Page 10

Chapter Ten

FELICITY FORREST

“The strength to conquer worlds lies in the whisper of our bond.”

King Cú Chulainn Darkraven, Crimson Court, to Talora

T he world narrows to the stretch, the overwhelming fullness as Niall sinks into me, inch by devastating inch. My gasp is swallowed by his mouth, his lips claiming mine in a kiss that’s as much a brand as it is a warning.

I claw at his back, my nails digging into his shoulders, needing something to anchor me. He’s too much—too big, too deep, too fucking perfect. My body clenches around him, and he groans, the sound rough, almost guttural.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his forehead pressed to mine. His lip ring brushes my bottom lip, a teasing contrast to the raw stretch of him inside me. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

My thighs tighten around his hips, locking him in place. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

A low, feral laugh rumbles through him, his beard scraping against my jaw as he drags his lips along my skin. “So fucking impatient.”

His mouth crashes against mine, all heat and hunger and filthy fucking intent. The taste of him seeps into my veins, a drug I can’t come down from. His beard scrapes my skin, rough and possessive, his lip ring cool against my burning mouth.

I whimper into him, needy, desperate for more, for everything. He’s a predator, dangerous, wild, and yet, somehow, I’ve never felt safer. If I died like this—with his body caging mine—I’d do it with his name as my last breath and his hands as my last touch. I tighten my grip on him, holding him like I could make this last forever.

When I think I can’t survive another second without air, he pulls back, his forehead pressed against mine. His breath is ragged. “If I’m to break, let it be by your hands.”

Gasping for air, I push myself up. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid of breaking, you know.”

He’s on me in an instant, pinning me to the mattress with a pressure that feels as sinful as it does safe. My fingers thread into his hair, pulling him closer. He smells earthy. Animalistic. Male. It’s unmistakably him. A scent with no place outside this moment, outside Niall.

His hands grip my hips, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises as he pulls back, just enough to make me whimper at the loss before he slams back in, seating himself to the hilt. I cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure through my body.

My magic rises with it, a raw force that crackles against my skin. Shadows flow from my fingertips, curling around his arms, clinging to him as if they need him as much as I do. They pulse like they’re drawn to the connection between us, to the power twisting between our bodies.

“Look at you,” he groans, his voice thick with something almost reverent. “Fucking beautiful.”

I dig my nails into his shoulders, my body tightening with every rough, desperate thrust. “Don’t you dare stop.”

His answering grin is wicked. “Not a fucking chance, love.”

He grips my wrists, pinning them above my head as his pace quickens. Every thrust drives me higher and sends pleasure licking through me in waves so intense they border on pain. His beard abrades my skin, his lip ring dragging against my neck as he kisses, bites and marks me.

Ceanglaíonn ár gcroíthe leis an tsolas agus leis an dorchadas , a vow of hearts intertwined with light and darkness. I hear the words as clearly as if he’d whispered them against my skin. I don’t know how I know what this is. I only know that I was born for it. The bond—the ceangal —comes alive between us.

Threads of light and shadow twist together in a connection far older than us. They leave a mark on our skin. A raven’s wings stretch over my heart, its ink-black lines glowing silver, pulsing like a second heartbeat. Below it, a wraith-like púca rears up on its hind legs. A perfect mirror of the raven inks itself along his neck.

The room shifts.

Spectral beings wrapped in mist, their gazes heavy with judgment and approval. A horned god looms at the edge of my vision, his red eyes blazing as he lifts a hand in silent benediction. Beside him, a queen draped in shadows nods once, as if to say, Yes, this is how it must be.

The ethereal witnesses fade as the headboard slams against the wall. The bed shakes beneath us, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and magic. His name is a broken prayer on my lips, a plea, a demand.

“Say it again,” he growls, his teeth grazing my throat. “Say my fucking name.”

“Niall.” It’s a gasp, a moan, a confession.

He releases my wrists and rewards me with a brutal thrust, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision go white. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Our sweat-slick bodies grind together, every thrust driving me further into the fire. I move my hands over my head to wrap around the brass rungs and circle my legs around his hips. Over and over again, he hammers into me. The marks on our skin pulse in time with the rhythm of his hips, the energy between us growing stronger and hotter until it feels like the world might break apart.

“You feel this?” he whispers against my lips, his breath hot and unsteady. “This is what it means to be mine.”

“Yes,” I gasp. I’m acutely aware of every single spot where our bodies meet. I sheathe him to the hilt, my body stretching to take every inch of him. The burn is exquisite. My legs wrap around his hips, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper. Harder. His hands grip my thighs, fingers digging into my flesh.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that does very bad things to me. “You take me so perfectly.”

Oh, fuck. Those filthy, possessive words spark something feral in me. I arch against him, my nails dragging down his back, leaving angry red trails. His hips snap against mine, driving deeper with each thrust, each movement a deliberate act of dominance.

“Oh, god! Ohhhhmygod!” My breathless moans only encourage him to move faster as I grab the headboard and tilt my hips to meet each stroke.

Power thrums between us. It’s alive, a pulse that syncs with my own. It threads through my mind, binding thought and sensation until I’m no longer sure where he ends, and I begin. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating. I can’t think, I can’t move. All I can do is feel—everything. Him. Us. This.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, his voice rough with strain. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, love?”

Heat coils low in my belly, winding tight, every nerve sparking as he pushes me closer to the edge. His fingers slip between us, finding my clit, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me, my magic snapping free in the wake of it. Shadows explode from my body, racing up the walls.

I ride my release against his fingers and his dick, but the fucking apocalypse has decided to detour straight into this bedroom. The walls don’t just tremble. They riot. A mirror cracks clean down the middle, its fractured surface catching the madness in shards of refracted light and shadow. Our writhing bodies turn into a kaleidoscope of destruction. So vivid and surreal.

The curtains whip around violently. One rips free entirely, wrapping itself around the ceiling fan. The fan spins erratically, groaning in protest before snapping off its base with a sound like thunder as it hits a wall.

What the fuck? What even is this?

A picture frame jerks off the nightstand like it’s had enough of this shit and smashes itself mid-air, shards of glass spinning lazily before raining down onto the floor. The dresser joins the rebellion, its drawers flinging themselves open, one tearing loose from its tracks and tumbling to the floor.

Niall doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he doubles down, thrusting harder. A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against my skin. The bed rocks beneath us, and honestly, I think we’re about two thrusts away from a structural engineer’s worst nightmare. Tendrils of wraith-like energy weave around us, shielding us from the destruction, while the actual room looks like a battle zone.

And me? I’m holding on for dear life. I’m clutching him, clawing at him, biting my own damn lip to keep from crying out his name like I’m about to write it on a bathroom wall. The whole scene is absurdly hot, dangerously magical, and a little bit funny if I survive to think about it later.

His laugh is low, dark, entirely too satisfied, like he’s not ploughing into me while the entire room decides gravity is optional.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I yell as the headboard slams against the wall and a decorative vase keels over in the corner like it’s had enough. Peace, I’m out.

The room might not survive. I’m pretty sure I won’t either. As if it agrees with me, the bedframe gives an ominous creak. Then one leg snaps clean off, sending the mattress listing at an absurd angle. We slide toward the fallen end, but don’t stop. The bed will have to deal.

My breathing grows rapid, my chest heaving against him. Energy crackles as our mouths collide in a kiss that feels like fire and destiny. The power thrumming between us is relentless, too much, too dark. Like blood and death, ravens and shadowed moons. It’s everything I shouldn’t want and everything I do.

The shadows converge, a dark tide crashing over us. The jolt of energy is so intense it feels like the world might shatter. But wrapped in his arms, I’m untouchable. I’m shielded by something stronger than magic, more potent than fate.

The scream rips out of me as we crest together. Niall groans, his pace faltering, his grip on my hips tightening as he buries himself deep, his release tearing through him.

One final thrust and the room erupts in a shockwave. The bed quakes. The air crackles. Everything is a blinding light and searing sound. Ruinous. Sacred. And fucking perfect.

His body shakes, his breath ragged against my skin as he collapses onto his elbows, pinning me beneath him.

The shadows retreat. The room stills. The silence that follows is heavy with something neither of us can name.

He drags his lips over my temple, his voice rough when he speaks. “I’ve got you, Shadow Witch. You’re mine. And gods help anyone who dares try to take you from me.”

I don’t argue. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. Instead, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer—because the truth is terrifying in its simplicity.