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“Fuck, Davina,” he rasped, his voice strained. He said her name again, the only word he could manage as her body milked him, drawing him closer to the brink.

Her cries reached a crescendo, and with one final thrust, they both tumbled over the edge together. Her channel spasmed around him, squeezing him so tightly he thought he might lose his mind. His own release followed, a wave of pure ecstasy crashing through him as he pumped inside her. He kept moving, his hips rocking in slow, languid thrusts, drawing out every pulse of pleasure.

Even as the last tremors faded, he lingered inside her, unwilling to let go of the connection that bound them. Her breath came in ragged, sated gasps, her body pliant and warm. A deep possessive growl rumbled in his chest as he lowered his head to press a kiss between her shoulder blades, silently claiming her all over again.

For now, she was his—and no force on this earth would take her from him.

They knelt together on the mattress, both panting, their bodies trembling from the force of their shared climax.

“Can I let go of the headboard now?” Davina asked breathlessly, breaking the silence.

Broderick chuckled, deep and rumbling in his chest. “Aye, Blossom.”

He pulled her into his arms, laying them both down on the mattress, but keeping his cock nestled inside her. Her back pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as though afraid she might slip away. He reached up to remove the blindfold, tossing it aside, and pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, cupping her breast in his palm.

God’s blood, he couldn’t get enough of this woman. His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, his lips tasting the salt of her skin. Even now, with his release leaving him sated, his shaft stirred again, thickening with renewed need inside her.

Her scent clung to the air—a heady mix of roses and musk and the sweet, lingering tang of their coupling. He inhaled deeply, letting it settle in his lungs like the finest of wines.

Davina turned her face into the pillow, her breaths slow and uneven. They lay in silence for several moments, the only sound the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft, fading echoes of their passion.

“I hate how weak you make me,” she whispered, her voice so soft he almost missed it.

Her words struck him like a blow, and when she shifted as if to move away, he held her tighter.

“Och, now,” he murmured gently, propping himself up on his elbow to peer down at her. She refused to meet his gaze, turning her face further into the pillow, but he cupped her cheek and coaxed her to look at him.

Her sapphire eyes brimmed with tears, and the sight twisted his heart in a way that left him shaken.

“Ye’re not weak, lass,” he said firmly. “Ye’re stronger than ye know. Stronger than any woman I’ve ever met. I know ye’ve had many try tae beat that strength out o’ ye, but I willnae be one o’ them. Ever.”

She turned away from him again, but this time, she snuggled closer, holding his arms tightly against her.

Broderick pressed a kiss to the back of her head, his lips lingering as he closed his eyes. Even now, he felt the lingering hum of their connection, the invisible thread of shared desire and unspoken truths. Her mind, still locked tight against his probing, remained a mystery—but her body, her heart, they were opening to him bit by bit.

He lay there, holding her, until her breathing slowed and settled into the rhythmic pace of sleep. A rare, fragile peace settled over him, and for the first time in years, he let himself believe in the possibility of something more than vengeance.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. The emotions coursing through him churned, a storm of longing and dread, desire and something deeper, more treacherous. Her words echoed in his mind, unbidden.I hate how weak you make me.

Aye, she made him weak, too. Vulnerable. Laid bare.

He understood her fear, her walls, her desperate need to shield herself from further hurt. It was terrifying, letting someone in after betrayal—after the wounds of that betrayal still festered, raw and unhealed.

His gaze lingered on her face, softened in sleep. Dark lashes fanned across flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she exhaled a quiet breath. Her beauty in repose stirred something fierce in him—a need to protect, to possess, to ease the shadowsfrom her soul.

With a heavy sigh, Broderick rose to his feet. She’d stirred the Hunger in him. Her vulnerability, her fear, had stoked the monster inside. He needed space, just as he suspected she did. Space to think, to cool the fire still burning in his veins. Pulling on his clothes, he stole one last glance at her sleeping form, his chest tightening with emotions he scarcely dared name.

Leaning down, he brushed a soft kiss to her brow, inhaling the faint, lingering scent of roses and desire that clung to her skin. The moment lingered like a bittersweet ache in his chest.

Then, without another word, he left her bedchamber to go feed, slipping into the shadows of the corridor beyond.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The night air was crisp as Rosselyn lay on the blanket, Nicabar’s arm draped lazily across her waist, his thumb teasing slow, lazy circles around her nipple. The heat of their coupling still warmed her flushed skin, but the cool breeze creeping through the woods was quickly stealing it away. She sighed, gazing up at the dark canopy of trees above them, where twisted branches clawed at the starless sky.

“You are quiet,mi amor,” Nicabar murmured, his voice husky with the haze of lingering satisfaction.

Rosselyn smiled and turned her head to meet his dark, smoldering eyes. “Just enjoying the moment,” she replied softly. “Though…it is getting cold.”