Vuk Kael Laskovic

Mine.

The word is a war drum in my skull.

I carry her through the fortress like I'm carrying the moon itself, and every wolf between me and my chambers drops to their knees so fast their spines crack. Good. Let them break. I will break the fucking world if one more person breathes the same air as her before I've buried myself inside her and made sure she'll never smell like anyone else again.

The doors to my private wing explode off their hinges the second my shoulder touches them. Wood splinters. Iron screams. I don't slow down.

I kick the bedroom door shut behind us; the impact rattles the walls hard enough to shatter a mirror. I don't care. Nothing exists except the tiny, shaking female in my arms and the scent of lunar blood and slick that is currently rewriting every law of my existence.

I set her on her feet only long enough to rip the remnants of that bastard's coat off her body. Silk tears like tissue. The collar Cassian dared put on her snaps between my fingers; I crush the silver into dust and let it fall.

She stands naked, trembling, silver eyes huge, lips bleeding where he split them.

I drop to my knees.

Not submission. Worship.

I drag my nose up the inside of her thigh, inhaling so deep my lungs burn. Her scent is everywhere: terror, grief, slick, moonlight, mine. My fangs ache. My cock is so hard the head is purple, leaking a steady stream down my thigh like I'm a boy again.

"Fuck," I snarl against her skin. "You're going to kill me and I haven't even tasted you yet."

She makes a broken sound. Her hands fist in my hair, not pushing, not pulling, just holding on like I'm the only solid thing left in her world.

I can't wait.

I lift her again, carry her into the obsidian bathroom, and step straight into the pool-sized bath without bothering with taps. Hellfire flares from my palms; the water boils in seconds, steam rising like a storm.

I lower us both into it.

She gasps as the heat hits her welts, her bruises, the raw whip marks across her back. I growl so loud the surface ripples. Someone is going to die screaming for every mark on her skin, and I already know whose heart I'll be eating raw before dawn.

I wash her myself.

My hands (hands that have ended bloodlines) move over her like I'm handling something holy and breakable. I scrub Cassian's scent from her throat, her breasts, between her legs, until the only thing left is her and me and the bond that's currently setting my blood on fire.

She's shaking, whimpering, thighs trying to close even as slick pours over my fingers.

I can't stop touching her.

I can't stop smelling her.

I can't stop hearing that single word echoing in my skull like a death knell and a prayer.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

I lift her out dripping, carry her back to the bedroom, and lay her on the black furs like I'm offering her to every dark god I've ever defied.

She stares up at me, silver eyes glowing, chest heaving.

I stand over her, robe long gone, cock jutting up against my stomach, knot already swelling at the base. My claws are fully extended. My fangs won't retract. Veins of liquid gold crawl under my skin like living fire.

I have never been this close to losing control in three and a half centuries.

I have never wanted anything the way I want to split her open and live inside her until the stars burn out.

"Look at me," I rasp.

She does.

I let her see everything: the monster, the devil, the male who will burn kingdoms to keep her.

Her thighs fall open on their own.

The growl that rips out of me is not wolf. It's not demon. It's something older, something that was born the first time the moon looked at hellfire and decided it wanted to burn.

I drop to my knees between her legs.

My hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise.

I lean down until my mouth hovers over her slick, swollen cunt, and I breathe her in like oxygen after centuries underwater.

"Three hundred and fifty years," I snarl against her, voice shredded. "I waited three hundred and fifty fucking years for this pussy, and some bastard thought he could hunt you first?"

I lick one long, filthy stripe from her entrance to her clit.

She screams, back arching off the furs.

I do it again. And again. And again.

Until she's sobbing my name, until her thighs are clamped around my head, until her slick is painted across my chin and dripping off my fangs.

Until the only word left in the universe is mine.

I rise over her, line my cock up, knot throbbing against her entrance, and meet her eyes.

"I'm going to ruin you, little moon."

The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. I'm shaking. Actually shaking. Three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old bones rattling because the tiny female beneath me is trembling harder than I am.

She should be screaming.

She should be clawing at my face, kicking, begging me to stop.

Instead her thighs fall open wider, slick glistening on swollen pink folds, and the scent of her fear-laced arousal slams into me so hard my vision whites out for a second.

Fuck.

I can taste her terror on my tongue, sharp and metallic beneath the honey of her slick. It's the most intoxicating thing I've ever swallowed. I want to drown in it.

Her chest heaves. Those perfect tits rise and fall in frantic little jerks. Silver eyes (moonlit, ancient, terrified) are locked on my face like she's staring at the end of the world.

Because she is.

She knows what I am.

She knows what's coming.

Her pulse is a trapped bird under the thin skin of her throat. I can see it fluttering. I can hear it. I can feel it in the bond that's currently carving my soul out with a dull blade and handing it to her on a silver platter.

I lean down slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch of the monster caging her in.

My cock drags up the inside of her thigh, leaving a wet trail of pre-cum and her own slick. The head nudges her entrance, thick and brutal, knot already so swollen it'll never fit without tearing her apart.

She whimpers.

A single, broken sound that spears straight through my chest and lodges behind my ribs forever.

I stop.

Because if I move now, I'll kill her.

I will literally fuck her to death and not be able to stop.

My claws dig into the furs on either side of her head, shredding them. My arms shake with the effort of holding still.

"Breathe," I snarl through fangs that won't retract.

She sucks in a ragged gasp. Tears spill from the corners of her eyes, carving silver tracks down her temples into her white-gold hair.

Good.

Cry for me, little moon.

Cry while I destroy you.

I drop my forehead to hers. My breath saws in and out, ragged and ruined.

"Look at me," I command again, softer this time.

She does.

And I let her see everything.

Every century of starvation.

Every corpse I left cooling because nothing ever filled the void.

Every time I woke up hard and furious and alone.

All of it, gone.

Because she exists.

Because she's here.

Because she's mine.

Her lips part on a sob.

"Vuk..." she whispers.

The first time anyone has said my name in three centuries without permission.

The first time anyone has said it like a prayer instead of a curse.

I lose the last thread of control.

I thrust.

One brutal, punishing stroke that buries me to the hilt inside the tightest, hottest heaven I've ever known.

She screams.

The sound rips through the room, high and shattered and perfect.

Her walls clamp down so hard my vision blacks out. Her nails rake bloody furrows down my back. Her legs lock around my waist like she'll die if I pull out.

I can't move.

I can't fucking move.

Because if I do, I'll come instantly, knot swelling, locking us together while I pump her so full she'll taste me in her throat for weeks.

I drop my weight onto my forearms, caging her completely, and bury my face in her neck.

Her scent is everywhere. Inside me. Under my skin. Rewriting my fucking DNA.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

I lick the crescent scar at her throat (Selene's mark) and feel her whole body jolt.

"Say it," I growl against her pulse. "Say who you belong to."

She's crying harder now, shaking her head, but her hips roll up to meet mine like she can't help it.

I pull out slow, torturously slow, until only the head is inside, then slam back in so hard the headboard cracks against the wall.

She screams again.

"Say it."

Another slow drag out. Another brutal thrust in.

Her back bows off the furs. Her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood.

"Yours," she sobs. "I'm yours, I'm yours, please-"

The word please undoes me.

I fuck her like the world is ending.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

Every thrust punches a broken sound from her throat. Every drag back makes her chase my cock like she'll die without it. The wet slap of our bodies is obscene. The scent of sex and blood and slick is so thick I can taste it.

Her walls flutter around me, the first warning.

I snarl, fangs scraping her shoulder.

"Not yet."

I slow down, grinding deep, rolling my hips until she's keening, tears streaming, begging in broken little gasps.

Only when she's right on the edge, shaking apart beneath me, do I let myself go.

I slam in one final time.

My knot swells, locking us together.

I bite down on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder (hard, deep, permanent).

Blood floods my mouth. Lunar power explodes across my tongue like starlight and sin.

She comes with a scream that shatters something inside both of us.

Her cunt milks my cock in vicious pulses, dragging my own release out of me in thick, endless ropes. I roar against her skin, hips jerking, pumping her full until it leaks around my knot and soaks the furs beneath us.

I keep coming.

I can't stop.

I don't want to stop.

I collapse on top of her, careful not to crush her even while the beast inside me howls to keep her pinned forever.

She's crying quietly now, soft, overwhelmed sobs that make my chest ache in ways I didn't know it could.

I lick the bite closed, gentle, reverent.

Then I press my forehead to hers again.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, voice wrecked. "I'm sorry, little moon. I tried to be gentle. I swear I tried."

She laughs through her tears (a tiny, broken sound that spears straight through my heart).

"You weren't gentle," she whispers. "You were perfect."

I close my eyes.

Three hundred and fifty years.

And in one night, one tiny lunar girl rewrote every rule of my existence.

I'm never letting her go.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not when the sun burns out and the gods themselves turn to dust.

She is mine.

And I am hers.

Forever.

_Maureen Laurent

I wake up drowning in him.

The black furs are soaked with us-sex and sweat and blood-and they cling to my skin like a second, heavier shame.

My thighs are sticky.

My breasts ache.

Between my legs feels swollen, tender, used in a way that makes heat crawl up my neck even now.

The bite on my shoulder throbs with every heartbeat, a living brand that whispers his name over and over.

Vuk.

Vuk.

Vuk.

I reach for him before my eyes are even open, fingers searching the ruined bed for seven feet of scorching heat and golden eyes.

Nothing.

The sheets beside me are cold.

My stomach caves in.

I sit up too fast. The room tilts. Every muscle protests; my thighs tremble, and something warm and thick slides out of me and down the inside of my leg.

His seed.

Still inside me.

Still leaking.

Proof.

I yank the fur up to my chin like it can hide me from what I let him do-what I begged him to do.

The mirror across the room is shattered.

The floor is littered with shredded silk and silver dust that used to be a collar.

The headboard has claw marks gouged so deep the obsidian shows pale scars.

My white slip lies in ribbons, soaked crimson at the hem.

It wasn't a dream.

He really pinned me down and split me open and bit me and called me his while the entire fortress shook with his roar.

And then he left.

My breath hitches. My eyes burn.

I press shaking fingers to the bite. The skin is raised, hot, perfect half-moons of his fangs. When I touch it, pleasure stabs straight between my legs so sharply I gasp and jerk my hand away like I've been burned.

A sob tries to crawl up my throat. I swallow it.

I force myself to the edge of the bed. My legs refuse to hold me. I collapse to my knees on the cold floor, fur clutched to my chest, and for one humiliating second I just kneel there-naked and dripping with the Alpha Devil's come, terrified he's already bored of me.

The silence is crushing.

I crawl-actually crawl-to the foot of the bed and grab the post to haul myself upright.

My reflection in a cracked shard of mirror shows a stranger:

silver eyes too wide,

lips swollen,

throat ringed with bruises shaped like his fingers,

breasts marked with his mouth,

bite shining wet and fresh.

I look claimed.

I look ruined.

I look like exactly what he called me: his.

And he's not here.

The sob wins this time. It tears out of me, small and broken and ugly.

That's when the door opens.

I whirl, clutching the fur tighter, heart slamming against my ribs.

A woman steps inside-petite, maybe mid-thirties, dark hair in a severe knot, wearing a simple black dress with a silver crest over the heart. She closes the door softly behind her and dips into a curtsy so perfect it feels rehearsed for centuries.

"Good morning, Miss," she says, voice gentle, almost warm. "My name is Livia. From this day forward, I am your personal maid."

She straightens, meets my eyes without fear or disgust, and smiles like she's looking at a queen instead of a naked, freshly knotted, tear-stained mess.

"I've been instructed to see to your every need."

She pauses, gaze softening as it drifts over the fresh, glistening bite on my shoulder, the purple fingerprints blooming across my throat, the way my knees knock together like a newborn fawn's.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss," she says again, quieter this time, as if the words themselves are afraid to startle me.

My tongue feels thick, coated in ash and him.

"I... um... can I get water at least?" The question comes out cracked, barely louder than a breath.

Livia's eyes crinkle-not quite a smile, but close. She dips her head in the smallest nod and slips out the door without a sound. It closes with a whisper-soft click.

I count my heartbeats.

One,

two,

three-

The door opens again. She's back, holding a crystal bottle beaded with condensation. The water inside looks impossibly clear, almost silver in the torchlight.

She uncaps it for me-my hands are shaking too hard-and presses it gently to my lips.

I drink like I've been lost in the desert for weeks. Greedy, sloppy gulps that spill down my chin and onto the black silk still clinging to my breasts. I don't care. I can't stop.

When it's empty I lower it with trembling fingers, water dripping from my bottom lip, and look up at her. My eyes feel too big, too glassy, like a child waiting to be scolded.

Livia takes it gently, sets it aside, then simply opens her arms a little-not quite a hug, just an offer.

I don't even think. I let the fur drop and stumble into her.

She catches me like she's done this a hundred times.

She guides me into the bathroom, sits me on the edge of the massive obsidian tub, and starts the water. The moment the steam hits the bite on my shoulder, I whimper. It still feels alive, pulsing with him.

Livia doesn't flinch at the marks. She just wets a cloth and starts washing his seed from between my thighs with the same care someone might wash blood from a wound: careful, practiced, silent.

I finally find my voice, small and cracked.

"He... he's going to kill me now, isn't he?"

I don't know why I ask her. Maybe because she's the first person who's looked at me like I'm still human.

Livia stills for a heartbeat. Then she meets my eyes in the mirror.

"The lord does whatever he wishes, Miss," she says quietly. No cruelty, no comfort-just truth. "But I have served in this fortress for thirty-two years. I have never seen him carry a female through the halls like she was the only thing keeping the world from burning. I have never seen him shatter his own doors to get her inside faster. And I have never-" her gaze drops to the bite, then back up "-seen that mark on anyone who lived past the next sunrise... who wasn't his mate."

My breath catches so hard it hurts.

She resumes washing me, gentler now.

"So no, Miss. I do not think he plans to kill you." A tiny, sad smile. "I think he is trying very hard not to scare you more than he already has."

I don't believe her. I can't. Hope is too dangerous here.

She dresses me in a soft black silk gown-no underwear again, of course-and braids my hair with steady fingers. A little makeup to hide the worst of the bruising around my mouth. When she's finished I look almost... regal. Like someone who belongs at a devil's side.

She walks me back into the bedroom. Someone has already changed the sheets, swept up the glass, erased every trace of last night except the scent of him that still clings to my skin.

Livia stops at the door.

"You are not to leave these rooms unless the lord sends for you himself. Food will be brought. If you need anything-anything at all-pull the bell cord. I will come."

She hesitates, then adds, softer, "You are safe here, Miss. Safer than any creature in this dominion has ever been."

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

I stand in the middle of the vast, spotless room, alone again.

My fingers drift to the bite.

Safe.

The bond thrums under my skin like a second heartbeat, warm and alive and terrifying.

He didn't throw me away.

He didn't kill me.

He sent someone to take care of me.

The door opens without a sound.

I'm still folded in on myself, arms tight around my ribs, when his presence floods the room like a tide of heat and midnight. The torches bow. My heartbeat stutters.

Vuk.

He is dressed in simple black-no armor, no crown, no blood. Just loose linen trousers and a shirt half-open at the throat. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face, and the golden glow in his eyes is banked low, almost gentle.

I scramble backward anyway. My spine hits the bedframe and I sink to the floor, knees folding under me, palms pressed to the furs.

"Please," I whisper, voice cracking. "Please don't kill me. I'll be good, I swear, I'll-"

The words die.

Because he drops.

Not in violence.

Not in threat.

He lowers himself to his knees right there on the rug, slow and deliberate, until we are eye-level. Seven feet of ruin and flame brought low for me.

He doesn't reach yet. He simply waits, palms open on his thighs, letting me see the tremor in his fingers.

"Little moon," he says, so softly it hurts. "Why would I ever kill the only part of me that feels alive?"

I can't breathe. Tears spill hot and silent.

He crawls forward-one careful movement at a time-until his knees brush mine. Still he doesn't touch. He just bows his head, presses his forehead to the floor between us, and stays there.

The Alpha Devil on his knees.

Submitting.

"I left," he murmurs into the rug, voice ragged, "because I was terrified I'd hurt you more if I stayed. You were bleeding. You were shaking. And I-" A broken laugh. "I have never once in three and a half centuries been afraid of anything. Then I looked at you and thought: if I crush her, I will follow her into death myself."

_Vuk Kael Lasković

The war room was carved from the bones of the mountain itself.

Black glass walls, veins of living hellfire crawling behind them like slow lightning.

Holographic screens hovered above the obsidian table: dominion borders, troop movements, satellite feeds of every pack house from here to the southern ice.

All of it flickered crimson and gold, breathing in time with my pulse.

I sat at the head, shirtless, the bite on my shoulder still raw and shining.

Every breath tasted of her.

Every heartbeat dragged me back to the memory of her thighs locked around my hips, her broken little sob when the knot finally seated.

Three hours and nineteen minutes.

Too long.

Elder Darius stood to my left, silver beard brushing the tablet in his gnarled hands, pretending to read decrees he already knew by heart.

He had not looked directly at me since I walked in.

The doors opened.

Eryx stepped through first.

"My lord," he said, voice low. "Cassian Voss requests an audience. Claims it is... urgent pack business."

A faint smirk pulled at my mouth.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

The holo-screens stuttered; golden veins spider-webbed across them like cracks in glass.

I inclined my head once.

Eryx moved aside.

Cassian Voss strode in as though the floor belonged to him.

Black suit cut sharp enough to bleed, bloodstone cufflinks catching the hellfire light.

He stopped the regulation six feet away and bowed, perfectly angled, perfectly late by half a heartbeat.

"Alpha Devil," he said, smooth and loud enough for the walls to hear. "An honor, as always, to stand in your presence."

His pulse was a war drum against my eardrums.

Fast.

Terrified.

Delicious.

I said nothing.

Cassian straightened.

The smile stayed plastered on, but the scent of his fear thickened, sour and wet.

"I come on a matter of... misappropriated assets," he began, voice still polished. "Ten million, paid in full at last night's auction. A rare acquisition from the southern packs: untouched, lunar-veined. A significant investment."

He let the pause hang, expectant.

"And this morning that asset appears to have been... relocated. Without discussion. Without compensation."

Silence.

The shadows in the corners of the room stretched longer, crawling across the floor like living oil.

Elder Darius's knuckles went white around his tablet.

Eryx did not breathe.

Cassian's fingers tightened on the data-pad he carried.

I watched the tremor travel up his wrists.

"Such disputes," he pressed on, "could unsettle the council. A simple acknowledgment of the original transaction, perhaps a reimbursement, or return of the item in question-"

I traced one claw along the edge of the obsidian table.

The stone hissed.

A smoking black groove followed my touch, curling like a burn scar.

Cassian's voice faltered.

He means my mate.

My moon.

The only thing in three and a half centuries that has ever made the void inside me quiet.

And he dares speak of her as though she were cattle.

Elder Darius finally spoke, barely a whisper. "Lord Cassian. Choose your next word with care."

Cassian ignored him.

Sweat beaded at his hairline.

"I only seek what is mine by right of purchase," he said, louder now, reckless. "The girl is my property-"

The room went perfectly still.

I rose.

The holograms winked out one by one, as though someone had pulled their plugs.

The hellfire behind the glass walls flared white-hot, then sank to a sullen ember.

I walked forward until the tips of my boots touched his.

Until he had to crane his neck to hold my gaze.

"Property," I repeated, soft as a confession.

Cassian tried to step back.

He couldn't.

The air had thickened into something solid around him.

I lifted one hand and closed it around his jaw.

My thumb pressed the hinge until bone creaked.

"Open your mouth."

A whimper escaped him.

I waited.

His lips parted on a sob.

I slid two claws inside, hooked the wet muscle of his tongue, and drew it forward until his eyes bulged and tears ran red.

"Pack decree seven," I said, conversational, almost gentle. "No wolf speaks of the Luna as chattel. The penalty is loss of the offending organ."

Cassian thrashed.

Muffled, wet pleas vibrated against my fingers.

I looked into his eyes the entire time.

One clean, deliberate slice.

The tongue came away in my hand, warm and heavy.

Blood sheeted down his chin, soaked the white of his shirt, spattered the dead holo-map in thick crimson drops.

He collapsed to his knees, hands clawing at his ruined mouth, gargled screams filling the room.

I let the tongue fall.

It hit the floor with a soft, wet sound.

"Compensation rendered," I said to no one in particular.

I wiped my hand on the breast of his ruined jacket, slow, thorough, as though cleaning a blade.

Then I turned my back on him.

"Burn the carpet," I told Eryx without looking. "And send what's left of him to the southern border. Let them see what happens when they sell what belongs to me."

The doors opened before I reached them.

I was already moving.

Three hours and twenty-four minutes.

I was done waiting.

My mate was somewhere above me, breathing, bleeding, carrying my mark and my seed.

And I was coming for her.

Everything else could rot.

I find her exactly where Livia was told to put her.

The grand balcony doors stand open to the night.

Wind howls off the mountain, carrying snow and starlight, whipping her white-gold hair like a battle standard.

She is on her knees in the center of the vast obsidian floor, naked, palms open on her thighs, spine straight, head bowed.

Moonlight pours over her like liquid silver.

The bite on her shoulder glows faintly.

The crescent scar at the base of her neck catches the light and throws it back, brighter, purer, holy.

She is waiting for me the way the oldest stories say a Luna waits for her Alpha.

The way no female has ever waited for me in three and a half centuries.

The sight punches the air from my lungs.

I stop in the doorway.

For one heartbeat I cannot move.

Cassian's blood is still drying under my claws.

I can still taste his fear.

And none of it matters.

She hears me.

Her shoulders jerk, but she does not lift her head.

I cross the balcony in silence.

The wind dies the moment I step into the moonlight, as though the night itself is holding its breath.

I drop to my knees in front of her.

The stone is freezing, unforgiving, exactly the way it should be.

My hands (still flecked with another male's blood) rise slowly and cup her face.

She is trembling.

I tilt her chin until those silver eyes meet mine.

There are tears on her lashes, but she is not crying now.

She is offering.

I brush my thumbs across her cheekbones, smearing faint red streaks that are not hers.

Then I lean forward and press my lips to the bite I left on her shoulder, gentle, reverent, the way a pilgrim kisses sacred ground.

The growl that leaves me is not rage, not lust, but something older, something that has no name.

"Never again," I whisper against her skin. "No one will ever put a price on you again."

Her breath hitches.

I pull back just far enough to look at her.

The wind picks up once more, but it moves around us now, as though afraid to touch.

I rise, pulling her up with me.

She comes willingly, but her legs shake so hard they almost can't lock them around my waist.

A soft, broken whimper spills from her lips when her slick folds drag over the ridge of my cock through the leathers.

She buries her face in my neck, hiding, trembling, little fingers clutching my shoulders like I'm the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I carry her the ten steps to the balustrade.

Every stride makes her cunt grind against me; every grind tears another helpless sound from her throat, quiet, frightened, wet.

At the railing I lower her slowly.

The stone is ice against her bare thighs.

A thousand-foot drop yawns behind her back.

She gasps, arms flying around my neck, nails digging in.

Not from lust, from terror of the drop, from the cold, from the size of me, from everything that has happened in the last day.

Her whole body is shaking, tears already slipping free, silver tracks on her cheeks that freeze almost instantly in the wind.

I cage her there with my body, one forearm braced beside her head, the other hand sliding between us.

I don't ask.

I don't speak.

I simply open my leathers and fist my cock once, slow, letting her feel the heat and weight of it against her belly.

She whimpers again, higher, tries to close her thighs on instinct.

I wedge my hips between them and spread her wider.

The head nudges her entrance, already drenched, swollen, fluttering.

She's so small against me I have to fight the urge to split her in half.

I push in.

One long, merciless thrust and I'm seated to the hilt.

Her cry is thin and shattered, carried away on the wind.

Her walls clamp down in panic and pleasure at once, spasming around the invasion, trying to push me out and pull me deeper in the same breath.

Tears pour faster; her mouth opens on silent sobs, lips trembling against my throat.

I stay buried, letting her feel every burning inch, letting the knot press threateningly at her entrance.

My hand cups the back of her skull, forcing her to stay pressed to me.

"Breathe, little moon," I rasp against her ear, voice rough but steady. "Breathe. I have you."

She tries.

A broken inhale, another whimper, her body slowly softening, yielding even while it shakes.

Only when the tears slow do I move.

Slow, deep strokes at first, dragging out, slamming back in, each one punching a new sob from her lungs.

Her nails rake my back, not urging, just clinging for life.

Snowflakes catch on her lashes; moonlight turns the tears on her cheeks to diamonds.

I angle my hips, find that spot inside her that makes her jerk and cry out louder, and stay there, grinding until her sobs fracture into something else, something helpless and needy that isn't quite begging yet.

The knot begins to swell.

I feel it catch on every withdrawal, stretching her rim, forcing her to take more, more, more.

She starts shaking her head against my shoulder, overwhelmed, frightened of the size, of the burn, of how full she already is.

I don't stop.

One arm locks under her ass, lifting her slightly so the angle is brutal, the other hand collars her throat, gentle but immovable, keeping her exactly where I want her.

"Look at me," I order, low.

Her eyes flutter open, glassy, terrified, luminous.

I drive forward again and the knot finally breaches.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream, back bowing off the stone, tears streaming sideways into her hair.

Her cunt locks down in violent pulses, milking me before I've even started to come.

I roar into the night, hips jerking, pumping her full in thick, endless ropes until it spills out around the knot and drips down the ancient stone of the balcony, steaming in the snow.

She's sobbing openly now, soft, overwhelmed, clinging to me with everything she has, face hidden against my throat while her body still fluttering around the knot in helpless aftershocks.

I stay buried deep, arms wrapped around her so tightly she can barely breathe, letting the wind howl and the dominion watch.

Let them see.

Let them all see what happens to anyone who ever thought they could own her.

I press my lips to her temple, tasting salt and snow and her.

"Mine," I whisper into her hair, voice ragged. "Only mine."