– 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.

– Vuk Kael Lasković

She stood at the balcony doors, moonlight spilling over her like liquid silver, turning the bite on her shoulder into a living brand. My mark. My moon.

I crossed the room in three strides, unable to stay away a second longer. My hands found her waist, careful-always so fucking careful-not to bruise the fragile skin that still carried the ghosts of whips and chains.

"Little moon," I murmured against her hair, breathing her in like air after centuries of ash.

She turned in my arms, silver eyes luminous, lips parted as if to speak. Then, quieter than the wind howling outside:

"You should take me out of these rooms... I would like to go around. See more than these walls."

The words were soft, almost shy. But they struck me like a blade between the ribs.

"No."

It left my mouth before thought. Immediate. Final.

She flinched as though I'd struck her. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and something in her gaze dimmed-spirit folding in on itself like a wounded bird.

I hated it. I hated myself for putting it there.

Her voice came smaller now, threaded with old fear. "Did you mate me only to keep me locked away until I grow old and useless? Until you dispose of me?" A pause, barely a breath. "It's all right. I will be a good mate. I'll stay quiet. I won't ask again."

The bond in my chest twisted-violent, agonizing.

Dispose of her.

As if she were something temporary.

As if I hadn't waited three hundred and fifty years for the single creature who made eternity bearable.

My hands tightened on her waist, then loosened immediately when she tensed. I dropped to one knee-again-bringing us eye-level, forcing her to see me.

"Look at me," I commanded, voice rough with something perilously close to desperation.

She did, tears glistening but not falling.

"I will burn this fortress to cinders before I let another wolf breathe the same air as you without my permission," I said, low and fierce. "Not because you are disposable. Because you are everything. Because the thought of you beyond my reach-of someone taking you from me again-makes me want to tear the world apart with my teeth."

Her breath hitched.

I pressed my forehead to hers, claws flexing against the stone floor to keep from crushing her to me.

"But you are not a prisoner, little moon. You are my Luna. And if these walls feel like a cage..." I swallowed, the admission tasting like blood. "Then I will walk through hell to make them feel like a throne."

She stared up at me for a long moment, silver eyes wide and searching, as though trying to decide whether the devil could be trusted with something as fragile as a promise.

Then, slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased. A small, tentative breath left her lips, and she leaned forward until her forehead rested against my chest. My heart-ancient, half-dead thing that it was-stuttered at the contact.

"This place..." she whispered against my shirt, voice soft with something close to wonder. "The way the obsidian catches the hellfire veins in the walls, the arches that rise like ribs of some great beast... it's brutal, but it's beautiful. Whoever designed it was a genius."

Pride flared hot and unexpected in my chest. I had carved half these halls myself, centuries ago, when the mountain was still raw and bleeding lava. But hearing her praise it-seeing her look at my dominion and find beauty instead of only terror-felt like sunlight after endless night.

I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, careful, always careful. "Tomorrow," I said, the word rough. "At dusk. I'll take you beyond these rooms. The upper battlements first. Then the frozen gardens, if you wish."

Her head snapped up. Those luminous eyes went round with disbelief, then bright with something dangerously close to hope.

"Really?"

The single word cracked something open inside me.

I nodded once. "Really."

A smile-small, real, and utterly devastating-curved her mouth. She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to the corner of mine, feather-light, gone before I could deepen it.

"Thank you," she breathed.

I was still reeling from the taste of her gratitude when she pulled back, settling against me again, fingers idly tracing the glowing bite on my shoulder.

"My boyf-"

The word slipped out like a shard of glass.

She froze.

I felt it through the bond first: a cold spike of panic, shame flooding in behind it like poison. Her body went rigid in my arms, breath catching sharp enough to cut.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Boyfriend.

Another male. One who had known her before the chains. Before the auction block. Before me.

The beast inside me rose with a roar that rattled my ribs, claws flexing against the stone floor. But I locked it down-barely-because the terror pouring off her was not of me. It was of the memory.

"Maureen," I said, voice low, steady, though it cost me everything to keep it that way. "Look at me."

She didn't. Her face stayed buried against my chest, fingers clenched in my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't mean- It just came out. He's nothing. He's-"

"Tell me," I said. Not a command. A plea, raw and stripped bare. "Tell me his name."

A shudder ran through her. Tears soaked through my shirt, hot against my skin.

"Silas," she said finally, so quietly I felt it more than heard it. "Silas Vane."

The name landed like a death sentence.

She pulled back then, just enough to meet my eyes. Tears tracked silver down her cheeks, but she didn't hide from me anymore.

"I was engaged to him," she said, voice trembling but steady. "I thought he loved me. I thought he was safe. My mother warned me-he had ambition in his teeth, she said-but I didn't listen. I fought her. The last time I saw her alive, I screamed at her."

Her breath hitched.

"Three weeks later, he and his family came in the night. He held me down while his mother slit my father's throat. While they..." A sob broke free. "While they cut my little brother out of my mother's belly and let her bleed out on the floor. I begged him. I begged Silas to help me. He laughed. Said the land was worth more than my tears."

I couldn't breathe.

Every word was a blade sliding between my ribs, twisting deeper.

"They forged papers. Declared me rogue. Sold me at auction to pay for their new manor." She laughed, a broken, bitter sound. "Ten million for a virgin with lunar blood. I never suspected-not once-that the boy who called me his star would be the one to snuff me out."

The bond between us screamed with her pain. It flooded me: the betrayal, the grief, the bone-deep loneliness of waking in chains believing no one would ever come for her.

I pulled her into my lap, wrapped my arms around her so tightly she could feel every thundering beat of my heart. My lips found her forehead, her temples, the tear tracks on her cheeks-kissing them away like I could erase the salt of old wounds.

"Trust me," I rasped against her skin, voice shaking with rage and something fiercer. "Trust me, little moon. He will not die quickly. He will not die cleanly. I will drag him through every circle of hell he put you through, and when he begs for the mercy you never received, I will laugh the way he laughed at you."

She clung to me, face buried in my neck, body wracked with silent sobs.

I held her through it-all of it-until the tears slowed and her breathing evened against my throat.

Only then did she whisper, voice small and wondering:

"I never thought I'd have a mate at all... let alone you."

I pulled back just enough to cup her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the last of her tears.

"The moon didn't give you to me as punishment, Maureen," I said, fierce and quiet. "She gave you to me as salvation. And I will spend the rest of eternity proving I deserve it."

Her eyes searched mine, luminous and raw.

Then she leaned in and kissed me-not tentative this time, but trusting. Deep. Real.

And for the first time in three hundred and fifty years, the devil felt something perilously close to peace.

The next day arrived like a blade-sharp, inevitable, and entirely too bright.

I stood in my dressing chamber, shirtless, glaring at the open wardrobe as though it had betrayed me personally.

Black linen shirt. Too plain.

Black silk with subtle gold threading. Too ostentatious.

Black leather coat with armored shoulders. Too much like I was marching to war-which, granted, was my usual state.

I tore the leather coat off and flung it across the room. It struck the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the obsidian.

Eryx leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, expression carved from stone. He had been summoned to "assist," and had now endured thirty-seven minutes of me behaving like a court virgin on her presentation night.

"My lord," he said, voice perfectly neutral, "you own approximately four hundred articles of clothing. Every single one is black."

I snarled at him. "Then find the black that makes me look least likely to devour her on the staircase."

A muscle twitched in his jaw-the closest Eryx ever came to laughter. "Devouring her on the staircase is, I believe, within your usual rights as Alpha."

"Eryx."

He raised both hands in surrender, stepped forward, and pulled a garment from the depths of the wardrobe: a tailored black shirt, softer weave than the others, collar open just enough to reveal the glowing bite on my shoulder. Sleeves that could be rolled to the forearms. Paired with fitted black trousers and a long, unbuttoned coat that fell open like wings.

Simple. Severe. Undeniably me.

I shrugged it on. Looked in the mirror.

Acceptable.

I gave one sharp nod. "This."

Eryx allowed himself the faintest exhale. "Revolutionary choice, Alpha. Truly, the bards will sing of it."

I flicked a spark of hellfire at his boot, and just as i imagined he screamed while he's boot burned.

Then I descended to the grand foyer to wait.

I paced like a caged beast. Torches flared higher with every pass. Guards kept their gazes fixed on the floor and their throats politely bared.

One minute.

Two.

Three-

She appeared at the top of the staircase.

Fuck.

My wolf roared so violently the chandeliers trembled and loose snow sifted from the vaulted ceiling.

She was a blade of living fire.

Deep wine-red satin, floor-length, sleek and liquid against her skin. The gown hugged her narrow waist and the gentle curve of her hips before falling straight to the ground in a clean, elegant line. Thin spaghetti straps traced her shoulders, crossing delicately at the back. The neckline dipped into a soft V-nothing vulgar, just enough to reveal the faint silver glow of Selene's crescent scar at the base of her throat.

No jewels. No patterns. Just color so rich it looked like fresh blood under moonlight.

My lungs forgot their purpose.

I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, claws flexing against my palms, cock already thickening behind the seam of my trousers like an undisciplined boy.

She descended slowly, one hand on the banister, cheeks flushing deeper with every step under my stare.

When she reached the last stair, I still hadn't remembered how to breathe.

"Beautiful," I managed, the word scraping out raw and wrecked. "You're worth dying for. Worth killing for. I can't-" I dragged in air like a drowning male. "I can't even think when you look like that."

Her blush turned scarlet, spilling down her throat to the edge of that perfect neckline.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice soft, eyes shining with shy pleasure.

I stepped forward, took her hand, and pressed my lips to her knuckles-lingering longer than courtesy demanded, fangs grazing her skin just enough to make her breath catch.

"Little moon," I said against her fingers, voice low and rough, "if any male in this fortress looks at you too long tonight, I will gouge his eyes out and wear them as cufflinks."

She laughed-small, startled, delighted.

I offered my arm.

She slipped her hand through it, fingers curling around my forearm like she trusted me to hold the entire world steady.

And for the first time in centuries, I walked through my own halls not as the Alpha Devil...

...but as a male taking his mate on a simple evening stroll.

May the gods help anyone who ruined it.