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I drag my teeth over the hinge of his jaw, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “Harder.”

His eyes flash to mine—wild, dark, dangerous—and the growl that rips from his throat is pure fucking rage.

Not at me.

At himself.

At how good this feels.

He slams into me harder, the sound of our bodies colliding obscene, echoing off the stone walls of my room like an anthem. Every thrust is a battle. Every snap of his hips feels like it could shatter me, and I meet him beat for beat, thighs tightening around his waist, dragging him deeper, faster.

The edge builds sharp and fast, spiraling up my spine like a knife pressed to the base of my throat.

I can feel it—feel the bond pulling tighter, magic crawling beneath my skin, electric and alive and waiting for the final spark to set it ablaze.

“Look at me,” I rasp, breathless and desperate, my nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. “Ambrose—look at me when you come.”

His lips curl in a snarl, but he does.

And when I come—when the pressure inside me snaps and I shatter around him, pulsing and gasping, dragging him with me—he follows with a growl that sounds like he’s being ripped apart.

The second he spills inside me, the bond snaps into place.

It’s not soft. It’s not warm. It feels like a blade shoved through my chest and pulled tight, binding us in blood and sex and something older than either of us can name.

Ambrose freezes above me, breathing hard, arms trembling where he cages me in. His eyes search mine like he’s trying to piece himself back together, like he can’t quite believe what he’s done.

What we’ve done. The bond thrums violently between us, alive now—pulsing like a heartbeat, like a warning.

His lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

There’s nothing left to say.

We’re bound.

And neither of us can take it back.

This bond doesn’t snap quietly. It carves through me like a blade, sharp and merciless, dragging every piece of me raw as it seals itself into place. It doesn’t settle sweetly beneath my skin like the others did. No gentle warmth, no soft tether tugging at my soul. This is fire. This is ruin.

It burns.

My breath punches out of me as heat lashes across my chest, slicing lower, branding me from the inside out. Like a thousand little teeth dragging over my skin, biting down into something deeper than flesh. I clamp my eyes shut, breathing hard through the pulse of it, teeth gritted against the ache blooming beneath my ribs.

The moment stretches too long, my pulse hammering inside my skull.

When I finally force my eyes open, Ambrose is staring at me.

But not at my face.

His gaze is locked on my chest, rigid, unreadable, like he’s seeing a ghost crawl out of my skin.

I follow his eyes—and freeze. It takes me a second to process what I’m looking at. The pain still licking through me like wildfire makes it hard to think, hard to breathe.

There are tattoos.

All over me.

Black, inky lines curling up over my ribs, trailing down my stomach, peeking over the curve of my breasts. Old sigils. Faint arcane glyphs. Symbols I know too well.