Chapter 4: The Turning and the Tasting
The walk to the grove took them beyond the edge of the war camp, past the last flickering torch, past the picket lines where horses stamped and snorted in their sleep. The night air bit at Elara's skin through the thin wool of her cloak, but she didn't feel the cold. Not really.
She felt everything else.
The pounding of her heart. The trembling in her hands. The low, persistent ache between her legs that had nothing to do with the lingering soreness from their earlier coupling and everything to do with anticipation. With want.
Kaelen walked beside her in silence. His hand found hers in the dark—warm, steady, grounding—and she held on like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
"Scared?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
She glanced at him. His profile was sharp in the moonlight, all hard angles and ancient hunger. The scars on his face seemed deeper tonight, more pronounced, like the shadows were trying to swallow him whole.
"You should be scared," he continued. "The change isn't gentle. It won't be kind. It'll feel like dying."
"That's reassuring."
He didn't smile. "I'm not trying to reassure you. I'm trying to prepare you."
They walked in silence for another few minutes. The trees began to thicken around them—silver birches with bark that gleamed like bone, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The ground beneath their feet grew softer, spongier, carpeted with moss that glowed faintly green in the darkness.
And then they reached the grove.
Elara stopped.
The circle of silver birches was perfect. Too perfect. Each tree stood exactly the same distance from the next, their branches intertwining overhead to form a canopy that blocked out the stars. The moss beneath their feet pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light—like a heartbeat, like breathing.
"God," she whispered.
Kaelen stepped into the center of the circle and pulled her with him.
"This is where it's always been done," he said. "For a thousand years, every wolf who has ever been turned has been brought to this place. The land here is old. Older than the kingdom. Older than the packs. It remembers things that the rest of the world has forgotten."
"It feels..."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
He turned to face her. His hands settled on her shoulders, and his thumbs traced slow circles against her collarbone.
"Once I bite you, there's no going back. You'll be mine. Completely. Forever. You'll feel my emotions through the bond, and I'll feel yours. You'll be tied to me in ways you can't even imagine right now." His eyes searched hers. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes."
"Do you still want it?"
"Yes."
He kissed her. Soft, this time. Almost gentle. His lips moved over hers like he was trying to memorize the shape of them, and she melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, her body pressing against his.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"I love you," he said. "I've never said that to anyone. Not to my parents, who died before I could remember them. Not to Isla, even though she's my blood. Not to anyone. But I'm saying it to you."
"I know."
"I need you to say it back."
"I love you, Kaelen." She cupped his face in her hands. "I love you, and I want this, and I'm ready. Do it."
He nodded.
Then his eyes bled to gold.
Elara's breath caught. She had seen him shift before—had seen the way his body flowed from man to wolf in the space of a heartbeat—but this was different. This was personal. This was intimate.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. His jaw lengthened. His teeth sharpened into something too long, too animal, and the growl that rumbled in his chest vibrated through her entire body.
"Don't move," he rasped. "Don't fight. It'll only make it worse."
She nodded. Her hands dropped to her sides.
Kaelen leaned in and pressed his face to her neck.
She felt his breath—hot and wet—against her skin. Felt the scrape of his teeth. Felt the moment when his jaw opened wide, and then—
He bit.
The pain was immediate. Blinding. White-hot and searing, ripping through her neck and spreading outward like wildfire. She screamed—couldn't help it—and her knees buckled, but Kaelen caught her. His arms wrapped around her and held her upright, and his hand cradled the back of her head, and his teeth stayed lodged in her flesh as the venom poured into her veins.
"That's it," he murmured against her neck. "That's it. Take it. Take all of it."
The fire spread.
It moved through her body like lava, burning everything in its path. Her bones ached. Her muscles seized. Her skin felt like it was peeling away from her flesh, and she collapsed into Kaelen's arms, gasping, sobbing, screaming his name as the change tore through her like a storm.
She thought she heard him whisper something. Promises. Reassurances. Words of love and devotion that were lost in the roaring in her ears.
And then—
The light.
It exploded behind her eyes like a thousand suns, and she saw everything—the grove, the trees, the moss pulsing beneath her feet, Kaelen's face hovering above her with a mixture of terror and awe. She saw the threads of magic woven into the earth, the ancient power that thrummed through the land like a second heartbeat. She saw the moon through the canopy.
She saw herself.
And then the pain was gone.
Elara opened her eyes.
The world was different. Sharper. The colors were deeper, the shadows richer, the sounds—she could hear everything. The rustle of leaves. The drip of dew. The heartbeat of the man who held her.
She looked up at Kaelen.
His eyes were golden. Unblinking. Filled with something that looked almost like fear.
"Did it work?" she whispered.
His hand came up to touch her face. His thumb traced the new mark on her neck—the bite wound that was already sealing itself, already healing, leaving behind a scar that would never fade.
"It worked," he said.
She sat up.
The movement was easy. Effortless. Her body felt different—stronger, faster, more alive than ever before. She could feel the wolf inside her, pacing, hungry.
And she could feel Kaelen.
His emotions crashed into her like a wave—relief, love, desire, fear, hope. She felt all of it, everything he was feeling, everything he'd been holding back.
"You're terrified," she murmured.
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
She kissed him.
It started soft. Sweet. And then it wasn't. The animal inside her surged forward, and suddenly she was pushing him back onto the mossy ground, her hands tearing at his clothes, her mouth devouring his.
"Elara—"
"Shut up."
She pulled his cock free of his trousers and stared at it. It was already hard—impossibly hard—and her mouth watered at the sight. She had done this once before, in his bedchamber, when she'd been nervous and clumsy and unsure. Now it was different. Now she wanted to worship him.
She lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
Kaelen groaned. His hand flew to her hair, fisting the dark strands, but he didn't push her down. Just held on. Just watched.
She worked him slowly, deliberately. She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling every pulse and twitch of his flesh against her lips. She took him deep—deeper than before—and hollowed her cheeks, and relished the way he hissed through his teeth.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Elara. Your mouth—"
She pulled off him just long enough to speak.
"You like it?"
"I love it. Don't stop."
She didn't.
She took him back into her mouth and sucked harder, faster, using her hand in rhythm with her lips. His hips bucked upward, and she took him deeper, until he hit the back of her throat, and the gag that escaped her only seemed to make him harder.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take all of it. You look so fucking beautiful like this—on your knees, with my cock in your mouth, your eyes watering, your lips stretched around me."
She moaned around him, and he swore.
"I'm going to come," he said. "I'm going to come in your mouth, and you're going to swallow every drop, aren't you?"
She nodded, just slightly, and the vibration made him gasp.
But he didn't let her finish.
He pulled her off him and flipped her onto her back. The moss was soft beneath her, damp and cool, and she barely had time to gasp before he was spreading her legs and burying his face between her thighs.
"Kaelen—"
His tongue found her clit, and her back arched off the ground.
He licked her like he was starving. Broad strokes, sharp flicks, sucking her clit into his mouth and rolling it between his lips. His fingers pushed inside her—two, then three—and he fucked her with them while his tongue worked her clit, and the pleasure was so intense she could barely breathe.
"I'm close," she gasped. "I'm—"
"Don't hold back."
"I can't—"
"You can." He lifted his head just long enough to look at her. "You can. Let go. Let me feel you come on my tongue."
She shattered.
The orgasm ripped through her, hot and bright and overwhelming. She screamed—actually screamed—and her hips bucked off the ground, and her hands fisted in his hair, and she surged against his mouth as the waves crashed over her.
And then she felt something new. Something primal.
She pushed him off her and rose to her knees.
Kaelen stared up at her, his face slick with her slickness, his eyes wide.
"What—"
"On your back," she said.
He obeyed.
She crawled over him and straddled his hips, her thighs bracketing his, her hands braced on his chest. His cock stood rigid between them, and she reached down to guide it to her entrance.
"Elara," he said. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
She sank down on him.
The stretch was brutal. Even with how wet she was, how ready, he was thick enough to make her gasp. But she forced herself to keep going, to take him inch by inch, until her hips met his and he was buried to the hilt.
"God," she breathed.
Kaelen's hands gripped her hips. His jaw was clenched, his chest heaving.
"Move," he gritted. "Please. You have to move."
She did.
She started slow. Rocking her hips in small circles, learning the angle, the depth, the way he felt inside her. His hands guided her—steady, patient—and his eyes stayed locked on hers, gold and burning.
"You feel—" She couldn't finish. Couldn't find the words.
"I know," he said. "I know."
She moved faster.
The rhythm built. The pleasure coiled in her belly, tight and hot, and she rode him harder, her hands on his chest, her nails digging into his skin. Kaelen bucked beneath her, meeting her thrust for thrust, and the sounds he made—low growls, broken curses, her name—drove her higher, faster, harder.
"That's it," he said. "Ride me. Fuck, Elara, ride me. Take what you need."
She did.
She took it.
She fucked him like she was born to do it, like her body had been designed for exactly this, and when the orgasm hit her—when it slammed through her like lightning—she threw her head back and howled at the moon.
The sound echoed through the grove. Animal. Triumphant. Claiming.
And then Kaelen flipped her.
He was on top of her before she could catch her breath, driving into her with a ferocity that made her see stars. His teeth found her neck—the unmarked side—and he bit down as he thrust, and the pain mixed with the pleasure until she couldn't tell the difference anymore.
"Mine," he growled against her skin. "You're mine. Say it."
"Yours. I'm yours. Always."
"Good."
He thrust deeper. Harder. And she met him, matched him, clung to him as the second orgasm built and broke and crashed over them both.
Kaelen came with a roar. His hips bucked, his body shuddered, and she felt him spill inside her—hot, thick, filling her completely.
When he finally collapsed, they were both trembling.
He didn't pull out. Didn't move. Just lay there on top of her, his weight pressing her into the moss, his breath hot against her neck.
"The bond," he murmured. "Can you feel it?"
She closed her eyes.
And there it was. A thread. A connection. Something deep and invisible and impossible, linking her heart to his. She could feel his emotions—peace, contentment, love—and beneath that, the wolf. Pacing. Hungry. Protective.
"Yes," she whispered. "I feel it."
"It's done, then." He lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were blue again. Human. But there was something wild in them still, something that would never be fully tamed. "You're one of us now."
She smiled. Reached up and touched his face.
"Good," she said.
He kissed her forehead and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. They lay tangled together on the moss, the silver birches whispering overhead, the moon watching through the leaves.
"I'm going to take you home tomorrow," he said. "Back to the castle. Back to Isla."
"And then?"
"And then we start building. A pack. A family. A future." He paused. "And we find the other healers. The ones who are still hiding. We bring them into the fold."
Elara nodded against his chest.
"And Sebastian?" she asked.
Kaelen's arms tightened around her.
"We find him too," he said. "And when we do, he's going to wish he'd never been born."
She should have protested. Should have argued for mercy. But the wolf inside her was already growling in anticipation.
"Good," she said again.
Kaelen laughed. Low and warm and surprised.
"You're going to be trouble," he said.
"You're damn right I am."
She felt his smile against her hair.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
They lay there for a long time, wrapped in each other, wrapped in the magic. And when the sun began to rise, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, Elara felt something she'd never felt before.
She felt whole.
She felt home.
She rose from the ground and called back her human shape, and the shift was seamless, painless, perfect. Her skin shimmered and her bones realigned and her spirit settled back into her mortal form. She stood naked in the silver grove, the dawn's light dappling over her new body — a body that no longer felt foreign or fragile, a body that hummed with power she was only beginning to understand. Kaelen rose to stand beside her. For a long moment, they simply looked at the expanse of their kingdom unfolding below — a vast, living thing that hummed with the same ancient magic that now thrummed in Elara's veins.
"Let's go home," Kaelen said.
And as they walked back through the silver birches, hand in hand, Elara felt the weight of the future settling onto her shoulders.
It was heavy.
But she was strong enough to carry it.
The war was not over. The healer was still broken. The enemies were still plotting in the shadows, and her gift was still a secret that could destroy them all.
But she was not alone anymore.
She had a mate. A pack. A purpose.
And she had the wolf.
God help anyone who got in her way.
The castle gates loomed ahead, iron and obsidian, flanked by torches that spat orange light into the gray morning. Elara's thighs ached from the ride, and her neck still throbbed where Kaelen's teeth had marked her twice.
But she didn't slow.
The courtyard erupted when they rode through. Servants scattered, guards snapped to attention, and somewhere in the chaos, a horn blast split the air—three long notes that echoed off the stone walls.
"What's happening?" Elara asked.
Kaelen swung down from his horse and reached up to help her. His hands lingered on her waist, and his eyes—blue again, human again—held something she couldn't name.
"The horn means the Alpha King has returned with his mate," he said. "The wedding will be today."
Her stomach dropped.
"Today?"
"Tradition." He shrugged, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. "The pack needs to see us bound. Needs to see you claimed. Waiting would look like weakness."
She opened her mouth to argue, but Isla appeared at the top of the grand staircase, her silver hair wild and her eyes bright with something that looked almost like relief.
"You're alive," Isla breathed, rushing down the steps. She grabbed Elara's hands and squeezed hard. "Both of you. I felt—I don't know what I felt, but the bond—"
"It's done," Kaelen said. "She's one of us now."
Isla's eyes dropped to the fresh scar on Elara's neck. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry.
"Thank the gods," she whispered.
Elara squeezed her hands back.
"I'm okay," she said. "Better than okay."
Isla nodded, but her gaze flicked to Kaelen—some silent communication passing between them, some sibling language Elara couldn't yet read.
"The preparations," Isla said. "They need to be made. The dress, the feast, the—"
"I know." Kaelen's voice was tight. "I'll handle the pack. You handle her."
He turned to Elara and cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, and his eyes searched hers like he was memorizing every detail.
"I'll see you at the altar," he said.
"Kaelen—"
"Trust me."
He kissed her. Quick and hard and fierce, right there in the courtyard, with a hundred pairs of eyes watching. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable.
"Go with Isla," he said. "I'll be waiting."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to ask why everything had to be so fast, so sudden, so fucking overwhelming. But the words died in her throat when she saw the look in his eyes.
He was afraid. Not of her—for her.
"Fine," she said. "But you owe me a conversation."
"Later."
"Promise me."
"Promise."
She let Isla pull her up the stairs and into the castle.
The next few hours passed in a blur of silk and steam and women's hands. Elara stood in the center of a circular chamber while a team of seamstresses fitted her into a gown that had been made for a princess—an ivory confection of lace and tulle that hugged every curve of her body like it had been stitched directly onto her skin.
The bodice was strapless, boned, with a sweetheart neckline that exposed her collarbones and the fresh bite marks on her neck.
The skirt fell in sweeping layers to the floor, scattered with crystals that caught the candlelight like little stars.
"You're beautiful," Isla said, stepping back to admire their work. "He won't be able to breathe."
"I don't want him to stop breathing." Elara smoothed her hands over the lace. "I want him to remember this."
"He will." Isla's voice softened. "He already does. He hasn't stopped thinking about you since the moment you arrived."
Something warm bloomed in Elara's chest.
"How do you know?"
"Because I feel him through the bond." Isla smiled—small, sad, knowing. "You're not the only one who can sense emotions in this family. And Kaelen—" She shook her head. "Kaelen has never been like this. Not for anyone. Not ever."
Elara swallowed hard.
"I love him," she said.
"I know."
"I mean—I really love him. Not because I have to. Not because I've been sold to him like cattle. I love him, Isla. I was scared when I first met him, terrified actually, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized—"
She stopped. Breathed.
"He's it for me," she finished. "He's everything."
Isla's eyes glistened.
"Then get through this day," she said. "And go tell him that."
The ceremony was held in the great hall.
Hundreds of wolves packed the space—pack members, allies from the northern territories, dignitaries from kingdoms Elara had only read about in books. Torches lined the walls, and silver banners hung from the rafters, and the air smelled of pine and roasted meat and the sharp bite of wine.
Elara stood at the end of the aisle, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You're shaking," Isla whispered beside her.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"Fine. I'm nervous."
"You're human." Isla squeezed her hand. "It's allowed."
Elara laughed—a short, breathless sound—and then the music swelled, and the doors opened, and every head in the hall turned to look at her.
She walked.
The aisle stretched before her like a river of light, and at the end of it stood Kaelen—impossibly tall, impossibly beautiful, dressed in black with silver embroidery that matched the markings on his chest. His hair was pulled back, and his jaw was set, and his eyes—
His eyes burned.
He watched her approach like she was the only person in the room, the only person in the world. And when she reached him, when he took her hands in his, she felt the bond between them flare to life.
"You're beautiful," he murmured.
"You said that already."
"No. I thought that already. Now I'm saying it."
She smiled. Couldn't help it.
"You clean up well yourself."
He almost laughed. Almost.
The priest began the ceremony—words about honor, about loyalty, about the sacred bond between mates. But Elara barely heard any of it. She was too focused on the way Kaelen's thumbs traced circles on her knuckles, the way his gaze flickered to her mouth every few seconds.
"Do you, Elara Voss, accept this bond freely and without reservation?"
She looked up at Kaelen.
"I do."
"And do you, Kaelen Draven, accept this bond freely and without reservation?"
His voice was low. Rough. Full of something that made her knees weak.
"I do."
The priest placed a length of silver cord around their joined hands and bound it tight. The bond surged between them—hot and bright and overwhelming—and the crowd erupted in cheers.
But Elara barely noticed.
Because Kaelen was kissing her—soft and slow and deep—and the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
The feast was a blur of wine and music and endless toasts. Elara sat at the high table, Kaelen's hand resting on her thigh beneath the cloth, and tried to remember how to breathe.
"Eat something," he murmured in her ear.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need your strength."
She turned her head. Their noses almost touched.
"For what?"
His eyes darkened.
"You know what."
The feast continued. Course after course, speech after speech. Dignitaries approached with gifts—jewels from the northern tribes, a silver dagger from the mountain packs, a pair of hunting falcons from the western duchies.
Elara accepted them all with practiced grace, but her mind was elsewhere.
Every time Kaelen shifted in his chair, she felt it. Every time his thumb grazed her thigh, she shivered. The bond hummed between them like a live wire, and the longer the feast went on, the harder it became to pretend she wasn't desperate for him.
At some point, someone called for music.
"Dance!" a voice shouted from the crowd. "Let's see the Alpha King and his bride dance!"
Kaelen groaned.
"I don't dance."
"Then I'll dance alone."
She started to rise, but his grip on her thigh tightened.
"You're not dancing alone."
He stood and offered her his hand. The hall went quiet—expectant—as he led her to the center of the floor.
"I really don't dance," he muttered.
"Then follow my lead."
The musicians struck up a slow, sweeping waltz. Elara stepped into his arms—one hand on his shoulder, the other clasped in his—and guided him into the rhythm.
For someone who claimed he didn't dance, Kaelen moved like he'd been born to it.
His body responded to hers without hesitation, without thought. He turned when she turned, stepped when she stepped, held her close enough that she could feel his heartbeat through the silk of his tunic.
"You're cheating," she said.
"I'm following."
"Same thing."
He smiled. Rare and real and devastating.
"You're a mystery, you know that?"
"I know."
"I thought I knew what I was getting—a political bride. Someone to warm my bed. Someone to produce an heir." His voice dropped. "I didn't expect you."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone soft. Someone obedient. Someone who would look at me and see only the monster."
She stopped moving.
"Kaelen—"
"I'm not finished." His hands tightened on her waist. "I expected a pawn. What I got was a queen. What I got was the only person in this world who has ever looked at me like I was worth saving."
Her throat closed.
"You are worth saving," she whispered.
He kissed her.
Right there in the middle of the dance floor, with a thousand people watching. He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
And when he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"I love you," he said. "I should have said it before. I should have said it a hundred times. But I'm saying it now."
"I love you too."
The music ended.
The crowd exploded.
But Elara didn't hear any of it.
She was too busy kissing her husband.
The rest of the night passed in a haze of wine and laughter and gifts. Elara met people whose names she'd never remember, accepted blessings from strangers who felt like friends, and smiled until her face hurt.
But she kept glancing at Kaelen.
And he kept glancing at her.
The bond between them pulled tight—aching, insistent, demanding. Every time their eyes met, she felt it surge. Every time he touched her—fingers brushing her hand, palm pressing her lower back—she felt the hunger inside him, barely restrained.
"Stop looking at me like that," she murmured at one point.
"Like what?"
"Like you're going to throw me over your shoulder and carry me out of here."
He smirked.
"I might."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me."
But he didn't. Not yet.
The evening wore on, and the feast slowly shifted into something smaller—a gathering of close allies in the private hall, with quiet music and mulled wine and the kind of conversation that didn't require formality.
Elara found herself standing near the fire, talking to Isla, when someone approached with a lute.
"A song," the old woman said, offering the instrument. "For the King and his bride. It is tradition in the northern territories for the bride to sing."
Elara froze.
"I don't—"
"You do." Isla's voice was gentle but firm. "I've heard you, Elara. In the bathhouse. In the gardens. You sing like a nightingale."
"That was private."
"This is family." Isla smiled. "Sing for him."
Elara looked across the room.
Kaelen was watching her—curious, wary, hopeful.
She took the lute.
The room went quiet as she settled it in her lap. Her fingers found the strings, testing, remembering. She hadn't played since she was a girl, since her mother taught her the chords to all the old songs.
But her hands remembered.
She began to play.
The melody was simple—an old love song from the eastern provinces, the kind of thing tavern singers performed for copper coins. But her voice—her voice turned it into something else.
Something holy.
She sang about a woman who walked through fire for the man she loved. About the way the world fell away when they touched. About the certainty that no matter how far apart they were, they would always find their way back to each other.
She sang for Kaelen.
Her eyes found his as she reached the final verse, and she saw the moment his composure cracked. His jaw clenched, his hands gripped the arms of his chair, and his eyes—those ice-blue eyes that never showed weakness—filled with tears.
She finished the song.
Silence.
Then the room erupted.
But Elara didn't hear any of it. She set the lute aside and walked to Kaelen, her heels clicking on the stone floor, her heart pounding in her throat.
He rose to meet her.
"How—" His voice cracked. "How did you—"
"My mother taught me." She whispered. "I never thought I'd use it."
"Elara—"
"I meant every word. Every single word."
He didn't speak.
He just grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the hall and down a corridor, past rows of startled servants and flickering torches, until they reached his chambers.
Their chambers.
The door slammed behind them, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and desperate, and his hands were everywhere—tangled in her hair, cupping her ass, tearing at the laces of her gown.
"God," he groaned against her throat. "I've been going insane all night. Watching you in this dress, knowing what's underneath, knowing that you're mine—"
"I am yours." She gasped.
"Say it again."
"Yours."
He ripped the dress open.
The sound of tearing lace was obscene and glorious, and Elara didn't care—couldn't care—because his mouth was on her neck, his teeth scraping her pulse point, his hands pushing the ruined fabric off her shoulders.
The gown pooled around her feet, and she stood in nothing but her underthings, and Kaelen stepped back to look at her.
"Fuck," he breathed.
She felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing—heavy, hungry, reverent.
"You're perfect."
"I'm not."
"You are." He reached out and traced the edge of her bra. "Every inch of you. Every scar. Every secret. Perfect."
She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.
"Less talking," she said.
"More what?"
She answered by pushing him onto the bed.
He landed on his back, sprawled across the furs, and Elara climbed over him—straddling his hips, her knees sinking into the soft fabric, her hair falling around them like a curtain.
She leaned down and kissed him.
Slow at first. Soft. A tease. She nipped at his lower lip, and he growled, and somewhere deep in her chest, the wolf growled back.
"I want to taste you," she whispered.
His whole body tensed.
"Elara—"
"I want to taste you," she repeated. "I want to take you in my mouth. I want to make you come down my throat. I want to watch you fall apart."
His eyes flared gold.
"Then do it."
She slid down his body.
Legs. Hips. She unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off, and his cock sprang free—thick and hard and already leaking.
She stared at it.
When she'd first done this, in his bedchamber weeks ago, she'd been scared. Unsure. She hadn't known what she was doing, and the whole thing had felt clumsy and rushed. But now—
Now she wanted to worship him.
She took him in her hand and stroked slowly.
He hissed through his teeth.
"Don't tease."
"I'm not teasing." She licked her lips. "I'm savoring."
She lowered her head and took the tip of him into her mouth.
The taste was salt and musk and something uniquely him. She swirled her tongue around the head, slow and deliberate, and relished the way his hips twitched beneath her.
"Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, Elara, that's—"
She took him deeper.
Inch by inch, she swallowed him down, until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at the base of him and her throat worked around his length. The gag was involuntary—her body's natural reaction to being filled so completely—but she didn't pull back. She stayed there, breathing through her nose, and then drew back up.
She repeated the motion.
Again. Again. Each time deeper, each time messier, until her chin was slick with spit and her eyes watered and the sounds she made were obscene.
"God, yes," he groaned. "That's it. Suck my cock. Take it all. You look so fucking good like this—on your knees, your mouth full, your eyes begging for more."
She moaned around him.
His hand found the back of her head.
"I'm going to fuck your mouth," he said. "Is that okay?"
She nodded, just slightly, and he began to thrust.
He was gentle at first. Careful. But the more she moaned, the harder he moved, until he was fucking into her mouth with real force—deep, fast strokes that made her gag and gasp and love every second.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take all of it. You're so fucking beautiful like this—my perfect little mate, with my cock down your throat."
She felt his release building.
His rhythm stuttered. His grip tightened. And then—
"Come up here," he ordered.
She pulled off him, gasping, and he yanked her up the bed.
"On your back."
She obeyed.
He settled between her thighs, and for a moment, he just looked at her—at the slick heat between her legs, at the flush on her cheeks, at the mess of her hair and the ruin of her lipstick.
"Perfect," he said.
Then he lowered his head.
The first lick was slow. Deliberate. From entrance to clit, one long stroke of his tongue, and she arched off the bed with a cry.
"Stay still," he said.
"I can't—"
"You can."
He held her hips down and buried his face between her thighs.
And then he devoured her.
He licked and sucked and bit—gentle nips to her clit, swipes of his tongue through her folds, thrusts into her entrance that made her sob. His stubble scraped the inside of her thighs, and his fingers pushed inside her, and the whole time, he didn't stop.
He didn't stop until she came.
Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning—hot and bright and devastating. She screamed his name, her fingers fisting in the furs, her hips bucking against his mouth.
And Kaelen kept going.
He kept going until the aftershocks faded and her body went limp.
Only then did he pull back. His chin glistened with her slick, and his eyes—gold and wild—met hers.
"Again," he said.
"What?"
"I want to do it again."
He lowered his head.
She came three times before he finally crawled back up her body.
"I need to be inside you," he said.
"Then do it."
He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed in—one slow, deep thrust that made them both gasp.
She was tight around him, wet and hot, and he paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
"I need you to say it back."
"I already did."
"Say it again."
"I love you, Kaelen."
He began to move.
The rhythm was brutal—deep, fast strokes that made the bed creak and the furs twist beneath them. He fucked her like he was trying to crawl inside her skin, like he was trying to merge their bodies into one.
"That's it," she gasped. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."
"Never." His voice was ragged. "I'll never stop. I'll never let you go. You're mine."
"Yours."
"Say it."
"Yours!"
He bit her neck—right over the scar, right over the mark—and she came with a scream.
He followed a moment later.
His hips stuttered, his body went rigid, and he spilled inside her—hot and thick and endless. She felt every pulse, every twitch, and the bond between them flared so bright she saw white.
When it was over, he collapsed on top of her.
They lay tangled together, breathless and slick and trembling.
"Fuck," he whispered.
She laughed.
"That good?"
"Better."
She ran her fingers through his hair. The fire crackled in the hearth. The night stretched on outside the window.
"I was scared when I first met you," she said.
"I know."
"No—listen. I was scared. Terrified. I thought you were going to be a monster. I thought Sebastian had sold me to a nightmare."
Kaelen tensed.
"But he didn't," she continued. "He sold me to you. And you—you gave me everything. You gave me a home. A purpose. A family."
"Elara—"
"Sebastian thought he was ruining me. Instead, he gave me the best thing that ever happened to me." She lifted his face and looked into his eyes. "You were the best decision he ever made."
Kaelen stared at her.
And then he kissed her.
Soft. Slow. Reverent.
"I'm going to kill him," he said.
"When you do—I want to watch."
He laughed. Low and warm and real.
"Deal."
They lay there for a long time. The fire burned down. The stars wheeled overhead.
And somewhere in the dark, Elara felt the bond between them pulse.
Steady.
Strong.
Forever.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in her life, she slept without fear.