The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 123: We have to perform the Vareth Binding

She gave Shelia’s head a little jerk, watching it loll sideways.

"Now let’s see how you’ll help your little Isabella," Zara cooed. "Oh—silly me again—I forgot. She’ll be dying soon too."

She lifted Shelia’s face just enough to force her to look up at her, even if her vision was probably swimming in blood.

"Kian belongs to me," Zara hissed, the mask of politeness slipping into something wild. Ugly. "And I’ll do everything in my power to make him love me. Even if it means killing him."

She let Shelia’s head drop with a sickening thud.

Zara stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "Now, now," she sighed in a falsely sweet voice. "While you lay here twitching, I’ll go cry a little. Say I found you like this."

She smiled—smiled like she was practicing for a crowd. "Let’s just pray Kian can save you before you die." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

She turned, walking away with a bounce in her step.

"Because I would hate to be sister-in lawless."

Pause.

She giggled again.

"And I really like that hide dress you’re wearing."

Kian sat at the edge of his bed, a jagged blade resting against his knee. He was sharpening it with the edge of a carved bone, slow and methodical, each drag whispering across steel. The steady rhythm calmed him, drowned out the buzzing thoughts he never let show.

The animal hide covering his doorway fluttered gently. Morning wind. Nothing more.

He didn’t look up.

Until—

A soft sob.

He froze.

Not a loud, theatrical cry. No. Just a small, broken noise. Wet. Shaky.

The kind of cry that slid past someone’s guard before they realized they were even making it.

The sharpening stopped.

Kian rose.

The hide door pushed aside, and there she was.

Zara.

Her hair loose, cheeks damp, eyes trembling with just the right amount of misery. She was barefoot. Shivering. The blood on her palm looked like she’d smeared it trying to help someone.

"Something happened," she whispered, voice cracked.

Kian’s expression didn’t shift. His blade lowered to his side. But internally—his heart clenched. His instincts kicked in like a beast’s growl in his gut.

"Shelia," Zara breathed. "I found her. She’s not—she’s not breathing well. She’s burned. Oh gods, Kian, I don’t even know what happened—"

He moved.

No words. Just a blur.

Kian was out the door and running, the wind barely catching up to his movement. The air around him grew colder. He didn’t feel the stone scrape beneath his bare feet. Didn’t care.

Zara waited until he was gone.

Then she smiled.

A full, relaxed smile that spread slowly, like venom warming in a vial.

She turned to his room. Took one small step inside.

Ran a hand across his blade.

Sat on the edge of his bed, sighing like she’d earned it.

"I should cry more often," she whispered, swinging her legs softly.

Then she looked around the room with narrowed eyes, already imagining what kind of dress she’d wear when she finally sat here—not as an intruder, but as his mate.

...

Kian held his dying sister in his arms...

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He just... stared.

Her face—her face wasn’t hers anymore. It looked like someone had peeled it off and tried to mold it back wrong. The flesh was twisted, raw, and blistered. Burned beyond recognition. Her lips barely moved, her chest rising in shallow, stuttering gasps.

She smelled like scorched skin.

And Kian’s hands trembled.

Not from fear. Not from pain.

But from the fury coursing through him like venom.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He just knelt there in the middle of the open hallway, surrounded by thick silence and the thick hide curtain behind him swaying faintly in the wind. Cold air bit at his back, but he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything.

Then footsteps. Fast. Sharp.

"Asael," Kian said quietly, before the figure even came fully into view.

His guard froze when his eyes landed on Shelia. "No—no," Asael muttered, dropping to his knees without hesitation. The calm he usually wore cracked. "What happened? What—" His voice caught as his eyes traveled down her disfigured face.

He looked like someone had just punched a hole in his chest.

"I don’t know," Kian said flatly, though his arms were wrapped around her so tightly it looked like he might crush her bones. "She collapsed. Alone."

Asael didn’t believe that for a second, but now wasn’t the time to question.

"We have to perform the Vareth Binding," Asael said, already stripping off the leather straps around his wrist.

Hidden inside one of them was a thin shard of crystal—dull, cracked, but still humming faintly with power. "We don’t need a full circle. Just a conduit. She’ll die if we wait."

"She won’t survive it." Kian’s tone was blank, unreadable. "It drains both vessels."

"I’ll survive," Asael snapped, more emotion in his voice than Kian had ever heard. "But she won’t if we wait even a second longer."

Kian looked at him then—really looked. Their eyes locked, one glowing cold, the other burning with something that looked too much like desperation.

And then Kian gave a single nod.

The kind of nod that meant everything.

They didn’t need a ceremonial circle or chants. All they needed was skin-to-skin contact and willingness.

Asael pulled up his fur sleeve, exposing the inked stripes that marked his rank and heritage. Three. A soldier, a protector, and now—apparently—a fool willing to burn himself from the inside out for a girl who barely looked at him twice.

Kian pressed his palm to Asael’s forearm, while Asael did the same to Shelia’s sternum.

"Begin," Kian ordered.

The instant their palms connected, the air snapped.

Something ancient shifted—old power that had slept in their bloodlines for centuries now surged to life, awakened by desperation. A faint blue light flickered where their hands met, then spread like cracks in ice, jagged and alive.

Kian’s eyes stayed locked on Shelia’s lifeless face.

"Asael, now," he ordered through clenched teeth.

Asael didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The moment the Vareth Binding activated, he felt the energy rip straight from his core, draining faster than he could hold it in. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His back arched.

The magic tore through him in violent waves, crashing into Shelia’s crumpled frame.

Her ribs popped. Her spine shifted. Bones realigned with sickening cracks. Her body jerked once, then again.

And then... stillness.