The moon rose like a blade through the Black Forest.
Not silver. Not gentle. But red—blood-red, swollen with ancient magic, its light cutting through the canopy like fire. It pulsed above the Midnight Court, casting long, jagged shadows across the stone battlements, the torches flickering as if afraid. The air thickened—warm, heavy, laced with the scent of pine, iron, and something deeper, something *primal*.
Heat.
Not from the fire in the hearth. Not from the blood still drying on my back. But from *within*.
The full moon had come.
And with it—bond sickness.
I stood at the edge of the balcony, my boots silent on the cold stone, my hands gripping the railing until the wood cracked beneath my fingers. My body was a storm—muscles coiled, fangs aching, my wolf howling in my chest, demanding release, demanding *her*. The wound from the assassin’s blade had closed, sealed by her blood, by the bond, by the magic that now thrummed between us like a live wire. But the healing had only made it worse.
Because now, I could *feel* her.
Not just in the chambers behind me.
But in my blood.
In my bones.
In the very air I breathed.
She was near. Too near. Close enough that I could scent her—wild jasmine and iron, laced with the faintest trace of arousal. Close enough that I could hear her breath, soft and even, as she slept. Close enough that every instinct in my body screamed to go to her. To take her. To *claim* her.
And I couldn’t.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because I *did*.
Too much.
---
She’d stayed.
After everything—the Council, the assassination attempt, the blood-sharing, the truth—she’d stayed.
Not because I’d forced her.
Not because the bond demanded it.
But because she’d *chosen* to.
She’d kissed me—soft, slow, a surrender—and then curled into the curve of the mattress, her back to me, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting on the empty space beside her. As if waiting.
As if *inviting*.
And I’d done the one thing I’d never done before.
I’d walked away.
I’d taken my place in the high-backed chair by the hearth, my boots on the stone, my arms crossed over my chest, and I’d watched her. Waited. Listened to the rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers twitched in her sleep, the soft sigh that escaped her lips when she turned onto her side.
I’d watched her for hours.
Until the moon climbed higher. Until the heat began to rise. Until the bond started to *burn*.
And then I’d come here.
To the balcony. To the cold. To the edge of the world.
Because if I stayed in that room, if I stayed near her, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
And if I took her—if I claimed her in the heat, in the madness of the moon—I’d lose her.
Not to death.
Not to the Council.
But to *me*.
And I couldn’t risk that.
Not now.
Not when she’d just begun to trust me.
---
A sound.
Soft. Barely there.
Footsteps on stone.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Just kept my eyes on the forest, my hands clenched on the railing.
“You’re not sleeping,” her voice came, low, steady. “You never do.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because she was closer now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body, the pulse of her blood, the way her breath hitched when she stepped into the moonlight.
“The full moon,” she said, stopping just behind me. “It’s tonight.”
“Yes.”
“And the bond sickness.”
“Yes.”
“You should be with your pack,” she said. “Not here. Not alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, until her shoulder brushed mine. Her scent flooded my senses—wild jasmine, iron, *want*. My cock hardened, thick and heavy, pressing against the fabric of my trousers. My fangs ached. My wolf snarled.
“You’re fighting it,” she said, voice quiet. “The heat.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I turned then. Slow. Deliberate. My golden eyes locked onto hers—green, sharp, searching. “Because if I don’t, I’ll take you.”
Her breath caught.
“And if I take you,” I said, stepping closer, caging her against the railing, “I won’t stop. Not until you’re screaming my name. Not until you’re marked. Not until you’re *mine* in every way that matters.”
Her pulse jumped in her throat. Her body arched toward me, traitorous, wanting. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“It is,” I said, my voice rough, “if you don’t *want* it.”
“What if I do?”
My breath stopped.
“What if I *want* you to take me?” she whispered, stepping closer, her hips brushing mine. “What if I *want* to scream your name? To be marked? To be *yours*?”
My control snapped.
One second I was holding back.
The next—
I had her.
My hands locked around her waist, lifting her onto the railing, her legs parting instinctively, her back arching as I pressed against her. My mouth crashed against hers—furious, desperate, a claiming. She bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, but I didn’t pull back. Just groaned, deep in my chest, and kissed her harder, my tongue sliding against hers, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against my cock.
She didn’t fight me.
Didn’t push me away.
Just arched into me, her hands flying to my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, her hips grinding against mine. The bond flared—white-hot, violent, *complete.* My wolf howled. My fangs bared. My body screamed to *take*, to *claim*, to *ruin*.
And then—
She pulled back.
Just enough to look at me. Her lips were swollen, her eyes glassy, her breath ragged. “Say it,” she whispered. “Say you want me.”
“I *need* you,” I growled. “Can’t you feel it? The bond? The heat? The way my body *burns* for you?”
“Say it,” she repeated, her voice low, dangerous. “Say you *want* me.”
“I *do*,” I snarled. “Every damn day. Every breath. Every heartbeat. I want you. I need you. I *hate* how much I want you.”
She smiled—slow, sharp, *feline.* “Good.”
And then she kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Furious.
Desperate.
A surrender.
Her mouth opened beneath mine, her tongue sliding against mine, her hips grinding against my cock. The bond flared again—hot, sudden, *inescapable.* My hands slid beneath her robe, rough fingers tracing the curve of her hip, her thigh. She gasped, her back arching, her leg wrapping around my waist. My other hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place.
“Sloane,” I growled against her mouth. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” she panted.
I laughed, dark and rough, and kissed her harder.
Then—
A howl.
Long. Low. Primal.
From the forest.
My pack.
Calling for me.
The heat surged—violent, overwhelming. My vision blurred. My body trembled. My wolf clawed at my skin, demanding release, demanding *her*.
I broke the kiss slowly, reluctantly, my forehead resting against hers. Her breath was ragged, her lips swollen, her chest heaving. “You have to go,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” I said, my voice rough. “Not like this. Not when I’m this close to losing control.”
“Then stay,” she said, her fingers brushing my cheek. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t,” I said again. “If I stay, I’ll take you. And I won’t stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
My breath caught.
“Take me,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “Mark me. Claim me. Make me yours.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I said, stepping back, my hands dropping from her waist. “The heat—it’s not just desire. It’s madness. It’s *need*. And if I take you now, I won’t be gentle. I won’t be careful. I’ll *ruin* you.”
“Then ruin me,” she said, stepping down from the railing, her eyes blazing. “Because I’m already yours.”
The bond flared—white-hot, violent, *complete.*
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Because she was right.
She was already mine.
In blood. In magic. In *truth*.
And if the moon demanded a claiming—
Then let it be tonight.
---
I didn’t take her to the bed.
Didn’t strip her slowly. Didn’t worship her body.
Not this time.
This time, I *claimed*.
I turned, my boots silent on the stone, and pinned her against the wall beside the hearth. My hands locked around her wrists, holding them above her head, my body pressing her into the cold stone. My fangs bared. My eyes gold, molten, *wild.*
“You asked for this,” I growled. “You wanted it. Now you’ll get it.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Want.
Raw. Unfiltered. *Mine.*
And that was all I needed.
My mouth crashed against hers—furious, desperate, a battle. She bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, but I didn’t pull back. Just groaned, deep in my chest, and kissed her harder, my tongue sliding against hers, my cock thick and heavy against her stomach. My free hand slid beneath her robe, rough fingers tracing the curve of her hip, her thigh. She gasped, her back arching, her leg wrapping around my waist.
“Say it,” I growled against her mouth. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” she panted.
I laughed, dark and rough, and kissed her harder.
Then—
My hand moved.
Up. Under the fabric. Between her thighs.
And I found her.
Wet. Hot. *Aching.*
My breath stopped.
“You’re drenched,” I growled, my fingers circling her clit. “You’ve been wanting this. Wanting *me*.”
“Liar,” she gasped, her hips grinding against my hand.
“You feel it,” I said, sliding a finger inside her, deep, slow. “The bond. The truth. You don’t hate me. You’re *afraid* of how much you need me.”
She didn’t answer. Just arched into me, her breath ragged, her body trembling.
And then—
I moved.
My fingers curled, my thumb pressing against her clit, my mouth crashing against hers. She came—hard, violent, *complete*—her back arching, her cry muffled against my mouth, her body clenching around my fingers.
But I didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Not when I was this close. Not when I needed her this much.
I pulled my hand free, spun her around, and pressed her face-first into the wall. My hands tore at the fabric of her robe, ripping it open, baring her back, her ass, the curve of her spine. My cock was thick and heavy, aching, *desperate.*
And then—
I took her.
Not gentle. Not slow.
Hard. Fast. *Furious.*
I thrust into her in one brutal stroke, burying myself to the hilt, my groan tearing from my chest, her cry echoing off the stone. The bond flared—white-hot, violent, *complete.* My hands locked around her hips, holding her in place, my fangs bared, my eyes blazing gold.
“Say it,” I growled, thrusting into her again, deep, hard. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” she gasped, her body arching, her nails scraping the stone.
“Liar,” I snarled, thrusting harder, faster. “You’re *mine*. Say it.”
She didn’t answer. Just pushed back against me, her hips grinding, her body taking every stroke, her breath ragged, her scent—wild jasmine and iron, thick with arousal—flooding my senses.
And then—
She came again.
Hard. Violent. *Complete.*
Her body clenched around me, her cry tearing from her throat, her back arching, her fingers clawing at the stone. And that was all it took.
I came—deep, hot, *ruining*—my groan echoing off the walls, my body shuddering, my fangs sinking into the curve of her shoulder, not to mark, but to *claim*.
The bond flared—white-hot, violent, *complete.*
And then—
Stillness.
My breath ragged. My body trembling. My cock still buried inside her. My fangs still in her skin.
And her—
Her breath came fast, her body weak, her head resting against the wall. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, trembling, her scent—arousal, yes, but beneath it, something deeper—satisfaction. *Belonging.*
I pulled back slowly, reluctantly, my fangs releasing her, my hands dropping from her hips. She turned, her eyes glassy, her lips swollen, her body still humming with the aftershocks.
And then—
She smiled.
Slow. Sharp. *Mine.*
“You’re still an asshole,” she whispered.
I didn’t answer.
Just pulled her into my arms, holding her against my chest, my hands tangled in her hair, my face buried in her neck. The bond hummed between us—hot, sudden, *inescapable.*
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I didn’t hate it.
I *wanted* it.
“I still want to kill you,” she whispered against my skin.
“Good,” I said, my voice rough. “Means you feel it too.”