Page 20 of Consume Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #4)

Kendall

T hree days later, I’m balancing a tray of food against my hip, nudging the bedroom door open with my foot.

The room smells like Noctan—pine, earth, and something masculine that curls around my senses in a way that feels like home.

He’s sprawled in the massive bed, bare-chested, a blanket tangled low on his hips.

His eyes flick toward me when I enter, and the first thing I notice is that he looks about five seconds from chewing through the walls.

“Brought you some food,” I say, setting the tray down on the nightstand.

“Finally,” he mutters, voice deep and gravelly, though I can tell the bite in it isn’t really about the food.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, my knee brushing his thigh. “Still grouchy?”

“You were gone a long time.”

“I had to work. Natalia doesn’t care that we saved the world from evil daggers. She wants inventory done, like, yesterday. ”

He scowls at the ceiling. “I hate this.”

“This?” I echo, tilting my head.

“This.” He gestures at himself—at the slow healing, the bruises still faintly marking his ribs, the fact that he’s still here instead of on his feet. “Being mortal. Weak. Trapped in bed like an invalid.”

“You’re not any of those things, and you know it. You’re recovering from demon poison. And you’re a terrible patient.”

“Or I just need more time with my favorite nurse.”

I smirk, leaning back on my hands so he can’t reach me. “This is what it’s like for the rest of us, you know.”

He scowls. “I thought you said I wasn’t like anyone else.”

“I don’t ever remember saying that was a good thing,” I shoot back.

His mouth curves in the faintest smile, and I can’t resist leaning in. My lips brush his—just a whisper at first, a soft thing meant to soothe and tease all at once.

His hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, and when he kisses me back, it’s no longer soft. It’s hot, demanding, hungry in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.

My hands find his shoulders, feeling the strength there even in recovery, the tension coiled under his skin. He shifts closer, and my knees slide along the mattress until I’m half in his lap.

The kiss deepens, and I’m drowning in him—his taste, his heat, the way his breath changes when I nip his bottom lip. His fingers trail down my spine, slow and deliberate, and I shiver.

When his hand slips under the hem of my sweater, I pull back just enough to look at him. “Are you feeling up to this?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in something wicked, and before I can blink, he grabs my hand, guides it under the blanket, and wraps it around him.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he says, his voice rougher now, darker. “Do I feel up to it?”

My breath catches. He’s hard. Gods. Hard and thick and so fucking tempting.

“You feel…” My voice hitches. “Perfect.”

His eyes flash—satisfaction, desire, relief all tangled together. “Is that your medical opinion?”

I laugh. “Both. I’m mixing business with pleasure.”

“Finally,” he growls, and when I sit up, intending to straddle him, his grip tightens on my hips.

In one swift movement, he rolls us, pinning me beneath him.

The weight of him, the solid heat of his body pressed along mine, makes my head spin. His mouth claims mine again, and this time, there’s no hesitation. His tongue strokes against mine, coaxing, claiming, tasting me like he’s been starving for it.

We both have.

Even though this is all I’ve thought about for days, I couldn’t let myself give in to this before he was fully healed. The last thing I ever want to do is harm my mate.

But now… there’s no weakness, no trace of injury left in him. There’s only strength—controlled, measured, coiled strength that he’s holding back until I say go.

His hands are everywhere—sliding under my sweater, over my ribs, down my waist, tugging the fabric upward. He breaks the kiss only long enough to strip it over my head, tossing it aside before leaning down to close his mouth over my breast.

The shock of his tongue and teeth on my nipple makes me gasp, arching into him. He groans against me, the sound vibrating through my chest. His hand squeezes the other breast, his thumb circling lazily before giving it the same attention.

“Noctan…” My voice is a breathless plea.

He kisses a path down my stomach, slow enough to make me squirm, then hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my leggings and drags them down.

I should be embarrassed at how ready I am for him—but the way his gaze darkens as he takes me in makes every thought scatter. He leans down, his lips brushing my inner thigh, and I let out a sound of stifled pleasure.

When his mouth finds my core, I cry out, fisting the sheets. His tongue moves with the same skill as his hands—sure, confident, devastatingly thorough. He tastes me like I’m something rare, something worth savoring.

By the time he moves back up my body, I’m shaking, desperate for him to be inside me.

He settles between my thighs, bracing himself on his forearms. Our eyes lock as he pushes in, slow, deliberate, stretching me in a way that makes my toes curl.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the way he fills me completely.

He starts to move, each thrust building heat, pressure, need. My nails dig into his back, urging him faster. He groans, the sound raw, and his pace shifts—harder now, deeper.

Just before I tumble over the edge, the words are out of my mouth before I can think. “Claim me, Noctan. Make me yours.”

His rhythm falters. “Kendall… you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I want this. I want you. Forever.”

His gaze softens. No less hungry but more potent suddenly. “You’re making a vow, darling.”

“I am. I vow forever with you as my mate.”

“It’s not just me you’re mating. Or did you forget about the Amarok?”

“It’s the Amarok I want most,” I tell him, and to prove it, I bare my throat.

For a heartbeat, he just stares, like he’s drinking me in. Then his eyes flash with something wild, primal. The snarl that leaves him is pure possession. He lowers his head, his mouth closing over the curve of my shoulder, and the elongated canines of his wolf sink in.

The pain is sharp, fleeting—and then it’s all heat, magic, pleasure flooding through me. The mate bond snaps into place, swirling between us, binding us so tightly I can feel his heartbeat like it’s my own.

I gasp, overwhelmed, and without thinking, I bite him back—my fae canines finding the soft join of his neck and shoulder and sinking in.

Visions swarm me the moment his blood hits my tongue.

Instead of death flashing behind my eyes, I see life. My life. With him. Years of it. Laughter. Love. A porch in the sun. Children’s voices. Wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles at me like I’m still the only thing in his world.

It’s everything I never let myself hope for.

We shatter together—me, the fae warrior, and the wolf—the bond singing through every nerve, every breath, until there’s nothing left but the sound of our breathing and the weight of him holding me in place.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, his forehead against mine, our bodies still joined, our hearts pounding in sync.

When he finally lifts his head, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—peace.

“Mine,” he says, voice low and certain.

“Yours,” I answer, no hesitation.

And for the first time in years, I am consumed by hope for the future.