Page 19

CHAPTER 19

M alrik’s beast roared in triumph as he carried Bella back to their nest. Her scent filled his nostrils—sweet, intoxicating, and now tinged with desire. His. She was his. The knowledge thundered through his blood, drowning out all other thoughts.

The journey through the corridors of the keep passed in a blur. His beast cared nothing for the repairs they’d made together, the spaces they’d cleaned, the small victories they’d celebrated. It wanted only the safety of their den, the privacy of their nest.

When he shouldered open the door to their chamber, the afternoon sunlight spilled across the nest of furs. He laid her down as gently as he could considering the tremors of need that shook his body.

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide but unafraid. Her hair spread across the furs like liquid gold, and her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

Something primal and possessive surged through him. With one swift movement, he tore away the fabric of her clothes, shredding them as if they were made of paper. His claws retracted just in time to avoid marking her skin. Her beauty had stunned him the night before, but she looked even more beautiful now, her pale skin glowing in the golden sunlight.

He bent his head to the hollow of her throat, inhaling deeply. Her scent intoxicated him, stirring his desire even higher. The need to claim her, to mark her as his, beat like a drum in his veins.

But beneath the hunger and instinct, a fragment of his rational mind remained. The memory of her gentle touch, her laughter, her trust—his Vultor side recognized the precious gift she offered.

“Mine,” he growled again, the word barely recognizable through his fangs.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she reached for him, her slender fingers tracing the contours of his face.

“Yours,” she agreed, her voice steady despite the flush that colored her cheeks.

The beast howled its approval as Malrik lowered his head to claim her mouth. The kiss was hungry, demanding, a physical manifestation of the need that had driven him to the edge of madness. Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming him, and the sweet taste of her nearly undid him.

Her hands moved to his shoulders, then down his chest, pushing aside the tatters remains of his clothing. Every sensation was heightened, every touch magnified.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured against his mouth when her fingers brushed one of his wounds.

“Doesn’t matter,” he managed to growl.

She smiled against his lips, then gently pushed him back. “Let me see you.”

The beast bristled at the command, but something else—something that had been buried beneath fur and fang and claw—responded to the care in her voice. He allowed her to push the remnants of his clothing away, exposing the full extent of his injuries.

“What happened?” she asked, her fingers ghosting over a particularly deep scratch that ran from his shoulder to his sternum.

“Trees,” he grunted. “Rocks. Didn’t care.”

She frowned at him. “You did this to yourself?”

He couldn’t explain how he’d thrown himself against the unyielding forest, how he’d welcomed the physical pain as a distraction from the turmoil within. How could he tell her that he’d been fighting a war against himself, against the beast that both was and wasn’t him?

But as she continued to touch him, to trace the lines of his body with gentle fingers, something shifted inside him. The beast, which had been raging and clawing for control, began to settle. Not retreating, but merging with something else—something that remembered what it was to be Vultor, to be male, to be Malrik.

The change started slowly. First, the fur along his arms began to recede, revealing slate-gray skin beneath. His claws retracted fully, his fingers lengthening into the strong, dexterous hands of his Vultor form. He felt his face shifting, the muzzle shortening, his features becoming more defined.

Not wholly Vultor—the beast was still too close to the surface for that—but more so than he had been since his initial transformation.

She watched the change, her eyes widening as his face transformed before her. When it was done, she reached up to touch his cheek, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, now angular rather than lupine.

“Malrik,” she whispered, and the sound of his name on her lips sent a shudder through him.

He looked down at her, seeing her clearly for the first time with eyes that were more Vultor than beast. She was so beautiful—not in the cold, distant way of the Vultor females who had once been paraded before him, but in a way that reached inside him and touched something he’d thought long dead.

The sight of her—vulnerable, trusting, her body bared to him—made him hesitate. The beast urged him to take, to claim, to mark. But the part of him that was awakening, that remembered honor and duty and the weight of choices, made him pause.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough but the words distinct. “This is what you want?”

Her smile was like sunrise after an endless night.

“Yes,” she said simply. “It is.”

He shook his head, even as his body trembled with the effort of restraint. “I cannot hold this form,” he warned her. “The beast… it will return.”

She only shrugged, her hands continuing their exploration of his transformed body. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she told him. “Beast or Vultor—you’re still Malrik. You’re still mine.”

The words broke something open inside him—a dam that had held back emotions he’d refused to acknowledge, even before the curse. Relief, gratitude, and something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name, flooded through him.

With a groan that was half beast, half Vultor, he lowered himself to her, careful to distribute his weight on his forearms. She was so small beneath him, so fragile compared to his bulk. Yet there was nothing fragile about the way she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer.

Their lips met again, but this kiss was different—no less passionate, but tempered with something more. Tenderness. Care. The acknowledgment that this was more than the satisfaction of a primal need.

Her hands moved over him, learning the contours of his body as it shifted between forms. Sometimes her fingers encountered fur, sometimes skin, but she never faltered, never showed disgust or fear.

He explored her with equal fascination. The softness of her skin amazed him, as did the small sounds she made when he found particularly sensitive spots. He traced the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him despite their differences.

When his hand moved between her thighs, finding her wet and ready for him, the beast surged forward again, demanding satisfaction. But he held it in check, determined to give her pleasure before taking his own.

He watched her face as he touched her, memorizing every expression, every gasp and sigh. The way her eyes fluttered closed. The way her lips parted on a moan. He kept his touch light at first, teasing her until her hips lifted from the furs, urging him on. Then he slid one finger inside her, feeling her inner walls clench around him.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He added a second finger, curling them slightly as he withdrew, seeking the spot that would make her gasp. When he found it, he stroked it again and again, his thumb circling her clit.

Her breathing grew ragged, her skin flushing pink. He could feel her tightening around his fingers, her body drawing closer to release.

“Mine,” he growled again, his voice almost unrecognizable as he fought to hold the beast in check.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the word. “Malrik, please.”

The sound of his name, spoken with such need, nearly undid him. He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper than usual as the beast stirred restlessly.

Her eyes opened, meeting his without hesitation. In their depths, he saw not just desire but acceptance. Trust. She knew what he was—beast and Vultor both—and still she welcomed him.

With a single, powerful thrust, he claimed her.

The sensation was overwhelming—tight heat enveloping him, her body yielding to his invasion even as it clung to him, drawing him deeper. He stilled, giving her time to adjust, fighting the beast’s urge to rut mindlessly.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, not to push him away but to pull him closer. “Don’t stop,” she gasped.

Permission granted, he began to move. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as her body responded to his. Each thrust drove him deeper, not just into her body but into a connection that transcended the physical.

The beast howled its approval, but for once, it didn’t fight for control. Instead, it seemed content to share in the pleasure, to bask in the rightness of their joining.

He felt himself shifting again, fur sprouting along his spine, claws extending from his fingertips. But she didn’t recoil. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on, accepting all of him.

Her hands moved restlessly over his back, tracing the boundary where fur gave way to skin. When she arched up to press her lips to his throat, he felt the vibration of his own growl against her mouth.

“Mine,” he growled again, the word clearer than before despite the fangs that had extended in his mouth.

“Yours,” she agreed breathlessly. “And you’re mine.”

The claim, so boldly stated, sent a shock of pleasure through him. Yes, he was hers. Had been from the moment he’d caught her scent. Would be until his last breath.

He increased his pace, driven by the need to make her his in every way possible. Her body tightened around him, her breathing becoming more erratic. She was close. He could smell it in the change of her scent, see it in the flush that spread across her skin.

“Let go,” he urged, his voice a mixture of beast’s growl and Vultor’s command. “Let go for me, Bella.”

The sound of her name seemed to push her over the edge. She cried out, her body convulsing around him as pleasure claimed her. The sight of her—head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, his name on her lips—was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His own release followed swiftly, tearing through him with an intensity that bordered on pain. He roared as he emptied himself inside her, marking her as his in the most primal way possible, but mindful of her untried body, he forced himself to pull free before his knot expanded.

For a moment, he hovered over her, arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up. Then, carefully, he rolled to the side, bringing her with him so that she lay sprawled across his chest.

They lay in silence, their breathing gradually slowing. He stroked her hair, marveling at its softness between his fingers—fingers that were once again more claw than hand. The transformation was reversing, the beast reclaiming territory. But for the first time, he didn’t fight it. The beast was part of him now, and Bella had accepted both.

“Bella,” he whispered, her name like a prayer on his lips.

She raised her head, her eyes meeting his. In them, he saw not just the afterglow of physical pleasure but something deeper, something that made his chest tighten with an emotion he hadn’t felt in so long he barely recognized it.

Hope.

“I’m here,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, directly over his heart. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The beast purred its satisfaction, but it was Malrik who tightened his arms around her, holding her close as if she might disappear. For the first time since the curse had taken hold, he felt something like peace.

“Mine,” he whispered one last time, the word no longer a claim of possession but a promise of protection. Of devotion.

As sleep claimed him, one final thought drifted through his mind: For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was not alone.