Page 86 of House Ignis

They vanished without protest—Maddy, Darcy, Sera, Jules—fleeing through the adjoining bathroom like witnesses to a crime. The door shut with a soft, heavy click.

Silence.

Just me. And Jeremy. And something tectonic shifting in the depths of his eyes.

"Ava," he said, his voice low, strained, and dangerously jagged. "By Nox's black scale, tell me you're not actually going to let this happen."

I had never seen him like this. His usually perfect chestnut curls were disheveled, falling across his forehead in a chaotic mess. His eyes were bright with something raw and unfiltered. He stood there in his earth-toned leathers like a warrior bracing for a total collapse—tension rolling off him in slow, suffocating waves.

This wasn't just anger. It was fear. And gods… it hit me straight in the chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I closed the distance before he could say anything else, throwing my arms around him with a desperation that matched his own. "I didn't have a choice," I whispered, pressing my burning cheek against the steady thrum of his chest.

At first, he was rigid. Solid as unyielding stone.

Then he exhaled, a long, broken sound.

His arms came around me, crushing me to him.

He lifted me effortlessly, and I gasped softly as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist to stay anchored. His hands settled heavily at my hips, fingers digging into the leather. When I looked down at him, that wild edge was still there—but something darker, something primal and possessively male, had joined it.

"You're mine," he growled, the words vibrating through my entire body.

And gods help me—the heat between us flared, thick and undeniable. I nodded, my own pulse racing.

His jaw tightened at the movement, his grip turning bruisingly firm.

"Ava." My name came out deeper this time. Commanding. It was that tone he used in the heat of training—the one that left no room for argument, the one that demanded absolute surrender.

It scraped down my spine like a physical touch and pooled low in my stomach. My thighs tightened around him without permission, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through my core.

The air in the room didn't just feel heavy anymore; it felt scorched.

His breath hitched. He felt it. His brow lowered, jaw flexing as he processed the friction of me against his leathers. His grip on my hips tightened. "I don't like sharing," he growled.

I was undone. Heat coiled through my veins, ached in my marrow. I needed him to silence the noise in my head. "Jeremy," I whispered. "Please."

He broke. His arms locked around me, hands gripping my thighs as his lips crashed into mine. I moaned, fingers threading through his chestnut curls, anchoring myself to the wildness of him. It was consuming, a tidal wave of earth and fire.

He pulled back just enough to gasp out an incantation. A shimmer rippled through the air. "Sound shield," he smirked, his voice husky. "Pretty sure your friends are nosy spies on the other side of that door."

I giggled, breathless and dazed, as he kissed me again—deeper, slower, like a vow.

When my feet finally touched the ground, he stepped away to run the water. Steam began to curl from the tiled shower like a dream. He came up behind me at the mirror, arms slipping around my waist as his lips brushed my neck.

"I'm serious," he whispered, the word a prayer against my skin. "I don't like sharing. And it's going to be hard… especially until we're seen as fated mates." He sighed, fingers brushing the broken zipper of my jacket. "Remember when we were kids? We always said we were fated."

I nodded, my chest tightening as he gently slipped the jacket from my shoulders. He spoke of the politics, of the betrothal made long before we could choose. His hands ghosted down my arms, pulling my shirt over my head. Goosebumps trailed in his wake.

When his fingers unclipped my bra, his eyes darkened to a stormy, emerald green. He told me the history of the blood oath—a symbol of power for a female heir, a way to stand if a king went mad. He hated that Asher was the one chosen for it.

"It should've been me," he whispered, lifting my chin. "I would've burned the world for the chance to be the one bound to you."

His fingers moved to the clasp of my leathers. The top button came undone, and I let out a soft, involuntary sound. "A queen's blood bond is a soul tether, Ava," he murmured against my neck. "It's a spiritual merging. And more."

"What do you mean, more?"

He looked at me with raw, pleading eyes. "When it's sealed, he'll be yours. Completely. He will feel you, crave you, protect you. And if you let him… he can have you. You could lie with him, and I can't do a fucking thing to stop it. I'll be your betrothed, but he'll be your bonded."