– Nyxara

The balcony doors hadn't even stopped swinging when the first howl hit.

I felt it in my bones, in my cunt, in the base of my tail.

Seven thousand wolves singing at once-like the mountain itself had learned how to scream in devotion.

Azrael's fingers were still buried knuckle-deep inside me, frozen mid-thrust, gold eyes wide and furious.

He'd been two heartbeats from knotting me against the war-room window when the sound wave crashed through the fortress.

Now his claws pricked my hips hard enough to draw thin lines of blood.

"He actually did it," he snarled, voice shredded with disbelief and raw, black jealousy.

"He knotted her in front of the entire dominion."

I laughed-low, filthy, delighted-and coiled my tail tight around his wrist so he couldn't pull those fingers free.

"Of course he did, darling," I purred, rolling my hips until his knuckles kissed the mouth of my womb.

"The devil just found his god."

Azrael's answering growl vibrated straight through my spine.

He hated losing control.

He hated even more that he couldn't tear his eyes off the holo-feed still burning across the glass: Vuk's massive frame silhouetted in moonlight, the tiny white-haired girl impaled and shaking on his knot, both of them glowing like a fallen star swallowed by hellfire.

I licked a slow stripe up his throat, tasting smoke and pure envy.

"Careful, Az," I whispered against his racing pulse. "Keep glaring like that and I'll think you're jealous of a mortal."

He moved faster than thought.

One second his fingers were inside me;

the next his hand was gone, spinning me, slamming my bare breasts smashing against cold glass as he kicked my thighs wider.

Then he drove into me.

No warning.

No gentleness.

Just one brutal, punishing thrust that buried every thick, ridged inch of his cock to the root.

The window cracked under my palms-spiderwebs of fracture blooming outward from where my claws scraped for purchase.

I screamed, half laughter, half sob, as my cunt stretched around him, burning and perfect.

He didn't pause.

He pulled back until only the flared head of his cock kissed my entrance, then slammed home again-harder-deeper-until his heavy balls slapped against my clit made obscene, wet sounds echo through the war room.

"Mine," he snarled against my ear, teeth scraping the shell.

"Say it."

I bared my fangs in a grin and shoved back, taking him to the hilt, grinding my ass against his hips.

"Make me."

That earned me a roar.

He fisted my white hair, yanking my head back until my throat was a taut, vulnerable line.

His other hand clamped around my neck, claws pricking just enough to threaten.

Then he fucked me like the world was ending.

Every thrust brutal.

Every drag of his ridged shaft lighting up every nerve inside me.

His knot began to swell on the outstroke, catching at my rim, stretching me wider, forcing me to take more-more-until I was sobbing his name into the cracked glass, drool smearing the pane.

He didn't stop.

He hammered into me, pace savage, relentless, hips snapping with demonic strength.

Each time his knot popped past my entrance I felt myself split open and remade, the burn so exquisite I saw stars.

My tail lashed wildly, coiling around his thigh, urging him deeper.

"Greedy little succubus," he growled, voice wrecked.

"You want this knot? You want me to breed this cunt while the whole pack howls for someone else?"

"Yes-fuck-yes-"

He gave it to me.

One final, punishing thrust and his knot locked.

The stretch was blinding.

I came with a silent scream, walls spasming around the impossible girth, milking him as he started to spill.

Hot.

Endless.

Jet after jet of demonic seed flooding me so deep I felt it in my womb.

He kept coming, hips jerking in tiny, helpless thrusts, grinding that knot against my g-spot until I came again-harder-shaking so violently the glass rattled in its frame.

We stayed locked like that, trembling, panting, his teeth scraping my shoulder where a claiming bite would go if I were anyone else.

His cum was already leaking around his knot, sliding in thick rivulets down my thighs, mixing with my own slick until the scent of us was obscene.

Only then did the knock come.

Three measured taps.

Only one male in this fortress knocks like the doors already belong to him.

Azrael's growl vibrated through my spine and straight into my over-sensitized cunt.

I just smiled-slow, sharp, and clenched around his knot until he cursed like a prayer.

"Easy, love," I purred, sliding off him with deliberate, cruel grace.

His cock slipped free with a wet, filthy sound, his spend gushing out of me in a hot rush, painting my thighs, dripping onto the marble in thick white ropes.

I didn't bother wiping it away.

I was still naked except for the ruined scrap of white silk clinging to one breast and the skirt that barely covered my ass.

Perfect.

Azrael reached for me, eyes molten.

I danced out of his grasp, tail flicking teasingly across his still-hard, slick-shining cock.

"Let me go see what the devil wants," I said, voice syrupy sin.

I pressed a soft, filthy kiss to his mouth-tasting myself, tasting him-and walked out, barefoot, dripping, thoroughly claimed and utterly unrepentant.

The corridor was colder.

Two guards snapped to attention.

One of them-young, stupid, brave-let out a low whistle I hadn't asked for.

I stopped.

Turned my head.

My eyes flared violet, pupils narrowing to slits.

"Fuck off, loser," I said, sweet as poison.

He dropped to his knees so fast his helmet rang against the stone.

I kept walking, hips rolling, tail swaying like a metronome of ruin.

The doors to Vuk's private chamber opened before I touched them.

He was waiting.

Shirtless, leathers unlaced, the fresh bite on his shoulder glowing gold against bronze skin.

Behind him, on the obsidian bed, his little moon slept curled in black furs-white-gold hair spilling everywhere, lips swollen, thighs still trembling in her dreams.

The scent of sex and mate-bond hung so thick in the air I could have gotten drunk on it.

Vuk's gaze dragged over me, slow, deliberate, lingering on the slick shining between my legs.

I let him look.

Then I liked the way his nostrils flared.

"My Lord," I said, voice velvet and venom.

"I know you met with Cassian's emissary three nights ago," he said, low and flat. "Every word. Now."

I stepped closer, close enough that my tail brushed his boot.

"Careful, Alpha Devil," I murmured. "I'm a succubus. I don't kneel. I don't pledge. I don't belong to anyone."

I tilted my head, let my gaze drop to the sleeping girl, then back up to him.

"But I will say this for free..."

I leaned in until my lips almost brushed his ear.

"Congratulations on finding your god, Vuk Lasković."

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

"She's going to burn the world down wearing your mark. And I, for one, can't wait to watch."

"That isn't the answer to my question, seductress."

I let my tongue trace my lower lip, slow.

"Well, I chose not to answer... my Lord."

A faint, broken whimper floated across the room.

Both of us turned at the same time.

Maureen was sitting up in the middle of the massive bed, black furs clutched to her chest like armor made of fear. White-gold hair tumbled everywhere, silver eyes huge and glassy, skin so pale it looked translucent in the hellfire light. The bite on her shoulder still glowed, fresh and possessive, a brand that shimmered every time her pulse fluttered.

She stared at me like I was the first demon she'd ever seen in the flesh.

And I suppose I was.

Her terror hit my tongue like champagne: pure, bright, intoxicating.

I felt my tail flick once, hungry.

Vuk moved before I could blink: one step toward the bed, shoulders rolling like a wolf ready to tear apart anything that looked at his mate wrong.

I lifted both hands, palms open, smile softening into something almost gentle.

"Well, well," I murmured, voice velvet and smoke. "Didn't mean to wake the beauty in distress."

Maureen's knuckles went white around the fur. Her gaze darted from my horns to my tail to the slick still shining on my thighs, then snapped to Vuk, pleading.

Vuk's growl was low thunder.

"Nyxara."

I ignored him.

I took one slow step closer to the bed, letting my tail curl lazily behind me like a cat deciding whether to pounce.

"Hello, little moon," I said, soft enough that only she and Vuk could hear. "I'm Nyx. I don't bite unless invited."

A lie, but a pretty one.

Her lips parted on a shaky breath. No sound came out.

I let my gaze drag over her slowly: the bruises shaped like Vuk's fingers on her throat, the faint glow of the crescent scar at the base of her spine, the way her thighs pressed together under the fur like she was still feeling him inside her.

Delicious.

I turned back to Vuk, smile sharpening again.

"Cassian's emissary offered me a fortune to find a way to cage her again," I said, conversational. "I took the money. Haven't decided what to do with it yet."

Maureen Laurent

Livia was pointing out the stained-glass windows in the upper gallery when the moan drifted up the stairwell.

Low. Filthy. Unashamed.

My feet stopped moving on their own.

Down on the mezzanine below, Nyxara had some poor captain of the guard pinned to a column. Her tail was coiled around his throat like a velvet leash while her hand worked inside his open leathers with slow, cruel precision. His head was thrown back, fangs bared to the ceiling, hips jerking helplessly into her grip.

I should have looked away.

I didn't.

Heat crawled up my throat, equal parts horror and something darker I refused to name.

A soft gasp slipped out of me before I could stop it.

Nyxara's violet eyes snapped up instantly. Found me. Held.

The guard kept thrusting into her hand like a puppet with its strings cut, but Nyxara smiled, slow and sharp, never breaking rhythm.

"Well," she purred, voice carrying easily over the wet sounds and the male's broken groans, "if it isn't the little moon herself."

Livia stepped half in front of me, voice trembling. "Lady Nyxara, the Luna is-"

"Perfectly capable of speaking," Nyxara cut in, eyes still locked on mine. She gave the guard one last lazy stroke, then let him go. He slid down the column in a boneless heap, cock still hard and glistening, chest heaving.

Nyxara wiped her fingers on his cheek like he was a napkin and started up the stairs toward us, tail swaying like a metronome of ruin.

Every instinct screamed at me to drop my gaze.

I didn't.

I lifted my chin instead.

She stopped one step below me-so we were eye-level-and tilted her head. The scent of sex and brimstone rolled off her in waves.

"Enjoying the tour, pearl?" she asked, soft as sin.

My pulse hammered so hard I felt it in the bite mark on my shoulder. Vuk's mark. Still tender. Still glowing faintly under the silk.

I forced my voice steady. "I was. Until the furniture started moaning."

A delighted laugh spilled out of her. "Oh, I like you."

Livia made a tiny strangled sound.

Nyxara's tail flicked out, quick as a whip, and curled loosely around my wrist-not tight, just a warm, velvet reminder that she could crush bone if she wanted.

"Run along, Livia," she said without looking away from me. "I'll finish the tour."

Livia hesitated, eyes darting to me in panic.

I gave her the smallest nod.

Because I was tired of being dragged around like a fragile ornament.

Because the Luna of the Northern Dominion does not cower behind her maid.

And because something vicious and curious inside me wanted to see how far this succubus would push before she bled.

Nyxara's smile widened, like she heard every thought.

She tugged once on my wrist, gentle but undeniable.

"Come, Pearl," she murmured. "Let me show you what the pack house looks like."I let her lead me down the stairs, past the guard still panting on the floor.

But I didn't lower my eyes.

Not once.

Nyxara didn't speak again until we were three corridors away from the moaning guard.

She walked like the fortress belonged to her hips alone, tail swaying, claws clicking softly on the obsidian floor.

Every wolf we passed dropped their eyes and bared their throat. She didn't acknowledge a single one.

Finally she glanced sideways at me, violet eyes glittering.

"Everyone knows you came from the southern auction block, Pearl," she said, voice lazy. "But no one seems to know how a lunar-veined virgin ended up on the slab in the first place. Care to enlighten me?"

I exhaled through my nose. The air tasted of brimstone and old blood.

"My fiancé sold me," I said quietly. "Silas Vane. He and his family murdered my parents, my unborn brother, everyone I had. Then they forged the papers that said I was born rogue, no pack, no rights. Ten million was apparently the going rate for my corpse once they'd bled the Laurent land dry."

I expected pity. Or a dramatic gasp.

I got neither.

Nyxara stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, turned to face me fully, and stared like I'd grown a second head.

"You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you were engaged to that golden-haired southern peacock, and you didn't notice he was a backstabbing, mother-murdering, sister-fucking psychopath until he literally sold you at auction?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. "He was... convincing."

"Pearl." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've met rocks with better survival instincts."

A surprised laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. It hurt my ribs, but it felt good.

Nyxara's mouth curved, not quite gentle, but warmer than anything she'd shown me so far.

"Men," she sighed, resuming her walk. "They smile with knives behind their teeth and we still spread our legs for the sparkle. You're lucky the Moon Goddess has a sense of humor. She took your trash and traded up for the actual Devil."

I bit my lip. "I'm not sure 'lucky' is the word I'd use."

"No?" She arched a brow. "You're breathing. You're unmarked by anyone except the most powerful wolf alive. And you made him kneel, Pearl. I felt the bond snap into place from three floors away. That doesn't happen to unlucky girls."

We stepped through an archway into the upper gallery that overlooked the main hall. Down below, wolves in silver masks moved like ghosts, carrying trays of black wine and whispering about the tongue-less lord bleeding out in the infirmary.

Nyxara leaned her forearms on the balustrade, tail curling idly around the stone.

"So," she said, softer now, "are you enjoying the place?"

I followed her gaze. Torchlight flickered over statues of snarling wolves and crucified angels. Blood still stained the snow visible through the tall windows. Somewhere far off, chains rattled and someone screamed.

I thought of silk sheets soaked in us.

Of Vuk on his knees in front of me this morning, forehead pressed to the floor, voice cracked open and bleeding apology.

Of the way my body still carried his seed like it had decided to stay forever.

I wrapped my arms around myself.

"I didn't expect my mate to be the Alpha Devil," I admitted, voice barely above the wind. "It feels like the greatest privilege in the world... and the heaviest curse ever sewn into my skin."

Nyxara's tail stilled mid-curl.

For once the succubus didn't answer with a barb or a purr. She just studied me, violet eyes unreadable, like she was seeing something she hadn't expected to find.

Then the air changed.

It always does when he's close. Torches flare higher. The temperature spikes. My skin prickles like the moment before lightning.

Vuk stepped through the archway without a sound, yet every wolf in the hall below dropped to one knee in perfect synchrony, as if an invisible hand had pressed them to the stone.

He didn't look at them.

He looked only at me.

Seven feet of black linen and barely leashed violence, hair still damp from training, shirt half-open, the bite I'd left on his shoulder glowing gold against bronze skin. His gaze swept over me like hands, possessive and starving, and the bond in my chest yanked so hard I swayed.

Nyxara sighed theatrically. "And there it is. The devil on his leash."

Vuk crossed the gallery in four strides. He didn't slow, didn't speak; he simply slid one arm around my waist, hauled me off my feet, and crushed his mouth to mine.

It wasn't a greeting.

It was a claiming.

His tongue swept in like he needed to taste that I was still real, still his. Fangs grazed my lip. A growl rumbled from his chest straight into mine, vibrating through the bond until my knees buckled. I made a helpless sound against his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders more for balance than anything else.

He kissed me until my lungs burned and the world narrowed to the heat of him, the scrape of his stubble, the way his hand fisted in my hair like he was afraid I'd vanish if he let go.

When he finally pulled back an inch, his eyes were molten gold, pupils blown wide.

"Little moon," he rasped, voice shredded. "Four hours. I almost tore the fortress apart."

Nyxara made a loud gagging noise behind us. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I had her for seven minutes. Seven. I didn't even get to the good gossip."

Vuk didn't look away from me. "Leave us."

A flick of two fingers, like swatting a fly.

Nyxara's tail lashed once, hard enough to crack the air. "Charming as ever, my lord." She leaned in, lips brushing my ear so only I could hear. "He's worse when he's starving, Pearl. Remember that."

Then she was gone, hips rolling, tail flicking a lazy goodbye to the entire hall.

The moment her footsteps faded, Vuk's arms tightened until I could feel every thundering beat of his heart against my ribs.

"I missed you," he said against my temple, the words rough, almost angry. "I sat in council and smelled you on my skin and nearly killed three elders for breathing too loud."

I swallowed. My palms were still flat against his chest; I could feel the tremor running through him, ancient, immortal muscle shaking because I hadn't been in the same room.

"Vuk," I started, voice small, "it was only four hours."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the raw desperation in his eyes stole my breath.

"Four hours is a lifetime when you've waited three hundred and fifty years," he said. "When every second without you feels like claws in my ribs. You don't understand yet. Mortal hearts beat fast; immortal ones learn to live half-dead. Then you walked in and mine remembered how to beat at all. And now it won't slow down. It won't ever slow down again."

His thumb brushed my lower lip, gentle and reverent and terrifying.

"I'm not overdoing it, Maureen. I'm barely holding on."

– Maureen Laurent

His arms are still around me, warm and iron-strong. The bond hums between us, bright and insistent, pulling me closer even as something inside me panics.

I draw a careful breath.

"Can I ask you something?" The words come out smaller than I intend.

His eyes soften instantly. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, thumb lingering on my cheek.

"Anything, little moon."

I swallow. My fingers tighten on the front of his shirt - not pushing away, just holding on.

"May I... have a little space? Just for today." My voice drops to barely a whisper. "Everything feels... too much. Too fast. I'm not running from you. I just... need to breathe."

The hurt flickers across his face again, quick and sharp, but he masters it almost instantly. His arms loosen - not dropping, but giving me room.

He searches my eyes for a long moment, as if checking for lies or fear he can fix with his hands.

Then he nods, slow and deliberate.

"You never have to ask permission to breathe, Maureen." His voice is rough, but steady. "Take all the time you need. The rooms are yours. The fortress is yours. I will stay away until you call for me."

He presses one gentle kiss to my forehead - lingering, like he's forcing himself to let go - then steps back.

The distance feels cold.

But it also feels like the first real gift he's ever given me: choice.

I whisper a thank-you, then slip away before the tears start.

The walk back to the chambers is a blur. As soon as the heavy doors close behind me, I exhale - a long, shaky breath I didn't know I was holding.

Livia is already there, arranging fresh linens. She looks up, eyes kind but sharp.

"Are you all right, Miss?"

I force a small nod. "Yes. I am."

She doesn't push. Just bows her head and quietly leaves a tray of tea and bread before slipping out.

I crawl onto the massive bed and lie there, staring at the obsidian ceiling. Boredom creeps in fast - the kind that's heavy and suffocating. There's nothing to do but think.

And thinking is dangerous.

My mind drifts back to my parents. To the warmth of my mother's hand on my cheek. My father calling me "little star." The way my unborn brother kicked under her palm the last time I saw her alive.

All gone. Because I trusted Silas. Because I was blind and stupid and desperate for someone to love me.

My life is miserable. I did this to myself.

Hot tears slip down my temples into my hair. I curl tighter under the furs.

But then the anger rises - sharp, cleansing.

Silas will pay.

He will bleed for every drop of my family's blood. I will watch the light die in his golden eyes the same way it died in theirs.

I will make him beg.

A short, bitter smile curves my lips. I sniff, wipe my face with the back of my hand, and stare out the tall windows at the eternal storm.

On the pillow beside me - I don't notice it until the torchlight catches the petals - sits a single black snowflower. Rare. Impossible in this frozen hell. Petals like midnight velvet, stem still beaded with fresh snow.

He must have hunted the mountain for hours to find it.

No note. Just the flower.

My throat tightens again, but this time it's not all pain.

I pull his robe from the chair - the one still carrying his scent - and wrap it around me before sleep finally takes me.

The next day comes too quickly.

I wander downstairs, drawn by the low rumble of voices in the main hall. I stay a few steps back, half-hidden behind a pillar, hoping he won't notice me.

But the bond betrays me. I feel the exact moment his attention shifts - a warm flare in my chest.

He sees me.

I swallow hard, heat crawling up my neck.

Gods, he's beautiful.

Shirtless under the open black coat, scars and glowing veins catching the torchlight. Hair pushed back, golden eyes sharp as he speaks to his council. Every movement pure power, ancient and effortless.

My thighs press together on instinct. A shameful pulse of slick answers the sight of him, even from here.

I edge closer without meaning to.

He dismisses the group with a single flick of his fingers. They scatter like leaves in wind.

Then he walks toward me - slow, deliberate - and stops exactly five feet away. Close enough to feel his heat, far enough that I can breathe.

"Good morning, little moon," he says, voice low and careful. "How are you?"

I manage a smile - small, but real. "I feel great."

We fall into step, wandering the quieter corridors. He keeps that careful distance the whole time, hands clasped behind his back like he's leashing himself.

It starts to drive me mad.

Finally I stop walking and turn to him.

"Why aren't you close to me?"

He stills. Golden eyes search my face.

"You requested privacy, Moon."

I huff a frustrated breath, cheeks burning. "I mean... you're the Alpha Devil. My request means nothing."

His expression softens - almost pained.

He takes one slow step forward, then another, until the space between us is barely a breath.

"Your requests," he says quietly, voice rough with something raw, "mean everything to me. Because you are the only thing in three and a half centuries that I am terrified of breaking."

My heart stumbles.

He lifts one hand - slow, giving me time to pull away - and brushes a knuckle gently along my jaw.

"Tell me what you want today, Maureen. Space... or me."

I stare up at him, throat tight.

The bond sings - bright, aching, impossible to ignore.

And for the first time since I asked for distance, I'm the one who closes the gap.

I rise on my tiptoes, heart hammering so loud I'm sure the entire corridor can hear it. My lips brush his cheek - soft, tentative, barely more than a whisper of contact. His skin is warm, stubble rough against my mouth, and his scent floods me until my knees threaten to fold.

I pull back quickly, cheeks burning scarlet, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Does this answer your question?" I mumble, voice small and shaky.

Inside my head, panic spirals. What the hell am I doing?

I don't have time to answer myself.

His hand cups the back of my neck - gentle but immovable - and he pulls me flush against him. The world tilts. Then his mouth is on mine.

Not soft. Not careful.

Hungry.

A low growl rumbles from his chest as his lips claim me, fangs grazing my bottom lip just enough to sting. I moan into his mouth - helpless, shameless - the sound swallowed by his tongue sweeping in, tasting, taking.

Holy moons.

My hands fist in his open coat, nails digging into hard muscle. He backs me up until the cold stone wall meets my spine, his body caging me in scorching heat. One massive thigh wedges between mine, pressing up, and the sudden friction against my aching core rips another moan from my throat.

We're in the open corridor.

Anyone could walk by. Guards patrol these halls. Nobles linger. The thought should terrify me.

Instead it sets me on fire.

His hand slides down my side, gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, hiking the silk gown higher. Cool air kisses my exposed thigh; his palm is burning hot against bare skin.

"Maureen," he snarls against my lips, voice shredded. "Tell me to stop and I will."

I should. We're not in our chambers. We're not hidden.

But the bond is roaring now, and every inch of me is slick and desperate and his.

I shake my head, breathless. "Don't you dare."

His answering growl is pure predator.

He kisses me deeper, devouring, while his fingers trace higher under the gown - teasing the edge of where I'm already drenched for him. One thick finger slips beneath the thin fabric between my legs, gliding through slick folds, and I cry out into his mouth.

"So wet for me already, little moon," he rasps, circling my clit slow and cruel. "Even after running."

My hips jerk against his hand, chasing more. "Vuk-please-"

He presses one finger inside me - thick, perfect, stretching - and I gasp, head falling back against the wall. His mouth moves to my throat, fangs scraping the claiming bite, making it throb in time with the slow thrust of his finger.

Another finger joins the first. He curls them, finds that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes, and I whimper his name loud enough that footsteps echo somewhere far down the hall.

He doesn't stop.

If anything, he pumps deeper, thumb grinding against my clit, mouth sucking a fresh mark just below my ear.

"Let them hear," he growls against my skin. "Let the whole fortress know you're mine again."

My thighs tremble. I'm climbing fast - too fast - the orgasm building sharp and violent in my belly.

"Vuk-I'm-"

"Come for me, Moon," he commands, voice dark and absolute. "Right here where anyone can see how perfectly you fall apart on my fingers."

That's all it takes.

I shatter.

A broken cry tears out of me as pleasure slams through every nerve, walls clenching around his fingers in hard, pulsing waves. He keeps stroking, drawing it out until I'm shaking, boneless, clinging to his shoulders just to stay upright.

Only then does he slow, easing his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. Golden eyes locked on mine, he licks them clean - deliberate, filthy - growling low at the taste.

I'm still panting, gown rucked up, thighs slick, when distant voices echo closer.

He straightens my dress with careful hands, presses one last possessive kiss to my swollen lips, and steps back just enough to look decent.

But his eyes promise we're far from finished.

"Tonight," he says, voice rough with restraint. "My bed. No more distance."

I nod, breathless, cheeks still burning.