Page 84 of Revenant

Any sane person would recoil from the smell. But it draws me in. Heat blooms in my core, relentless as I bite my lip, trying to calm myself. My hips twitch, rocking just enough to test his resolve while every nerve in my body screams for more.

I lean forward, bracing my hands on his shoulders as the sensation consumes all my senses. “Bas,” I whine, my lips hovering barely a hair away from his, pulse hammering through every vein. My eyes plead as words fail me, stripped of their meaning by the need building in my body, until finally, one slips out anyway. “Please.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip my sweater at the hem, yanking it over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits my bare skin, and my lace bralette is undone with one ruthless flick. My nipples stiffen immediately, and he takes one into his mouth, lips sucking desperately, coaxing a soft moan to slip past my lips. My hands clench at his shoulders, desperate for purchase, my body already betraying my thoughts.

His tongue circles ruthlessly, while one hand moves to his belt. The other locks me in place, keeping me straddled on top of him while he releases it from his waist. My hands fumble at the clasp of his pants, freeing him, and then I freeze. Rows of silver piercing line his shaft, rigid beneath my fingers, and my stomach clenches.

He groans, shifting his hips up, forcing me to grind against him. “I…I don’t know if it’ll—” I choke on the words. This is…intimidating. Not just the size of him, but I don’t even think it would fit without all the piercings.

I can’t say I’ve ever been with anyone pierced—let alone six piercings. But if anyone is crazy enough to do such a thing—it would be Bastian. It’s impressive at the same time it is nerve-wracking, and yet, my core clenches at the thought of all of them inside me, stretching me to limits I didn’t think were possible

His rose covered hand clamps around my jaw, tilting my head enough to pull me from my thoughts. “It will,” he hisses. “And I will count every one of these piercings as you take me, spawn. Every. Single. One.”

My body tenses at the thought. I’m not sure if I’m terrified, thrilled or already losing my fucking mind. I rise just enough so he can align himself with my center, brushing his tip from my clit down to my entrance—the contact alone already has my toes curling. He moves gently now, securing both of his hands on my hips, guiding me into position with precision that has me holding my breath.

“One.” He growls, thumbs digging into my hip as he guides me down. It burns faintly, and I suck in a sharp breath, my grip on his shoulders tightening immediately. Heat and tension tangle together until I’m left rigid, waiting for more.

“Two.” His voice drops lower, and my hips twitch on instinct, further testing the sensation of metal inside me. The unfamiliar stretch makes my stomach flip, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

My thoughts spiral as he moves deeper, slow enough that my head tips back for a second, transfixed on the sensation of my pussy stretching wider. “Three.” He reaches one hand up, fisting my hair, pulling me down, and the kiss is all teeth and heat. I feel the drag of his fangs against my lip, and I make a needy, broken sound against his mouth, sinking deeper without thinking.

“Four.” I’m shaking now, trying to keep up with him, with myself, with my need. Every movement feels like it’s pushing me to the edge of an abyss, waiting for the moment I decide to free-fall. My thoughts are slipping, tangling with the rush still burning through my veins from the magic, surviving the wolves, and now Bastian.

His hand moves to my throat, squeezing slightly to constrict my airflow. “Five.” He growls into my mouth, and it hits harder than anything before it. I tense, then melt, like my body can’t decide what it’s supposed to do. Heat coils at my center, and I swear I feel it spark through my fingers, my chest, everywhere at once. I cling to him as I begin to unravel. Even without him moving further, my body reacts on its own—my pussy tensing around his cock, a sharp pulse in my clit building to the point of pain.

“Fuck, my cock looks good inside you. Think you can make it all the way to six?”

I let out something halfway between a laugh and a breathless moan before nodding anyway, because there’s no way I’m backing out now. Not when I’m this far gone. When everything in me is screaming for more.

That’s all the answer he needs.

He shifts, pushing one more ridge inside me, and it knocks the air clean from my lungs as he hits my cervix. My head drops forward, a strangled sound tearing out of my throat as euphoria hits—deep and overwhelming, rolling through me like distant thunder.

Bastian hisses beneath me, dragging in a breath through clenched teeth as his grip tightens, grounding me when I feel like I might come apart completely. His movements grow more urgent, chasing his own release as the rhythm of flesh on flesh echoes in my ears, but it’s the way he grips my jaw after that pulls me back, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Fucking hell, Alicent,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Something fragile catches in my throat, caught between a whimper and a breath I can’t quite release. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment—trying to keep everything from crashing down all at once.

But it’s already slipping.

The adrenaline. The magic. The wolves. Naomi.

They circle back in, one by one, bleeding into the edges of my resolve, reminding me just how close it all came to ending. And as the last of that fleeting high fades, I realize—

This isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

27: Koen

“You’re going to tell me!” I slam my fist down on Moriah’s mahogany dresser, the force hard enough to rattle the drawers inside. A framed photograph tips over, one of the tiny glass perfume bottles lined across the top skids to the edge and shatters against the hard wood.

Moriah doesn’t flinch.

She stays where she is beside the window, watching me with that infuriating stillness—an instinctive, predatory patience that makes my skin crawl. It isn’t fearlessness; it’s calculation, the kind that comes from a lifetime of being taught that emotion is a liability and hesitation is her death sentence. The faintest shimmer of moonlight catches at the edge of her irises, and I’m reminded that beneath her polished exterior and carefully curated indifference, she is still a creature bred for violence.

“Actually,” she says, but her defiance feels deliberate. “I don’t think I will.” She twists the silver ring on her finger with calculated control, pretending indifference—but I sense the attraction she refuses to show. Not that it bothers me. I’d rather she keep it buried—my attention’s already taken by one hopelessly oblivious redhead. The thought of Alicent—small, stubborn, and blind to the storm she’s stepped into—makes my irritation feel irrelevant.