His hands—claws carefully sheathed, I noticed distantly—tore at my clothes with desperate urgency. The soft cotton of my dress gave way like paper, falling in shreds to the fur-covered floor. Cool air hit my exposed skin, and I shivered, but Lucien's body was already pressing against mine, a wall of heat and muscle and barely contained hunger.
He didn't speak again. Couldn't, maybe. The wolf had stripped away language, leaving only instinct and need and the primal drive to claim. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the nest of furs in the center of the room, lowering me onto the soft pelts and covering my body with his.
His mouth found my throat—not biting, not yet, justfeelingthe flutter of my pulse beneath his lips. His hands roamed my body with desperate urgency, mapping every curve, every hollow, every sensitive spot that made me gasp and arch beneath him. When his fingers found my core, already slick and aching for him, he made a sound that was half growl, half groan.
And then he was inside me.
The stretch was intense—he was thicker than usual, the wolf's influence making everythingmore—but Azrael's mark pulsed with warmth, transforming the edge of discomfort into pure, overwhelming pleasure. I cried out, my back arching, my nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt.
He didn't ease into a rhythm. Hetook—hard, fast, desperate, his hips driving into me with a ferocity that stole my breath. The furs beneath us muffled the sounds of our coupling, but nothing could muffle my cries or his growls or the wet, obscene noise of his body claiming mine.
He knotted me within minutes.
The swell at the base of his cock caught at my entrance, stretching me impossibly wide, and I screamed as he forced it past my resistance. The lock was immediate and absolute—wewere bound together, sealed by flesh and instinct and the wolf's primal need to breed.
His release flooded me, hot and thick and endless, and I felt my own orgasm crash through me in response. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through my body, amplified by Azrael's mark, prolonged by the knot that kept us locked together. Lucien's teeth found my shoulder—not the same spot as before, but close—and he bit down, marking me again, claiming me anew.
When the knot finally deflated, I thought he might rest. I thoughtImight rest.
I was wrong.
He flipped me onto my stomach and took me from behind, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. He bent me over the edge of the fur pile and fucked me standing up, my legs wrapped around his waist, my back pressed against the cold stone wall. He laid me on my side and curled behind me, his thrusts slow and deep and devastating, his hand working my clit with rough, unerring precision.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His body said everything—mine, mine, mine—with every thrust, every bite, every desperate, claiming touch.
The hours blurred together. I lost count of how many times he knotted me, how many times I came, how many marks he left on my skin. The candles burned down and were replaced—I caught glimpses of shadowy figures slipping in and out, Selene's magic refreshing the supplies, Azrael's presence checking on me, Darius's silver eyes watching from the doorway before retreating.
They were taking care of us. Of me. Even now, even in the depths of Lucien's feral rut, I wasn't alone.
The thought made me sob with gratitude, and Lucien—lost in the wolf as he was—paused. His amber eyes, wild andunseeing, focused on my face. His rough hand came up to wipe the tears from my cheeks, and he made a sound that was almost questioning. Almosthuman.
"I'm okay," I whispered, cupping his face in my hands. "I'm here. I'm yours. Keep going."
He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. For a single, crystalline moment, I sawhim—not the wolf, not the rut, but Lucien, my Lucien, fighting to surface through the primal haze.
Then the moment passed, and the wolf took over again.
But I held onto that glimpse. Held onto the knowledge that even in his most feral state, some part of him recognized me. Loved me.Choseme.
The breeding continued.
By the time the rut finally began to ease, I was a wreck. My body was covered in bites and bruises and the evidence of his repeated claims. My core was sore and swollen and leaking his release, the furs beneath us soaked with the combined evidence of our marathon coupling. Every muscle ached. Every nerve was raw. And I had never felt more cherished in my life.
Lucien's movements slowed. His thrusts became gentler, less desperate, morepresent. The wild amber of his eyes began to fade, replaced by the warm brown I knew and loved. His claws retracted. His fangs shortened. And when he finally collapsed beside me, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion, he washimselfagain.
"Lizzie." His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. "Lizzie, I—"
"Shh." I turned onto my side, ignoring the protest of my aching muscles, and pulled him against me. His head settled on my chest, and I felt the hot press of tears against my skin. "I'm here. I'm okay. You didn't hurt me."
"I could have—"
"You didn't." I stroked his hair, his back, his shoulders—everywhere I could reach. "You were perfect. The wolf was perfect. I'm yours, Lucien. All of me. Even this."
He shuddered, a sob tearing from his throat. "I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. I don't know how to—I don't know how to be what you deserve—"
"You already are." I tilted his face up, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You're exactly what I deserve. The wolf and the man. The rough and the gentle. The feral and the tender. All of it. All ofyou."
His amber eyes searched my face, looking for the lie. Finding none. "You mean that."
