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The blade steadies once it’s against his skin because hesitation will only make the cut worse. I’ve killed with less fear than this, but none of those men sat still while I put a knife to someone I’d rather cut my own hand off than hurt.

“Stay here with me.” I tighten my grip on the knife. “You can hate me for this in five minutes.”

The steel opens his skin and bright blood wells over the cut. Orion flinches hard enough that one hand leaves the table, then puts it back without being told. His breathing turns shallow and irritated, and a faint vibration catches at the back of his throat. Relief loosens my grip on the knife before I can stop it.

I widen the incision enough to find the implant with my fingertips. It’s deeper than I expected, lodged beneath thick muscle where every movement of his neck makes the casing slide away from me. “Deeper now,” I tell him, and Orion’s fingers curl over the table edge until the wood creaks. “I know. I found it.”

A rough huff leaves him when I lose the edge the first time, irritation finally roughening the sound. I grip the back of the chair for one second before trying again. “You can insult me later.” His shoulders tighten as I reach for the implant.

I get two fingers around the metal and pull. Orion jerks hard enough to rock the chair, pain flooding the bond so sharply that my own vision blurs. Rage comes with it, hot and immediate, filling a connection that had been almost empty. Orion swears under his breath and bares his teeth at the table as if it personally offended him.

“Again,” he says through those teeth. “Get it the fuck out.”

I brace one hand at his shoulder and pull a second time. The device comes free slick with blood and tissue, hitting the tabletop with a metallic crack. Orion drags in air so violently it sounds painful, and his scent changes before I can reach for him, pine and earth surging back under a raw Omega note that fills the kitchen faster than the blood smell.

His eyes focus on me and the first full snarl tears out of him. Orion comes out of the chair half-shifted, shoulders widening and nails darkening as his animal instincts crash back through the space the implant carved out.

I stay where I am with his blood on both hands. The silver cylinder lies between us on the table, and I bring the heel of my palm down until the casing splits. Orion watches me do it, breathing hard enough that his chest shakes.

“Orion.” I keep my voice low. “Look at me.”

His attention locks on my face. He crosses the kitchen in two strides and shoves me back against the counter, both hands fisting in my shirt before he stops there. The bond is wide open now, furious and bright, and his breath hits my mouth when he says, “I need you.”

My hands stay at my sides. “What do you want?”

“Push back.” His fingers tighten in my shirt. “Not enough to stop me. Just don’t go limp on me.”

I hold his gaze. “And if you say stop?”

“Then you fucking stop.”

“Fine.” I brace one hand against the counter behind me. “Come here.”

Orion kisses me hard enough that my teeth catch his lower lip. He drags me closer by the front of my shirt, then shoves me back again and leans into the resistance when I push against him. The bond flashes hot with satisfaction, and his grip tightens before he tears my shirt open hard enough to send buttons across the tile.

His mouth finds my throat while the incision at his neck is still bleeding enough that I can smell it beneath his returning scent. I start to reach toward the wound, but Orion catches my wrist and plants my hand against his hip instead. “Not that.” His voice is rough again, unmistakably his. “Not yet.”

I leave my hand where he put it. Orion bites the top of my shoulder hard enough to make me hiss, eases off when the sound changes, then catches my other wrist and drags that hand to his waist too. He moves me exactly where he wants me before backing us away from the counter and down onto the kitchen rug.

His knees land on either side of my thighs. The ruined implant is still on the table above us, but Orion doesn’t look at it. He pulls his shirt over his head, throws it somewhere behind him, and catches my jaw when I start to sit up. “Stay.”

I settle back against the rug while he strips out of the rest of his clothes. His hands are still shaking, but there’s enough irritation in his face when the fabric catches around one ankle that I almost smile. Orion kicks it free, reaches for the oil we keep in the cabinet beside the table, and pours some into his palm.

He hooks one of my hands around his hip and keeps the other flat against my chest while he reaches between his own legs. The first finger makes his body tighten. I feel it through the bond and start to move, but Orion presses my hand harder into the rug. “I said stay.”

“I’m staying,” I tell him, keeping my hips flat to the rug while he watches me for another second.

He works himself open without taking his eyes off me for long. One finger, then another after the tension gives, his breathing roughening each time he presses deeper. When his hips begin pushing back against his own hand, he pulls his fingers free and closes them around my cock instead.

“Don’t move yet.” Orion strokes me once, then shifts forward until the head of my cock presses against him. His thighs tense around mine as he lowers himself slowly, taking the first inch before he has to stop and breathe.

Every Alpha instinct I have wants to grip his hips and pull him down the rest of the way. I keep my hands exactly where he put them. Orion’s nails dig into my chest while he adjusts, then he lowers himself another inch.

“Still good?” I ask.

His eyes cut to mine. “If it wasn’t, you’d know.”

That sounds enough like him that some of the pressure in my lungs finally breaks. I keep still while Orion sinks the rest of the way down, his body tightening hard around me before slowly giving. He stays there for several breaths, head bowed, then rolls his hips once and drags a curse out of me.