Chapter 3: Blood and Surrender
The fire had burned low by the time the door opened.
Elara had been sitting in the chair by the hearth for hours, her knees drawn to her chest, her gray eyes fixed on the flames. She'd watched them dance and flicker and die, one by one, until only embers remained. The room had grown cold. She hadn't noticed.
She'd heard the rumors before the sun set. A messenger had ridden through the gates at a full gallop, his horse lathered and stumbling, and within minutes the castle had been buzzing with whispers. The northern border. An ambush. The Varenne clan had laid a trap, and the king's company had ridden straight into it.
Forty men dead. Maybe more.
And Kaelen—
She'd stopped listening after that. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.
She'd just waited.
The door opened now, and he filled the frame like a storm given human shape.
Blood crusted his face. His knuckles were split open, raw and glistening, and his coat was torn in three places—one gash along his ribs that had soaked the fabric black. His eyes found her immediately, and they were wild. Not with pain. With something older and darker. Something that had been dragged up from the depths and hadn't quite been shoved back down.
The killing rage.
Elara's heart clenched so hard it hurt.
He didn't speak. Just stood there, breathing hard, his chest heaving beneath the ruined coat. His hands hung at his sides, and she saw the way they trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the effort of holding himself still. Holding himself back.
"You're bleeding," she said. Her voice came out hoarse.
"Not my blood." He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. The sound echoed through the room like a thunderclap. "Mostly."
She rose from the chair. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, weak with relief and something else—something hot and fierce that had been building in her chest for hours. She crossed the room to him, and he watched her approach with those wild, wary eyes, like a wolf deciding whether to bolt or bite.
She stopped a foot away.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered.
"I'm not."
"I thought—"
"I know." His voice cracked on the words. "I know what you thought. I felt it. Through the bond. All the way across the border, I felt your fear. It nearly drove me insane."
She reached up and touched his face. Her fingers came away slick with blood—someone else's blood—and she didn't care. She pressed her palm to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, and she felt something in him shift. Something loosen. Something that had been wound so tight it was cutting off circulation to his soul.
"I'm going to clean you up," she said.
"Elara—"
"Sit down."
He sat. On the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his hands hanging between his knees. He looked like a man who'd been to war and back and wasn't quite sure which side of it he'd landed on.
She fetched water from the basin by the window. It was cold, but it would do. She found a cloth and soaked it, then returned to him and knelt on the floor between his legs.
He flinched when the cloth touched his face. Just a tiny movement, barely noticeable. But she saw it.
"Does it hurt?"
"No." His jaw tightened. "I just—I'm not used to being touched."
She paused. "Then tell me to stop."
"Don't stop."
She cleaned his face first. The blood was dried in some places, fresh in others, and it took several passes to get it all. Beneath it, she found scratches and bruises—one on his cheekbone, another along his jaw. Nothing deep. Nothing permanent.
"I need to see your ribs," she said.
He hesitated. Then he pulled the coat off—slowly, wincing—and dropped it to the floor. His shirt was ruined, torn and soaked, and he peeled it away to reveal the gash along his side. It was long but shallow, the kind of wound that looked worse than it was.
Elara's hands trembled.
"I can fix this," she whispered.
He looked at her. "What?"
"I can—my gift. I can heal it." She looked up at him, and her gray eyes were bright with something that might have been defiance or desperation or both. "Let me."
Kaelen's throat worked. "If you use your power—"
"No one will know. Lyra taught me to mask it. To hide the glow." She touched his side, just below the wound, and felt the warmth gathering in her palm. "Please. Let me do this. I can't—I can't just sit here and watch you bleed."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
She closed her eyes and let the power flow.
It was different this time. Easier. The warmth moved through her like water finding its path downhill, guided by something deeper than thought. She felt the tissue knit together, the torn vessels seal, the skin stitch itself whole. When she opened her eyes, the gash was gone—nothing left but a faint pink line and the memory of pain.
Kaelen exhaled. Long. Shaky.
"God," he breathed. "That was—"
"Don't tell anyone."
"I won't." He caught her wrist before she could pull away. His grip was iron, but his thumb moved gently over her pulse point. "I swear it, Elara. I won't tell anyone."
She believed him.
She let him hold her wrist for a moment. Then she pulled free and reached for his belt.
He caught her hands. "What are you doing?"
"I'm taking care of you."
"Elara—"
"You came back." Her voice broke. "You came back, and I've spent the last six hours convinced I was going to spend the rest of my life alone, and I need—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I need to feel you. Please. Let me."
Kaelen's eyes went dark. The wildness in them hadn't faded—it had just changed. Shifted from rage to hunger. From violence to want.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"
"No," she admitted. "But I don't care."
He let go of her hands.
Her fingers found the buckle of his belt. They trembled as she worked it loose—nervous, clumsy, too slow. She heard him exhale through his nose, impatient, but he didn't rush her. Didn't move. Just watched her through those ice-blue eyes, and let her fumble.
The belt came free. She pulled it away and dropped it to the floor.
Then the laces of his trousers. Those were easier. And then she was pulling them down, over his hips, and his cock sprang free—thick, long, already hardening with want. The sight of him made her breath catch. Made her cheeks burn.
She'd never done this before.
But she wanted to.
She leaned forward and took him in her hand.
Kaelen hissed through his teeth. His hand flew to her hair—not pulling, but anchoring, his fingers tangling in the dark strands like he needed something to hold on to.
"That's it," he rasped. "Fuck. That's it."
She began to stroke him. Slow, tentative, learning the shape of him—the weight, the heat, the way the foreskin slid back to reveal the glistening head. Her thumb traced the vein along his shaft, and he twitched in her grip, and a low sound rumbled in his chest.
"Elara."
"What?"
"Put your mouth on it."
Her eyes flew to his. She saw the hunger there—the raw, naked need—and something inside her clenched. Not with fear. With want.
She leaned forward.
The first taste of him was overwhelming. Salt and skin and something darker, muskier, that made her belly tighten. She licked the head of his cock—a tentative, experimental stroke—and Kaelen groaned like she'd wounded him.
"Again," he gritted. "Do that again."
She did. Longer this time. Wetting her lips and dragging them over the sensitive flesh, letting her tongue swirl around the tip. He was trembling beneath her hands, his thighs rigid, his fist tightening in her hair.
"Take it in your mouth," he said. "Not all of it. Just the head. Suck it."
She did.
The sound he made was almost animal. A raw, guttural groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips twitched forward, an involuntary thrust, and she felt him hit the back of her throat.
She gagged. Just a little. Just a soft, wet sound that made him curse.
"Sorry," he panted. "Sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, I just—"
She pulled off him long enough to say, "Don't apologize."
Then she took him deeper.
She was learning. Learning the rhythm, the pressure, the way he liked it. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, and he swore and bucked into her mouth. She relaxed her throat and let him slide deeper, and he called her a filthy name that made her cunt clench around nothing. She used her hand on the shaft where her mouth couldn't reach, and he tangled his fingers in her hair and fucked her mouth with rough, desperate thrusts.
"That's it," he growled. "That's it, take it, take all of it. You look so fucking good like this. Like a goddamn dream. Your mouth feels like sin, Elara. Fuck. Fuck."
She moaned around him, and the vibration nearly undid him.
"Stop," he gasped. "Stop, I'm going to—"
She didn't stop.
His orgasm hit him like a wave. He spilled down her throat in hot, bitter pulses, and she swallowed every drop. Swallowed and kept swallowing, and he kept coming, and the sound he made was somewhere between a roar and a prayer.
And when he was done—when he was finally spent and gasping and limp beneath her—she pulled off him and sat back on her heels.
Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were watering. Her cunt was aching, empty and wet and desperate for something she couldn't name.
Kaelen looked down at her. His chest was heaving, his face slack with shock. Like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"Where did you learn that?" he managed.
"I didn't." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I just—wanted to."
He pulled her up off the floor.
His kiss was brutal. Devouring. She tasted herself on his tongue, and something about it made her moan. He kissed her like he was trying to climb inside her, like he was trying to merge them together, body and soul.
When he finally broke away, she was trembling.
"That's not enough," she whispered.
"What?"
"That's not—I need—" She blushed. Deep, crimson, all the way to her roots. "I've never..."
Kaelen went still. "Never what?"
She couldn't look at him. Couldn't meet those ice-blue eyes.
"Never had an orgasm," she whispered. "Not once. Not ever. Sebastian—" Her voice cracked. "He didn't care. And before him, I never—"
She stopped.
Kaelen's hands tightened on her arms.
"Your fiancé," he said, and his voice was dangerously soft. "The man who sold you to me. He never made you come?"
"No."
"Did he try?"
"No." Her eyes burned. "He just—used me. When he wanted. And then he was done. And he said that was normal. That women didn't—that it wasn't—"
She couldn't finish.
Kaelen pulled her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, and she felt the rumble of his growl through his ribs.
"I'm going to kill him," he said.
"That's not—"
"I'm going to kill him, Elara. But not right now." He pulled back and looked at her, and his eyes were blazing. "Right now, I'm going to give you what he never did."
She swallowed. "What?"
"I'm going to make you come."
He lifted her onto the bed.
She landed on the furs with a soft gasp, and before she could catch her breath, he was on top of her. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. He bit and sucked and kissed his way down her body, and she arched beneath him, her hands fisting in the furs.
"Take off your clothes," he murmured against her skin.
She did. Fumbling, blushing, pulling at laces and ties until her dress was a puddle on the floor. Then his hands were on her, and his mouth was on her, and she forgot to be embarrassed.
He kissed her breasts. Sucked her nipples until they were hard and aching, until she was writhing and gasping and pleading. His hand slid down her stomach, lower, finding her cunt slick and hot and ready.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so wet for me."
"Kaelen—"
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'm ready. Please. Please."
He slid down her body.
His shoulders pushed her thighs apart. His tongue—his tongue found her cunt, and she screamed.
Not from pain. From pleasure. From the shock of it, the intimacy, the sheer overwhelming wrongness that felt so right. No one had ever done this. No one had ever put their mouth there, no one had ever kissed her like this.
Kaelen licked her like she was the last meal he'd ever eat.
He started slow. Broad, flat strokes of his tongue, lapping at her from hole to clit. She shuddered and whimpered and fisted her hands in his hair, and he made an approving sound against her flesh.
"Taste like fucking honey," he growled. "Could eat you out all day. Could die between these thighs and die happy."
She moaned. Couldn't help it.
He got to work.
His tongue lashed her clit—fast, sharp flicks that made her hips jerk off the bed. He sucked it into his mouth and lashed it, and she sobbed his name. Two fingers pushed into her cunt, curling, finding that secret place inside her that made stars flash behind her eyes. He fucked her with his fingers while he ate her out, and the rhythm was relentless, brutal, perfect.
"I'm close," she gasped. "I'm—"
"Don't hold back."
"I can't—"
"Let go, Elara. Let me feel you come on my tongue."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her like a thunderclap. It ripped through her body, wave after wave, and she screamed his name—screamed it loud enough that the whole castle probably heard. Her thighs clamped around his head, her hands fisted in his hair, and she rode it out for what felt like an eternity.
When she finally came down, she was crying.
Kaelen crawled up her body and pulled her into his arms.
"Hey," he murmured. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"I don't know." She laughed, wet and shaky. "I don't know. That was—I've never—"
"I know."
"You made me—"
"I know."
She buried her face in his chest. He held her tight, and his hand moved soothingly over her back, and the fire popped and crackled in the grate.
"That was your first," he said eventually.
"Yes."
"Good." His voice was rough with something that sounded like satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad it was me."
She lifted her head. "What happens now?"
Kaelen looked at her for a long moment. Then he kissed her forehead.
"Now," he said, "we go to war."
Elara's heart froze.
"What?"
"The Varenne clan has a healer. A real one, with the old powers. They're using her to kill my men." His arms tightened around her. "I won't let that stand. I won't let them have that power. And I won't let them take you."
"Where do I—"
"You're coming with me."
She stared at him. "What?"
"You're coming with me. To the northern border. To the war camp." He cupped her face in his hands. "I can't leave you here, Elara. I can't trust anyone to protect you. Not even my own people. So you're coming with me. And you're going to learn how to use that gift of yours. Not just to heal."
His eyes were ice.
"But to fight."
She should have been afraid. Should have protested. Should have told him she wasn't a soldier, wasn't a weapon, wasn't ready for what he was asking.
Instead, she nodded.
"All right," she said.
Kaelen kissed her. Slow and deep. And when he pulled back, there was something new in his eyes. Something that looked almost like hope.
That was when she noticed the figure standing in the doorway.
Isla.
The little girl was clutching her stuffed wolf, her ice-blue eyes wide as saucers. She'd seen everything. The firelight caught the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"Papa," she whispered, her small voice trembling. "Is it true? Is the bad lady going to hurt us?"
Kaelen's face drained of color.
Elara moved first.
She pulled the fur up to cover herself and Kaelen, and then she was off the bed, crossing the room to kneel before the little girl. Isla flinched away, but Elara didn't touch her. Just crouched at her level.
"Your papa is going to protect you," she said softly. "That's what he does. He protects the people he loves."
Isla just stared at her.
"And so am I," Elara said. "I'm going to help him. I promise."
The little girl held her gaze for a long, impossible moment. Then her lower lip trembled.
"I don't want him to go," she said. "He always goes. And he always comes back bloody. And I'm scared. I'm scared he won't come back one day. And then I'll be alone."
Elara's heart cracked.
She reached out and took Isla's hand. The little girl flinched again—but then she didn't pull away.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Elara whispered.
Isla nodded.
"Your papa," Elara said, "is the strongest person I have ever met. He has survived war and pain and loss. He has built a kingdom and protected you all by himself. And I think—" She glanced back at Kaelen, who was watching them both with an expression she couldn't read. "I think he'll survive this too. Because he has you. And he has me now. And we're going to make sure he comes home."
Isla's eyes flicked to Kaelen.
"Papa?"
Kaelen crossed the room and knelt beside Elara. He scooped Isla into his arms and held her tight against his chest.
"I'm going to come home," he said. "I promise."
Isla buried her face in his neck.
And Elara watched the two of them—the Alpha King and his secret daughter—and thought about the war to come, the healer with the old powers, the enemies who would kill for what she carried, and the fire-haired witch from her dreams who had foretold it all.
Outside the window, the stars were drowned by gathering clouds.
And far to the north, black smoke was already rising.
The war camp stank of blood and smoke and something worse—fear, maybe, or the particular stench of men who had been pushed past their limits and were still somehow standing. Elara had been in the northern encampment for three days now, and she had learned to breathe through her mouth.
Kaelen had won.
The Varenne clan had broken against his forces like waves against a cliff, and the healer they'd captured—a gaunt woman with hollow eyes and hands that had been forced to kill—was now in a tent at the edge of camp, guarded day and night. She would not speak. Would not eat. Would not look at anyone who entered.
Elara had tried. Twice.
Both times, she had walked away with nothing but the taste of ash in her mouth and a hollow ache in her chest.
The battle itself had been brutal. She'd watched from the ridge as Kaelen's forces descended on the Varenne stronghold, and she'd seen him fight—truly fight—for the first time. He was not a man in battle. He was a force of nature. A storm given flesh and bone and a blade that sang through the air like death's own song.
When it was over, he had come to her tent covered in blood, and she had healed him without a word. The wounds had closed beneath her hands. The bruises had faded. And when she was done, he had pulled her into his arms and held her so tight she could barely breathe.
That had been two days ago.
Now, she stood outside his command tent, listening to the low murmur of voices within. Generals. Advisors. Men who had seen too much and lost too much and were trying to figure out how to keep the kingdom from crumbling.
She waited.
The voices fell silent. The tent flap opened. One by one, the men filed out—grim-faced, exhausted, their eyes sliding past her like she was furniture. She was used to that. Had been used to it her whole life.
Then Kaelen appeared in the doorway.
He looked tired. So tired. The shadows beneath his eyes were deep enough to drown in, and his jaw was shadowed with two days' worth of stubble. But when he saw her, something in his face softened. Just a fraction. Just enough.
"Come in," he said.
She followed him inside.
The tent was warm, lit by a single brazier that cast flickering shadows across the canvas walls. Maps covered every surface—the northern border, the Varenne territory, the mountain passes that would need to be fortified before winter. A half-eaten meal sat forgotten on a low table.
Kaelen sank into a chair and rubbed his face with both hands.
"You look like shit," Elara said.
He laughed. Actually laughed. A low, rough sound that made something warm unfurl in her chest.
"I feel like shit," he admitted. "But the war is over. Or this part of it, anyway. The Varenne are broken. Their leader is dead. Their stronghold is ours."
"And the healer?"
He looked up at her. "She still won't speak. But we've learned some things. She's from a village in the eastern mountains—a place called Thornwood. Apparently, there were others like her once. A whole community of healers. But they were hunted. Killed. Scattered." His jaw tightened. "She's the last one."
Elara's heart clenched. "That's why she's so—"
"Broken? Yes." He leaned back in his chair. "She was forced to use her gift to kill. Her own people were slaughtered in front of her. She's been a prisoner for years. I don't know if she'll ever recover."
"Can I see her again?"
"You can try."
Elara nodded. She moved to the table and poured him a cup of water from the clay pitcher, then carried it to him. He took it, their fingers brushing, and something passed between them—a current, a warmth, a promise.
"How are you?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
She smiled. Small. Tired. "I'm tired of tents. I'm tired of the smell of blood. And I'm tired of pretending I'm not terrified of everything that's happening."
"You're not terrified."
"I am." She sat on the floor at his feet, her back against his chair, and let herself lean into him. His hand found her hair, stroking it gently. "I'm terrified that one day you won't come back. I'm terrified that someone will find out what I am and use it against you. I'm terrified that I'm falling in love with you and I don't know how to stop."
The words hung in the air.
Kaelen went still. His hand froze in her hair.
"What did you say?"
She closed her eyes. "You heard me."
"Tell me again."
She twisted around to look at him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—those ice-blue eyes—were blazing.
"I'm in love with you," she said. "Actually, truly, completely in love with you. And I don't know what to do about it."
He pulled her up off the floor.
She landed in his lap, her knees straddling his thighs, her hands braced against his chest. He was hard beneath her, already, and the evidence of his want made her breath catch.
"I'm in love with you too," he said, and his voice cracked. "I've been in love with you since the moment you looked at me in that throne room and told me you wouldn't fight me. I've been trying to push it down, trying to be logical, trying to be the king instead of the man. But I can't. I can't, Elara. You've ruined me."
She kissed him.
It was desperate and hungry and clumsy—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands pulling at clothes. He tore at her dress and she tore at his shirt, and within seconds they were both half-naked and panting.
"Wait," she breathed against his mouth.
"What?"
She pulled back. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, her gray eyes bright.
"I want to ask you something."
"What?"
She hesitated. The words felt dangerous. Impossible. But she had to say them.
"Turn me."
Kaelen went absolutely still.
"What?"
"I know you can. I know what you are. I've seen the way your men follow you, the way they'd die for you without question. You're not just a king. You're something more." She touched his face. "You're a wolf. And I want to be one too."
"Elara—"
"I've thought about it. For weeks. I've thought about everything. And I want this. I want you. All of you. Forever." She held his gaze. "Turn me."
Kaelen stared at her. His chest was heaving, his hands trembling, his entire body coiled with tension.
"You don't understand what you're asking."
"Then explain it to me."
"Turning is—" He paused. Swallowed. "It's not just a bite. It's a bond. It's a merging of souls. It's giving up everything you were to become something new. And it hurts. It hurts more than anything you've ever felt. And once it's done, there's no going back."
"I know."
"No, you don't." His voice was raw. "You don't know the hunger. The rage. The way the wolf claws at your insides until you want to tear out your own throat. You don't know what it's like to wake up every morning and feel your humanity slipping through your fingers."
"Then teach me."
He kissed her. Hard. Brutal. Like he was trying to tattoo the memory of her mouth onto his soul.
"You're insane," he muttered against her lips.
"Maybe."
"You're going to regret this."
"Maybe." She pulled back and looked at him. "But I won't regret you."
He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring every second. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"Not yet," he said. "Not here. Not in a war camp with blood on my hands and death in my mouth. When we get home—when we're in our bed, in our castle, with the door locked and the world shut out—then I'll turn you. I promise."
She nodded. "Okay."
"But first—" He reached up and cupped her face in his hands. "First, I need to taste you again."
She blushed. Deep, crimson, all the way to her roots.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I want to put my mouth on you. I want to make you come again. I want to hear you scream my name and know that I'm the only man who's ever made you feel that way." His thumb traced her lower lip. "And then I want to do it again."
Elara's heart hammered. "You said—the first time—"
"The first time was about claiming you. About giving you what you'd never had." His eyes darkened. "This time is about making sure you never forget who you belong to."
She swallowed. "Okay."
He kissed her forehead and then stood, lifting her easily. He carried her to the fur-lined cot at the back of the tent and laid her down.
"Close your eyes," he murmured.
She did.
She heard him moving around the tent—the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal, the soft thud of something hitting the ground. Then his footsteps approached, and she felt him kneel beside her.
"Open."
She opened her eyes.
He was holding something. A piece of clothing. Lace and silk and scandal, dark emerald green.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"A gift." His voice was rough. "I had it made for you. Weeks ago. Before the war. I was going to give it to you on our wedding night."
He handed it to her.
Elara sat up and took it. She unfolded it carefully, her breath catching as she realized—it was lingerie. A corset that was more lace than fabric. A pair of smalls so tiny they were barely more than an afterthought.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"Lyra. She knows a woman in the capital. Does delicate work." He paused. "Put it on."
Her cheeks burned. "Now?"
"Now."
She stood. Her fingers trembled as she undressed, peeling away the plain war-torn dress and the simple shift beneath. She was aware of his eyes on her—hot, hungry, relentless—and she'd never felt more exposed. More vulnerable.
Then she slipped on the lingerie.
The corset hugged her waist, pushing up her breasts, making them spill over the lace trim. The smalls were barely there. A scrap of green silk that covered almost nothing.
She turned to face him.
Kaelen made a sound low in his throat. Something between a growl and a prayer.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You look—fuck."
She blushed. "Is that good?"
"Good?" He crossed the space between them in two strides and pulled her into his arms. "It's not good. It's a goddamn religious experience. I want to burn every other outfit you own so you can only wear this."
She laughed. Nervous, breathy. "That seems impractical."
"I don't care." He kissed her neck. "I don't care about anything except this. Except you."
Then he sank to his knees.
Elara's breath caught.
He pressed his face to her stomach, kissing the skin just above the waistband of the smalls. His hands came up to grip her hips, holding her steady.
"I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before," he murmured against her skin. "I'm going to make you come until you can't remember your own name. And then I'm going to do it again."
"Kaelen—"
"Shh." He kissed lower. "Let me take care of you."
He pulled the smalls down.
They slipped to the floor and she stepped out of them, standing there in nothing but the corset. Her legs were trembling. Her heart was pounding.
He guided her back to the cot and laid her down.
"Spread your legs," he said.
She did.
The first touch of his tongue made her gasp.
He licked her slow. Deep. Like he was memorizing the taste of her. His tongue slid through her folds and found her clit, and he sucked it gently into his mouth.
Her hips bucked off the cot.
"Stay still," he growled.
"I can't—"
"You can."
He held her hips down with his hands and went back to work.
His mouth was magical. Diabolical. He worked her with his tongue and his lips and the barest edge of his teeth, and within minutes she was writhing beneath him, her hands fisted in the furs, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"That's it," he muttered against her cunt. "Let go. Let me feel you."
"I'm close—"
"Come for me."
She did.
The orgasm ripped through her—hot and bright and overwhelming. She screamed his name and arched off the cot and saw stars behind her eyes.
But he didn't stop.
He kept going. Kept licking, kept sucking, kept pushing her higher. And when she thought she couldn't take any more, he shoved two fingers inside her and crooked them just right.
She shattered again.
This time, something else happened. Something new. A gush of wetness flooded from her, coating his face and his hand, and she screamed—actually screamed—as the pleasure tore through her body like lightning.
When she finally came down, she was shaking. Trembling. Crying.
Kaelen crawled up her body and pulled her into his arms.
"Hey," he murmured. "Hey. It's okay."
"What—what was that?"
He smiled against her hair. "That, my love, was your second orgasm. And you squirted."
She buried her face in his chest. "Oh god."
"It's a good thing."
"I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be." He kissed her forehead. "It means you trust me. It means you let go completely. It means I did my job."
She laughed. Wet and shaky and slightly hysterical.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too." He held her tighter. "And when we get home, I'm going to spend every night making you scream like that."
Outside the tent, the war camp was beginning to stir. Men shouted to one another as they fortified the palisades. Horses whickered in their picket lines. The wounded moaned in their cots, and the healers moved among them like ghosts.
But inside the tent, the Alpha King held his mate in his arms and counted the seconds until he could make her his.