“You’re mine,” he growls against my skin, the words sinking deep into my bones. “And nothing will ever take you from me.”
Then, slowly, he picks up the dagger again and places it into my hand, his fingers closing around mine.
“Keep it,” he says, and I blink, staring at him, overwhelmed and breathless.
“Why?”
“So you’ll always be protected,” he says quietly, but there’s something more beneath his words—a promise, a threat, or a vow. Probably all three. “This isn’t just a weapon. It’s trust. It’s power. It’s a reminder that if anyone ever tries to hurt you…” His lips brush my cheek, his breath icy and delicious. “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, I want you to kill them. Slowly. Painfully. In a way that makes them beg for an end they don’t deserve.”
I shiver at his words, and he cups my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Do you understand?” he asks, hard and demanding.
“I understand.” I take a deep breath, centering myself. “If anyone tries to hurt me, I’ll make them bleed. And I’ll think of you while I do it.”
He exhales sharply, trembling with restraint. “I’ll dream of you covered in their blood,” he whispers, his voice thick with hunger. “And I’ll worship you for it.”
I smile slowly, dark and deliberate, feeding off the ache in his voice. “Then I’ll give you dreams worth worshipping,” I say, and he groans—low, guttural, and inhuman.
“Youare a dream worth worshipping. And you look so beautiful painted in your own blood,” he says, his body shuddering with need. “And knowing it’s because of me… knowing you let me do this to you…”
His magic lashes out in cold bursts, the temperature in the room dropping as though he’s fighting to keep himself contained.
“Tell me again,” he demands, moving over me, trapping me. “Tell me what you feel for me.”
“I love you,” I say without hesitation, the words flowing easily now that I’ve set them free. “And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”
His eyes flare—black flame and endless hunger, raw and all-consuming. It’s not just desire in his gaze. It’s ownership. It’s obsession. It’s a predator who’s stopped pretending he wants to be gentle.
I feel it in my bones. In my blood. In the parts of me that already belong to him.
So, I reach out and brush my fingers over the base of his wings—that sensitive place where feather meets flesh, where he’s most vulnerable.
The sound that tears from his throat is raw and primal, and he shakes—not with weakness, but with a loss of restraint. Every part of him is strung tight with it, like he’s moments from snapping.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he growls. “You have no idea how close I am to losing control.”
“Then lose it,” I whisper, my fingers trailing down his spine and back up, tempting him further. “I want to see what happens when you stop pretending you can’t break.”
And then he’s on me, slamming me back into the mattress with brutal need, his body covering mine like a predator caging its prey.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, his gaze locked on mine, like he’s making sure I fully understand how much he means every word of it. “Every breath you take belongs to me. Every heartbeat is—and will always be—mine. And I’m going to enjoy every second of watching you fall apart with my name bleeding from your skin.”
Then, he bites.
Hard.
His fangs sink into my neck, and I cry out—not in pain, but in pure, unfiltered pleasure. It floods me, dizzying and electric. My fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as I pull him closer, begging for more.
“I already belong to you,” I tell him, arching into his touch, challenging him. “Now tear me apart.”
His eyes darken further—black as the void, filled with hunger, devotion, and something feral that should terrify me.
“You’re staying in these chambers until you forget the outside world exists,” he vows. “Now, tell me again.”
“I love you,” I promise, gazing up into those midnight eyes that own my soul. “I love you, Aerix Nightborne, until the end of time. Because I’m yours. I’llalwaysbe yours.”
Then he’s on me, skin to skin, his body pressing me deep into the mattress. His hands map every inch of me, claiming, marking, and worshipping. Frost blooms across the headboard, the sheets, and my skin.
