Morgan growls and sinks her fangs into my neck, biting deep as she bottoms out her cock, knot locking into place.
I scream with ecstasy. The pain in my neck radiates outwards, becoming a tingling electric warmth. A profound calm spreads through me.
Morgan’s scent fills me—leather and whiskey and cedar and that roaring bonfire—turning my blood to liquid fire.
Her scent locks into my very cells, imprinting somewhere primal and deep. For once in my life, there’s no doubt in my mind: I’m hers.
#
MORGAN
The taste of Jamie’s blood starts the cascade in my body, and I suck at his neck, drawing out more of that singular flavor. His scent drove me crazy before, and now this is something else entirely.
Because now there’s a little bit of me amongst his scent, a cedar forest planted alongside his sweet garden.
He’s mine.
He’s irrevocably, unquestionablymine.
This feeling that’s bubbling in my chest, that’s spreading through my limbs, that’s even sweeter than the throbbing in my cock—it’s happiness.
“My Jamie,” I purr in his ear. “My sweet, sweet Jamie…”
“I’m yours, Mor,” he murmurs.
“And I’m yours.” I know in my bones it’s the truth.
Epilogue
JAMIE
Six months later
I’ve become well acquainted with the top floor of Artemis headquarters in the past half a year.
The elevator opens to an atrium with ten-foot-high ceilings and skylights streaming sunlight down onto a marble desk and the living moss wall behind it, softening the modern space.
This is Eileen’s domain, her station as she guards Morgan’s space and time. Her blonde hair gleams in the sun, and there’s cunning in those blue eyes.
To the left is a lavishly appointed conference room where Morgan hosts exec meetings, foreign investors, anyone else she wants to keep close. The view from the floor-to-ceiling glass is stunning, but it’s second best.
The absolute best view—of the city tapering down to the river that winds along it like a blue serpent—is split between Morgan’s private gym and her office.
The office conforms to Morgan’s usual style—timeless and moody—with a heavy wooden desk and a worn-in leatherchair.
On the wall hangs a map of the city and a watercolor of the view from the office, and I think I’m one of a very small handful of people who know that they’re both by Morgan herself.
The interior design is so professionally curated that you wouldn’t guess every single item is personal and significant. The framed snakeskin on the wall is Kaa’s, the vintage survey set is Morgan’s from childhood, the polished stone now used as cabinet pulls was collected when breaking ground on her mansion.
And the matching pair of wine glasses printed in gold withYes, pleaseand our wedding date are a gift from Eileen.
But it all might as well be blank white walls when Morgan is in the room. The idea of ‘don’t let the clothes wear you’ certainly extends to her space. No matter if it’s this custom office, a brand-new yacht, the sprawling ‘loft,’ or the private jet, Morgan is always the shining jewel at the center of it all.
I’ve taken to calling her my diamond. Brilliant and indestructible.
For a month or so after she claimed me, I still worked in the lab, finishing up my project. Morgan promised that everything with HR was taken care of, and she even got her lawyer friend involved. I’m not sure if they worked out something legally defensible so much as nobody was brave enough to challenge two alphas.
But having Morgan skulk around the lab all the time was scaring the other scientists, so when I finished that project, Morgan moved my assignment to ‘patient advocate.’ And I’m loving it.
