“Kylian,” I breathe, and it's neither protest nor permission but something in between.
We shouldn't. We're in the territory of our enemy. Ridge will kill us. We need to return to camp?—
He answers with a low growl that vibrates through his chest and into mine. “That's it. Say my name. Let the forest hear who claims you tonight.”
As he lowers me to the ground, I wonder if this is how it ends. Not with a rescue or a revelation, but here in the dark woods,with an unhinged alpha and a crown made of bones. I might actually die if he doesn’t touch me, kiss me, make love to me.
But then his mouth finds mine, and the thought dissolves like sugar in hot tea. His kiss is consuming, demanding, claiming. It tastes of sweat and wilderness and something that might be madness or might be love.
My omega scent rises like incense to the sky. I can feel the change in Kylian as it hits him—his growl deepens, his grip tightens, and his eyes flash with predatory light.
Thank fuck we’re far away from camp and the wind is blowing to the east.
“Mine,” he whispers against my lips, and the word settles over me like a mantle of snow. “All mine.”
The crown shifts on my head as he moves over me, the bones and teeth clicking together softly. A rhythm for what's to come. A promise of possession in a language older than words.
As the forest watches, I give myself to the madness. Because at this moment, with Kylian's scent filling my lungs and his body covering mine, I am more alive than I've ever been in my life.
Kylian traces the outline of the crown with reverent fingers, his touch both worshipful and possessive.
“Do you see?” he murmurs. “This is who you are. A queen of the wild things. A ruler of shadows and monsters. Monsters like me.”
His words resonate with some deep, buried part of myself. The part that has always felt constrained by palace walls and royal expectations. The part that has yearned for something raw and untamed.
The part that has yearned for him. Forthem.
I don’t want to be a pampered princess omega locked away in a castle. No, that’s not who I am. Not anymore.
I choose my alphas. I’ll always choose them.
Now it’s time for me to prove it.
40
KYLIAN
The scentof her omega slick hits me like a physical blow, cutting through the forest's earthy perfume and the lingering chemical taint of her blockers. It's the smell of cinnamon sugar and surrender, and it makes my vision sharpen to a razor's edge.
Brylee.
My Brylee.
My perfect obsession.
She lies beneath me, the macabre crown of teeth and bones nestled in her golden hair. Her chest heaves, the fabric of her sports bra stretched tight over her breasts. Her frantic pulse beats in the hollow of her throat, a drumbeat calling to the predator in me.
“Look at you,” I growl, my voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. “You don’t look like a queen, Brylee. No…you look like a fucking goddess. Is that what you want? To be worshipped? To have a blood sacrifice in your honor?”
I reach across the forest floor until my hand connects with my discarded dagger. The blade is a sliver of moonlight in the dim clearing.
Her eyes, wide and beatific, follow its movement as I hold it up. A flicker of fear, yes, but beneath it, a spark of curiosity. Of anticipation. She knows I would never truly harm her. She knows this is just another form of worship.
I press the flat of the cold steel against her collarbone, and she shivers, a delicate tremor that runs through her entire body.
“So responsive,” I murmur, trailing the blade downward, over the thin fabric of that damn sports bra that’s been taunting me for hours now. It catches slightly, a promise of what's to come. “Such a good, perfect omega.”
I stop just above the swell of her breast. With a flick of my wrist, the tip of the knife slices through the cloth. It parts like water, revealing the pale skin beneath. I make another cut, and another, until her bra is in tatters, exposing her to me, to the moon, to the watching forest.
