Page 203

Just final.
And before I can process what the fuck is happening, she slices clean through her palm, deliberate, unflinching, and presses it straight to mine.
Holy shit.
It’s instant.
Not pain. Not exactly. More like... impact. Like something inside me slams open, and I don’t know if it’s my chest or my magic or my fucking soul, but it tears through me with a heat I wasn’t braced for.
The blood hits. Skin to skin.
And the bond erupts. My knees almost buckle. My breath catches sharp and shallow in my throat, and I have to grip the edge of the desk with my free hand just to stay upright.
No words. No chant. No ceremony.
She didn’t ask.
She just took.
And gods, I let her. Because I’m hers already and have been for weeks, and pretending otherwise is just an elaborate game I’ve been losing every damn day.
I stare at our hands. At the blood mingling between our fingers, thick and dark and somehow alive. The magic curls around us, smoky and electric, sharp-edged and sweet at the same time. It tastes like ink and salt and her mouth on mine. It hurts.
But it’s beautiful, too.
Twisted and inevitable.
“Luna,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking.
She doesn’t answer. Just presses her palm harder to mine until the bond finishes weaving itself through the raw, open places between us. Until I can feel her. Not just her body. Her rage. Her hunger. Her need to protect and destroy and come undone without ever surrendering an inch.
It fills me.
Floods me.
And for the first time in a long, long time, I feel whole.
I exhale a broken laugh. “So... was that a yes?”
She finally looks at me. Not smiling. Not soft.
But her eyes... her eyes are heat and gravity and claim.
“You’re mine now,” she says, voice quiet. And I nod, because fuck yes I am.
When she says it, you’re mine now, and I swear something inside me fractures just to make room for the truth of it. It’s not a metaphor. Not suggestion. It’s magic, blood-deep, crawling through every vein like she branded her name into my soul with a knife and a whispered promise.
She steps back. Her hand slips from mine.
I should breathe. I don’t. Because she reaches for the tie at her waist.
One tug. One flick of her fingers. And the robe slips open.
Holy fuck.
She’s not wearing anything underneath it.
No lingerie. No hidden armor. No veil of modesty to pretend this isn’t exactly what it is.