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"Yes," I moaned, shocking myself with how desperately I wanted it. "Yes, knot me, fill me."

His finger pushed deeper, curling inside me to stroke against a spot that had me seeing stars. "I'm going to knot you so tight," he promised, voice dropping to a growl. "Going to put a baby in this perfect belly."

Some rational part of my brain reminded me that I was on magical birth control—Gran had insisted when I turned sixteen, saying it was a precaution all female witches took until they wereready for children. But the thought of Rowen trying to breed me, of him being so consumed with lust and possession that he wanted to impregnate me, sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through me.

"Please," I whimpered, my hips working against his hand, chasing more pressure, more friction. "I need more."

Archer's hand had reached my other hip, his fingers digging into the flesh there as he positioned himself alongside me. "So beautiful when you beg," he murmured, leaning down to drag his fangs along the underside of my breast. "Could listen to you plead all night."

Callum's mouth returned to my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—not the claiming bite, but a precursor, a promise. His hand slid down my stomach, fingers tangling with Rowen's between my thighs. Together, they worked me higher, Rowen's finger inside me while Callum's circled my clit.

The dual stimulation had me writhing between them, my hands clenching the wooden vines of the headboard so tightly I feared they might snap. The pleasure was overwhelming, building to a crescendo that I both craved and feared.

"That's it," Rowen encouraged, adding a second finger alongside the first, stretching me deliciously. "Take what you need. Show us how much you want our knots, our claiming marks, our seed."

The filthy words in his cultured voice pushed me higher, the taboo of it, the raw animalistic nature of what he was promising. My body was no longer my own—it belonged to the heat, to the need, to the three men surrounding me with their hands and mouths and promises.

Archer's fangs scraped harder against the swell of my breast, and the sharp sting of almost-pain contrasted exquisitely with the pleasure building between my thighs. "Going to mark youhere," he murmured against my skin. "A secondary claim, right above your heart."

The thought of carrying all their marks, of being claimed so thoroughly, had me gasping, trembling on the edge of release. Rowen must have felt it, the way my inner walls fluttered around his fingers, because he curled them more firmly against that spot inside me while Callum increased the pressure on my clit.

"Come for us," Callum commanded against my neck, his teeth pressing just hard enough to threaten a real bite. "Let go, Sierra. Show us you're ours."

It was like a dam breaking. Pleasure crashed through me in devastating waves, my back arching off the bed as a broken cry tore from my throat. My inner walls clenched rhythmically around Rowen's fingers, my thighs trembling with the force of my release.

Through the haze of overwhelming sensation, I heard Rowen's appreciative groan, felt Callum's approving murmur against my neck, sensed Archer's hungry gaze tracking every expression that crossed my face.

But even as the first orgasm began to ebb, the heat remained, insistent and demanding. If anything, the release had only stoked it higher, proving to my body that relief was possible but temporary.

"More," I gasped, hips still working against their hands. "Please, I need more. I need one of you inside me. All of you. Please."

15

Rowen

Iwatched Sierra come apart beneath our touch, her body quivering like a drawn bowstring finally released. The primal satisfaction that surged through me was unlike anything I'd experienced in my centuries of existence. My obsidian eyes drank in every detail of her surrender—the flush spreading across her skin, the abandoned arch of her neck, the way her lips parted on a broken cry of release.

This was mine. She was mine. Ours.

The thought pounded through me with each beat of my ancient heart. The moment I'd first sensed her presence in the mortal realm, I'd known she belonged to me. To us. The omega to our alphas, the necromancer whose power would complement our own, the fated mate whose soul called to ours across realms.

And now she was here, writhing beneath our hands, begging for more even as the aftershocks of her first release still trembled through her body.

"More," she gasped, her hips still working against our fingers. "Please, I need more. I need one of you inside me. All of you. Please."

Something primal and possessive roared to life inside me at her words. My demon nature, usually so carefully controlled,surged forward. I felt my eyes darken completely, felt my fangs lengthen behind my lips, felt my control slipping through my fingers like sand.

I growled—a fierce, guttural sound that echoed through Callum's enchanted chambers—as Sierra's inner walls gave one final pulse around my fingers. I withdrew from her silken heat, rising to my knees between her spread thighs.

My clothing was long gone, vanished along with my iron-clad control the moment she'd begun to beg. A thought was all it had taken—one of the small mercies of being ruler of the Underworld was that such mundane concerns as undressing could be handled with a mere flexing of power.

Now I knelt before her, fully revealed in my most primal form. My skin had darkened to a deep bronze, the markings of my heritage swirling across my chest and arms in patterns of ancient power. My horns curved from my temples, obsidian and gleaming. My tail lashed behind me, the arrow-shaped tip betraying my barely leashed hunger.

Sierra's eyes widened as she took me in, but there was no fear in her gaze—only wonder and a hunger that matched my own. Her eyes traced down my body to where my arousal stood proud and eager, already swollen at the base where my knot would form.

I leaned over her, bracing my weight on one arm beside her head, my other hand wrapping around myself to position at her entrance. The heat of her core radiated against me, calling to something deeper than conscious thought.

"Are you ready for me, little witch?" My voice was scarcely recognizable, roughened by desire and the emergence of my demon form. "Ready to be truly claimed?"