Chapter 3: The Unwelcome Guest
The knife didn't lower.
Kade held it steady, that blade catching the lamplight, his knuckles white around the hilt. His jaw worked like he was grinding glass between his teeth. The muscles in his back rippled with tension, and I could see the war happening behind his eyes—the urge to lunge, to cut, to end this before it started.
Marcus didn't flinch.
He stood in the doorway like he belonged there, like the blood on his shirt was just another accessory. His ice-blue eyes flicked from Kade to me and back again, and that smile never wavered.
"You're going to stand there all night?" Marcus asked. "Or are you going to be a man and keep your word?"
"I didn't give you my word on anything."
"You gave it to Morrigan." Marcus stepped further into the room, boots heavy on the creaking floorboards. "We both did. Winner takes her. I won. You lost. End of story."
Kade's hand shook. Just a tremor, barely visible, but I saw it. I saw everything from my position on the bed—the way his breathing had changed, the way his shoulders had drawn up like he was bracing for a blow.
"He gets one turn," Kade said finally. The words came out like they were being dragged from his throat with hooks.
My stomach dropped.
"Kade—"
"One turn." He turned to look at me, and something in his expression made the protest die on my tongue. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something worse. Something that looked almost like defeat. "And then he leaves. That's the deal."
"I don't remember agreeing to any deal," I said.
"You don't get a say." Marcus was already unbuttoning his shirt. The blood-stained fabric parted to reveal a chest that was leaner than Kade's but no less dangerous—pale skin stretched over wiry muscle, a lattice of thin white scars crisscrossing his ribs. "That's how this works. We fight. We win. We take."
"I'm not a fucking prize."
Marcus laughed. It was a cold sound, utterly without warmth.
"You're exactly a prize. That's all you've ever been. Before the curse, after the curse—doesn't matter. You were something to be won, taken, used. The only difference now is that you're prettier."
He shrugged off the shirt and let it fall to the floor. His belt came next, then his pants, until he stood there in nothing but his underwear—black briefs that did nothing to hide what was underneath.
He was hard already. I could see the outline, thick and insistent, pressing against the fabric.
Kade hadn't moved from his position by the bed, but his knife had lowered. Not all the way. Just enough. His eyes were fixed on Marcus with a hatred so pure it almost glowed.
"One turn," he repeated. "Then you leave."
"Scout's honor." Marcus hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down.
His cock sprang free—longer than Kade's but not as thick, pale like the rest of him, with a slight upward curve that made my mouth go dry. The head was flushed pink, gleaming with a bead of moisture that caught the lamplight.
He stroked himself once, slow and deliberate, never taking his eyes off me.
"On your hands and knees," he said.
It wasn't a request.
I didn't move. My body was frozen, caught between fight and flight and that treacherous third option I'd been trying to ignore all night. My thighs were still slick from Kade. I could feel his seed starting to dry on my skin, and now this stranger—this killer—was standing over me with his cock in his hand, expecting me to just... comply.
"Did you hear me?"
"I heard you."
"Then get on your hands and knees."
"No."
The word hung in the air. Marcus's smile didn't waver, but something behind his eyes shifted. Got darker. Colder.
"I wasn't asking."
He crossed the room in three long strides. Before I could react, his hand was in my hair—not gentle like Kade's, but rough, twisting, yanking my head back until my neck arched and my throat was exposed.
"Listen to me, you little cunt," he hissed. "I killed a man tonight. Do you understand what that means? It means I'm not in the mood for games. It means I've already decided what's going to happen in this room, and your only choice is whether you cooperate or whether I make it hurt."
"Marcus—" Kade started.
"Shut up." Marcus didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on mine, those pale blue depths burning with something that might have been hunger or might have been madness. "She needs to understand the arrangement."
His grip tightened. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer helplessness of it. I'd been helpless before. I'd been weak. But I'd never been so completely at someone's mercy.
"You want to fight?" Marcus asked. "Fine. Fight. I'll enjoy it more."
He released my hair and shoved me forward. I caught myself on my hands, palms hitting the mattress, and before I could scramble away, his hand was on my hip, flipping me onto my stomach.
"Stay."
The word was a growl. Animal. Command.
I stayed.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I was afraid—though I was, God, I was. But because some part of me wanted to know. Wanted to feel. Wanted to understand what it meant to be taken by a man who had just killed someone and was still hard from it.
Marcus's hand slid down my back. Fingers trailing over my spine, counting the vertebrae. When he reached my ass, he squeezed—hard enough to bruise.
"You've got a nice body," he said. "That witch did good work."
"Fuck you."
"Soon."
His hand dipped lower. Found the wet heat between my thighs.
I gasped.
"You're soaked." There was genuine surprise in his voice. "Kade fuck you that good? Or are you just a natural slut?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because his fingers were already pushing inside me—two of them, long and slender, spreading me open. The stretch wasn't painful. Not after what I'd already taken. But it was different. Cold. Clinical.
He pulled them out and held them up. They glistened in the lamplight, slick with my own arousal and the remnants of Kade's come.
"Look at this," he said, turning to Kade. "She's still dripping from you, and she's already wet for me. What does that tell you?"
Kade's face was stone.
"It tells me she's a survivor. It tells me she knows better than to fight when she can't win."
"Hmm." Marcus brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never left mine. "Tastes like regret. And something else. Something sweet."
"Are you going to talk all night?" I heard myself say. "Or are you going to do something?"
The words shocked me. They came out defiant, almost bored, like I wasn't terrified out of my mind. Like I hadn't just been flipped over and manhandled by a killer.
Marcus laughed.
"There she is. The fight. I was wondering where it went."
He didn't waste any more time.
His hands grabbed my hips and yanked me back. I scrambled to brace myself, palms pressing into the mattress, and then I felt it—the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance. Not pushing yet. Just there. Waiting.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "From the moment you woke up in that body, you've been wondering what it would feel like to be used. To be taken. To be nothing more than a hole for men to fill."
"No—"
"Yes."
He thrust inside me.
The sound I made wasn't human. A strangled cry, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, and my whole body convulsed around him. He was longer than Kade. Longer and thinner, and the angle—God, the angle—hit something different. Something deeper.
"Shit," Marcus breathed. "You're tight. Even after him. That's rare."
He started moving.
No warm-up. No adjustment period. Just a steady, punishing rhythm that drove the air from my lungs with every thrust. His hips slapped against my ass, and the sound echoed off the attic walls—flesh on flesh, wet and obscene.
"Let him use your holes," Kade said from the corner. "All of them."
I turned my head. He was still standing by the bed, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched so tight I could see the cords in his neck. His eyes were fixed on the point where Marcus's cock disappeared into my body, and there was something in his expression—something raw and wounded—that I couldn't look at for too long.
Marcus laughed.
"You're a sick fuck, Kade. You know that?"
"Just saying what we agreed."
"What we agreed." Marcus's thrusts sped up, became more brutal. "You agreed to this because you had no choice. Because Morrigan's rules are iron. Because if you'd fought me, she would have killed us both and given the girl to someone else."
"Shut up."
"You agreed because you're a coward."
"Shut up."
Marcus reached around and found my clit with his fingers. He pressed. Circled. And despite everything—despite the hatred and the fear and the shame—my body responded. Pleasure spiked through me, hot and electric, and I moaned into the mattress.
"There it is," Marcus purred. "There's the whore. Kade, you see this? She's holding onto the sheets like she's dying, but she's squeezing my cock so tight I can barely move. She loves it."
Kade didn't answer. But I heard him move. Heard the creak of the bedframe as he sat down. Could feel his eyes on me—watching, waiting, burning.
Marcus fucked me harder.
His rhythm was relentless, his grip on my hips painful. Every thrust drove me forward, my breasts dragging against the rough sheets, my nipples pebbling from the friction. The pleasure was building again—that familiar coil in my belly—but it was tinged with something bitter. Something that tasted like surrender.
"You're going to come," Marcus said. It wasn't a question.
"No."
"You're going to come on my cock, and then I'm going to fill you up, and you're going to thank me for it."
"I won't—"
He pulled out. Before I could process the emptiness, his fingers were there—slick with my own wetness—pressing against my ass.
"No," I gasped.
"Yes." His voice was steel. "Kade said all your holes. I intend to use them all."
The press of his finger was foreign. Intrusive. My whole body tensed, and I tried to twist away, but his other hand held me in place.
"Relax," he said. "Or it'll hurt more."
"Fuck you."
"You already are."
He pushed in. One knuckle. Then two. The sensation was overwhelming—full and wrong and somehow, shamefully, not entirely unpleasant. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to breathe.
"That's it," Marcus murmured. "Good girl."
"Don't call me that."
"Would you prefer 'slut'? 'Whore'? 'Cocksleeve'?"
"I'd prefer you shut up and finish."
He laughed. Then he pulled his fingers out and lined himself up again—not with my cunt this time. Higher. The head of his cock pressed against my ass, and I felt a moment of pure, animal panic.
"Wait—"
"Too late for waiting."
He pushed inside.
The pain was sharp and immediate. A burning stretch, like being split in two. I screamed—actually screamed—and tried to crawl away, but his hands were iron on my hips, holding me in place, forcing me to take it.
"Breathe," he commanded. "Just breathe."
I couldn't. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The world had narrowed to the feeling of him inside me—that impossible fullness, that burning stretch—and I was drowning in it.
But then, slowly, the pain began to fade.
Not all at once. Not completely. But enough that I could feel something else underneath. Something dark and forbidden. Something that made my toes curl and my cunt clench around nothing.
"There it is," Marcus said. "There's the moment. You feel that? That's your body accepting what your mind can't."
"Shut up," I panted.
"Make me."
He started moving.
The rhythm was different this time—slower, more deliberate. Every stroke was a battle, my body resisting even as it surrendered. The pain and pleasure tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart anymore.
Kade was still watching. I could feel his gaze like a physical weight, and something in me—something perverse and broken—wanted him to see. Wanted him to know that I could take this. That I could survive.
"You're doing good," Marcus said. "Taking my cock like you were born for it."
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My throat was raw from screaming, and my body was trembling with exhaustion and something else—something that felt dangerously close to pleasure.
He picked up the pace. His hips slapped against my ass, and the obscene sound of it filled the room. I heard him groan—a low, guttural sound—and I knew he was close.
"Come inside me," I heard myself say.
Marcus laughed.
"Eager little thing, aren't you?"
"Just do it."
He did.
Three more brutal thrusts, and then he was coming—hot and thick, filling me up in a way that felt different from Kade. More clinical. More cruel. His body shuddered against mine, and he let out a long, satisfied sigh.
When he pulled out, I collapsed onto the mattress. My legs wouldn't hold me. My whole body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together wrong.
Marcus stood over me, already soft, already reaching for his clothes.
"Thanks for the fuck," he said.
I didn't answer.
He dressed in silence—briefs, pants, the ruined shirt. The blood had dried to a dark brown now, cracking in the lamplight. He looked like something out of a nightmare, and yet somehow, standing there in the middle of the attic, he also looked almost human.
"Kade," he said.
Kade looked up.
"I'll be back tomorrow. We need to talk about the other one—the problem we didn't finish."
"What problem?"
"The one Morrigan warned us about. The one who's been tracking her." Marcus jerked his chin toward me. "She's not the only one who got cursed. And the others—they're not like us. They're worse."
He walked to the door and paused with his hand on the frame.
"Sleep well, Donna." He said my name like it was a joke. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
The door closed behind him.
Silence.
I lay there, face down on the mattress, and tried to remember how to breathe. My body was a map of pain and pleasure—marks on my hips, soreness between my legs, that strange, spreading warmth where Marcus had finished inside me.
Kade hadn't moved from the corner.
"You okay?" he asked finally.
I laughed. It came out broken.
"Do I look okay?"
He crossed the room and knelt beside the bed. His hand found my hair—gentle this time. So gentle it almost hurt more than Marcus's roughness.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For letting him. For not killing him when I had the chance. For..." He trailed off. Swallowed hard. "For wanting you. For everything."
I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were wet—actual tears, barely visible in the lamplight. The sight of them made something in my chest crack open.
"You didn't have a choice," I said.
"There's always a choice."
"Then why didn't you?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Because I wanted to see," he said finally. "I wanted to see if you could take it. If you'd break. If you'd fight."
"And what did you see?"
He reached out and touched my face. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, brushed my lips.
"I saw someone who's stronger than she knows," he said. "Someone who's going to survive this, no matter what."
I closed my eyes.
"I don't feel strong."
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. It was the gentlest thing anyone had done to me in this body—tender in a way that made my throat ache.
"You'll learn," he whispered. "We both will."
Outside, the wind howled against the attic windows. Somewhere in the house, Morrigan was laughing again—that soft, knowing sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
And in the darkness, something else stirred. Something that had nothing to do with Kade or Marcus or the games they were playing.
The witch had said there were others.
I was starting to believe her.
Kade pulled the blanket up over my naked body and settled onto the floor beside the bed—a sentinel, a shield, a man who had watched me get fucked by his rival and was still here, still waiting, still wanting.
"You should sleep," he said.
"I can't."
"Try."
I closed my eyes.
Sleep didn't come.
But something else did. A slow, creeping awareness that settled into my bones like frost forming on glass. The marks on the mirror—the ones that had been there when I woke up—had changed. The jagged red letters that spelled out the name I could no longer use were streaked with something new.
A different name.
Scrawled in blood.
Marcus.
The mirror cracked down the center.
The mirror cracked down the center, and the sound was like a bone snapping.
I sat up so fast the blanket fell away, leaving me naked and exposed in the lamplight. Kade was on his feet before I could blink, knife already drawn, body angled between me and the door. His eyes swept the room—corners, shadows, the single grimy window—searching for threats.
"Stay behind me," he said.
"I'm not a child."
"You're naked and unarmed. Stay behind me."
The mirror was still splitting. I watched it happen in real time—the fissure crawling downward like black lightning, splitting Marcus's blood-scrawled name into two jagged halves. The glass groaned. Warped. And then it wasn't a mirror anymore.
It was a doorway.
Morrigan stepped through like she was walking through a curtain. Bare feet on the creaking floorboards, black robes trailing behind her, hair the color of bruised plums spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes were the same as when I'd first woken up in this body—that unsettling shade of nothing, like looking into a starless sky.
"Hello, little bird," she said.
Kade lunged.
Morrigan didn't move. Just raised one pale hand, fingers spread, and Kade stopped mid-strike like he'd hit an invisible wall. The knife flew from his grip and clattered into the corner. He snarled, muscles straining, but he couldn't move forward. Couldn't move back. Frozen in place like a fly in amber.
"Let him go," I said.
Morrigan smiled. It was the kind of smile that made my skin crawl.
"You've grown bold. That's good. Boldness will serve you in the days ahead."
"Let him go."
"I heard you the first time."
She snapped her fingers. Kade stumbled forward, gasping, and caught himself on the bedframe. He looked at Morrigan with naked hatred—the kind of hatred that had kept him alive through wars and worse. His hand twitched toward the knife in the corner, but he didn't move.
"Smart boy," Morrigan said. "You're learning."
"What do you want?"
"Straight to business. I like that." She drifted toward the bed, her bare feet silent on the floor. "I came to check on my investment. The transformation is holding well—better than I expected, actually. You've adapted faster than the others."
"The others." My mouth went dry. "Marcus mentioned them. Who are they?"
"Later." She waved a hand. "First, we need to discuss terms."
"Terms."
"You're in my house now, little bird. My rules. My protection. My... hospitality." She gestured vaguely at the attic. "Such as it is. But protection isn't free. Nothing ever is."
Kade stepped forward. "She's not property."
"Everything is property, soldier. Even you. Especially you." Morrigan's colorless eyes flicked to him, then back to me. "The question is who holds the deed."
I pulled the blanket up to cover myself. It felt ridiculous—a scrap of fabric against a creature who could freeze men with a gesture—but it was all I had.
"What are the terms?" I asked.
"Simple. You stay here. You don't run. You don't fight me. And in return, I keep the others away. The ones who want to find you. The ones who would tear you apart to get what's inside you."
"What's inside me?"
Morrigan smiled again. This time there was something almost maternal in it. Almost fond.
"The curse isn't just a curse, little bird. It's a key. And every lock in this world and the next wants to be opened."
Kade stepped forward again, positioning himself between us. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting tonight." Morrigan's gaze never left me. "You're tired. You've been used—twice, by my count. You need rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
The word came out before I could stop it. Morrigan paused, half-turned toward the shattered mirror. Her eyebrow arched.
"Yes?"
I swallowed. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat. This was insane. This was the worst possible idea. But something in me—something that had been building since the moment I woke up in this body—refused to stay silent.
"I want to stay with Kade."
Morrigan's expression didn't change. "You are staying with Kade. He's your assigned guardian, at least for now."
"No. I mean—" I took a breath. "I want to stay by his side. As his woman."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kade went very still. I could feel his eyes on me, burning with something I couldn't name. Morrigan tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve.
"His woman," she repeated.
"Yes."
"You understand what that means? In this world? Under my roof?"
"I think I do."
"Then say it." Her voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Say exactly what you're asking for."
My throat tightened. The words felt like stones in my mouth—heavy, sharp, impossible to swallow. But I forced them out anyway.
"I want to stay by Kade's side. To be his woman. To let him fuck me whenever he wants. To—" The word caught. I had to force it past my teeth. "To breed me."
Kade made a sound. Low. Wounded. Like I'd stabbed him.
Morrigan's smile widened.
"Interesting."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a maybe." She drifted closer, close enough that I could smell her—something herbal and ancient, like crushed leaves and grave dirt. "There are complications. Kade isn't the only one who's claimed you. Marcus will have opinions. And then there's the matter of the others—the ones who are coming."
"Let them come."
"Brave words from a girl who was screaming ten minutes ago."
I flinched. Morrigan noticed. Of course she noticed.
"That's not a criticism, little bird. Screaming is healthy. It means you're still fighting. The ones who stop screaming—those are the ones who break." She reached out and touched my face. Her fingers were cold. "You're not broken yet. That's why I chose you."
"Chose me for what?"
"For this." She gestured vaguely at everything—the attic, Kade, the shattered mirror. "For him. For them. For whatever comes next."
"Answer the question."
Morrigan laughed. It was the same laugh I'd heard before—that soft, knowing sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Soon," she said. "But first—your proposal."
She turned to Kade.
"You've been quiet, soldier. What do you think? Do you want her?"
Kade's jaw worked. His hands were fists at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was rough, scraped raw.
"I don't want her because you're offering her. I want her because—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Because I can't stop thinking about her. Because when I close my eyes, I see her face. Because the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to kill something."
"That's not an answer to my question."
"Yes it is."
Morrigan studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"Fine. You can have her. But there are rules."
"Name them."
"She stays here. She doesn't leave the house without you or me. She doesn't speak to strangers. She doesn't tell anyone what she is or where she came from." Morrigan counted on her fingers. "And most importantly—she doesn't breed until I say she can."
Kade's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because I'm not stupid." Morrigan's voice sharpened. "You think I don't know what happens when a cursed woman quickens? The power it draws? The attention? Every witch, warlock, and demon in a hundred miles will feel it. And half of them will want to cut it out of her."
"I wouldn't let them."
"You wouldn't have a choice." Morrigan turned back to me. "You want to be his woman? Fine. You want him to fuck you? Fine. I'll even give you a room with a door that locks—a luxury in this house. But the breeding comes later. When I say. When we're ready. Do you understand?"
My mouth tasted like copper. "Yes."
"Good." She clapped her hands once. "Then it's settled. You're Kade's woman. He's your man. Whatever happens between you is your business—just keep the screaming to a minimum. I need my sleep."
She walked toward the mirror—the broken, impossible mirror—and paused at the threshold.
"Oh, and Donna?"
"What?"
"Marcus will be back tomorrow. He'll want to see you. And when he does..." She smiled. "You might want to think about what you'll say to him. About this arrangement. About Kade. About all of it."
"Let him come."
"I intend to." She stepped through the glass and vanished. The mirror sealed behind her—smooth and unbroken, like it had never been cracked at all.
The room was quiet.
Kade hadn't moved. He was still standing by the bed, still staring at the empty mirror, still breathing like he'd just run a mile. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were wet.
"Did you mean it?" he asked.
"Which part?"
"All of it. The—" He couldn't say it. "The breeding. You want that?"
"I don't know." The honesty felt like a knife in my chest. "I don't know what I want. I don't even know who I am anymore. But I know... I know I can't do this alone. And you're the only one who's looked at me like I'm still human. Even when I'm not."
"You're human."
"Am I?"
He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me into his arms. The blanket fell away. His skin was hot against mine—hot and rough and real. He held me like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.
"You're human," he said again. "You're the most human person I've ever met. And I'm going to protect you. No matter what."
I buried my face in his chest. Let myself breathe. Let myself feel, for just a moment, like I wasn't drowning.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know."
"I don't want to die."
"You won't."
"I don't want to become something else."
"You won't."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His thumb traced my cheekbone, wiping away tears I hadn't realized I'd shed.
"I'm not promising," he said. "I'm telling you. Whatever happens—whatever I have to do, whoever I have to kill—you're going to survive this. That's not a promise. That's a fact."
I kissed him.
It wasn't like the first time—desperate, hungry, feral. This was slower. Softer. A question instead of a demand. His lips parted under mine, and I tasted salt and smoke and something underneath that was just him.
"I want you," I said against his mouth.
"I know."
"Not because Morrigan said so. Not because Marcus took me. Because—" I pulled back. Looked at him. "Because you're the only thing in this whole fucked-up world that feels real."
Something in his expression shifted. Cracked open. He kissed me again—harder this time, hands fisting in my hair—and walked me backward until my knees hit the mattress.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
"Don't stop."
He laid me down on the rumpled sheets. The bed still smelled like sex—like my sweat and Marcus's come and the mingled fluids of everything that had happened tonight. Kade didn't seem to care. He just looked at me—all of me, naked and spent and trembling—like I was the only thing worth seeing.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't lie to me."
He laughed. It was a broken sound, hollow and bitter.
"I've killed men for looking at you wrong. I've stood by while another man fucked you because I had no choice. I've spent the last three hours trying to convince myself I don't need you, and I failed every time." He knelt between my legs. "You think I'd lie? You think I'd waste my breath on pretty words?"
His hand slid up my thigh. Found my cunt.
I was still wet. Still slick with Marcus's seed and my own arousal. Kade's fingers pushed inside me—slow, deliberate—and I gasped.
"Look at you," he murmured. "Still dripping. Still open. You want me to fuck you? Really fuck you? Not because I'm claiming territory. Not because some witch is watching. Just because I want to."
"Yes."
"Say it."
"Fuck me, Kade. Please."
He didn't make me wait.
He dragged his fingers out of me—wet, glistening—and brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean while I watched. Then he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.
He was already hard. Thick and veined and leaking at the tip. The sight of him—the sheer size of him—made something in my stomach clench.
"You're going to feel this tomorrow," he said.
"Good."
He lined himself up and pushed inside.
The stretch was exquisite.
My breath caught. My back arched. My hands fisted in the sheets as he filled me inch by inch—slower than Marcus, gentler than before, but no less intense. He watched my face the whole time. Watched every flicker of pain and pleasure. When he was fully seated, he paused.
"Tell me when."
"Now. Move. Please."
He moved.
The first thrust drove a moan from my throat. The second made my eyes roll back. By the third, I'd stopped thinking entirely—just feeling, just riding the wave of him inside me, around me, everywhere.
"Fuck," he growled. "You feel—"
"Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping."
He fucked me like he was trying to memorize me. Every stroke was deliberate—long, slow, deep. His hands roamed my body, learning the curves of my waist, the swell of my breasts, the sensitive spot just below my ear that made me shiver.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
"Harder," I said.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He gave me harder.
The bed slammed against the wall. The lamplight flickered. I clawed at his back, leaving marks, and he groaned—that low, guttural sound I was starting to crave.
"Kade—"
"I know."
"I'm close."
"Then come. Come on my cock. Let me feel you."
His hand slid between our bodies. Found my clit. Pressed.
The orgasm hit me like a wave.
I screamed—actually screamed, loud enough that the rafters shook—and my body convulsed around him. Pleasure crashed through me, hot and overwhelming, and I clenched so tight I heard him gasp.
"That's it," he said. "That's my girl. Come for me. Let go."
I let go.
When the waves finally subsided, I was trembling. Boneless. Every muscle in my body felt like it had been melted down and poured back wrong. Kade was still hard inside me, still moving—slower now, gentler.
"Your turn," I whispered.
"This is for you."
"Don't be noble. Fuck me. Use me. I want to feel it."
Something dark flickered across his face. Something hungry.
"You want to feel it?"
"Yes."
He pulled out. Before I could protest, he flipped me onto my stomach and dragged me onto my knees. His palm came down on my ass—hard, deliberate—and I yelped.
"You want to be used?" His voice was a growl. "You want to be a hole for me to fill?"
"Yes."
"Then spread your legs."
I spread them.
He pushed inside me from behind—deeper this time, hitting something that made stars explode behind my eyes. His hands gripped my hips, hard enough to bruise, and he fucked me like he meant it. No more patience. No more gentleness. Just raw, animal need.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
"Inside me. Come inside me."
"I can't—Morrigan said—"
"I don't give a shit what Morrigan said. Fill me up. Mark me. I'm yours."
"Donna—"
"Do it."
He did.
Three more brutal thrusts, and then he was coming—hot and thick and seemingly endless. I felt every pulse, every shiver, every staggered breath against my back. He collapsed onto me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and we both lay there—heaving, gasping, tangled.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
I laughed. For the first time in days, it was a real laugh—light and bright and almost happy.
"Holy shit," I agreed.
He rolled off me and pulled me into his arms. We lay on our sides, facing each other, breath mingling in the close, hot air.
"You're mine now," he said.
"I know."
"No—I mean it. Whatever happens. Whatever Morrigan says or Marcus does. You're mine. And I'm yours. That's not a curse. That's not a game. That's just—" He touched my face. "That's just true."
I closed my eyes.
"Stay," I whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The lamp guttered and died.
In the darkness, I felt him pull the blanket up around us. Felt his arms tighten. Felt the steady rhythm of his heart against my back.
I slept.
And for one brief, beautiful moment, I didn't dream of mirrors or witches or the stranger in my reflection.
I dreamed of nothing at all.
But someone dreamed of me.
Across town, in a room that stank of copper and ash, a woman with no name traced a symbol on the floor. The symbol matched the one on my back—the one I hadn't seen yet, hidden between my shoulder blades, burned into my skin like a brand.
She smiled.
"Found you," she said.