

It was then that her gaze met his as he slowly turned his head. Stella, who had been reaching out to him with concern, froze in place.

In the bluish darkness, his red eyes glowed. The iridescent sheen in those eyes that quietly stared at her sent a chill through her. With dilated pupils that no longer seemed human, Islay’s gaze was utterly foreign.

“…Islay?”

For a moment, Stella felt as if she were confronting a stranger. Though his familiar scent and sharply defined features were unmistakably his, an inexplicable wrongness emanated from him.

The Islay who had been gasping as if injured now stood eerily still, meeting her gaze. His gaze resembled that of a predator facing prey ready to flee—or like the monsters she had encountered the day the castle walls had collapsed.

Suppressing her fear, Stella carefully asked, “Are you hurt? Should I call for a doctor?”

Still, he gave no answer. No matter how long she waited with patient persistence, only silence stretched between them.

Even in the thick darkness, Stella could sense something twisting and changing. Islay wasn’t the same. His searingly high body temperature, the strange, rippling energy emanating like heatwaves from his shoulders, and his short, rapid breaths—all of it was disturbingly abnormal.

Don’t provoke him.

Her instincts screamed at her, and Stella slowly withdrew her hand from his arm. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears as a faint but growing sense of dread unfurled like smoke.

“Did… something happen?”

Suddenly, Olena’s mention of a drug resurfaced in her mind. But Islay had assured her he wasn’t injured. Besides, so much time had passed since then. Why was this happening now? Stella fought to resist the consuming fear that surged like a dark tide.

She had resolved to give her life for this man if it meant helping him. She loved him so deeply that she never wanted to fear him, no matter the circumstances.

But the fragile courage she had gathered shattered like shards of glass.

“……!”

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Stella could now see it clearly. Thick veins bulged visibly on Islay’s hand, pulsating as if alive. These veins crawled up his forearms and spread to his thick neck, mirroring the fleeting glimpse she had caught from the bed.

Then came the sound of tearing fabric from his shoulders. She hadn’t misheard. His already massive, muscular frame seemed to ripple and grow unnaturally. No amount of rigorous training could account for such grotesque expansion.

Standing by the window, Islay’s body now resembled a living weapon of destruction. Stella, her wide eyes fixed on him, followed his gaze upward. Their eyes locked in midair.

The unfocused pupils staring back at her no longer belonged to the man who adored her.

“Ah…!”

In a flash, Islay’s arm shot out, grabbing Stella by the nape. She staggered, her breath caught in her throat as his unrestrained grip pulled her forward. His dark head loomed close to her neck.

“Why… why are you doing this…!”

Through the frantic thumping of her pulse, Stella glanced downward. His nose was pressed against her throat, sniffing her scent as if trying to determine whether she was prey to be torn apart or something else entirely.

Is he trying to recognize me?

Their eyes met again. Stella carefully studied Islay’s darkened gaze, her eyes flitting between his. Slowly, she reached out and cupped his face with her hands.

“Islay.”

His breath came in quick, uneven gasps, a sharp contrast to the unmoving expression on his face. It was a mismatch—his controlled demeanor clashed with his erratic breathing.

What could be causing this? There were no visible wounds, but had he been grazed by an arrow coated with some kind of drug?

Or… could it be? Could it be because of the impulsive request she had made the night before, one she didn’t even realize she’d uttered?

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Then, Islay mimicked her gesture, reaching out with his hand. He touched her delicate face, clumsily running his fingers over it, gripping it as though trying to feel its contours, and rubbing her lips and chin with his thumb. His usually gentle touch was startlingly awkward, like that of someone who was touching a person for the very first time.

His hand, which had been wandering over her face, moved down and came to rest on her shoulder. A sharp, needle-like tension surged through Stella’s body.

And just as she braced herself for what might come, he suddenly grabbed her robe with his rough hand and tore it apart with a harsh rip.

“Ah…!”

There was no stopping the brute strength of his grip. Stella grabbed at his wrist too late—Islay had already torn the shredded fabric from her and tossed it aside.

“This, this isn’t right…!” she cried out urgently, trying to stop him.

But in the blink of an eye, he ripped her robe into pieces and pushed her to the floor, pinning her down. Stella struggled with all her might, but it was impossible to push back against the man whose eyes had rolled back in frenzy.

While she fought, Islay tore at the remaining fabric covering her body with equal ferocity, reducing it to scraps. He was now completely naked as well, his bare form pressing heavily down on her.

What should I do? How do I stop this? 

Her mind went blank, unable to think of any way to stop him.

The revulsion buried deep in Islay’s heart stemmed from his bloodline, which had long been plagued by those unable to suppress their lust. Even if his current state was induced by outside forces or drugs, even now, when he had lost all reason, this was something that must never happen.

He was the man who had always been determined never to harm her, not even to leave a single scratch on her skin. That made this even more unbearable.

Terrified, Stella’s gaze fell on the rigid length pressing against his abdomen.

His member, already unbelievable in size under normal circumstances, had grown even larger. Dark veins bulged grotesquely along its length, making it appear wholly unnatural, far beyond the realm of what could be considered normal.

Stella reflexively opened her mouth to scream but quickly covered it with her hand.

What would be the point of calling for help?

Would she have the guards outside witness this scene? To tell them to stop the man trying to assault her?

Absolutely not. She couldn’t allow anyone else to see this. It would only leave Islay more devastated once he regained his senses.

“Islay, Islay…”

So she whispered his name softly, her voice trembling. She begged him to stop, pleading for him to recognize her.

“Please, don’t do this. You might regret it later.”

Her voice quavered as she added, “If you suddenly act this way, I… I…”

Her slender throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She couldn’t bring herself to say she was afraid of him. Even in her fear, she didn’t want to hurt him.

Islay, his chest heaving with labored breaths, stared at her. The gaze, devoid of any warmth, slowly traveled down her body. From her delicate neck and pulsating pulse point, over the curves of her chest and smooth abdomen, to her thighs and the soft mound between them.

It wasn’t the gentle regard he usually showed. There was no care in his eyes.

Gripping her waist, he lifted her hips effortlessly, burying his face between her legs in an instant.

“Ahng…!”

The hidden, sensitive nub was seized roughly. Despite the sharp, jolting movements, he relentlessly extended his tongue, wetting her dry folds with fervent licks. The contact was harsh, not from the soft inner surface of his lips, but from the raw scrape of his teeth and tongue.

His expression as he thoroughly soaked her entrance resembled that of a beast tasting blood for the first time. Occasionally, he bit down forcefully, shaking her core with his movements, a behavior unmistakably animalistic.