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9

HAWK

I sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, my fingers tracing the cool, smooth silk beneath me. I stared at nothing. My lips still felt … bruised. Not painful, exactly. Just thoroughly kissed. The memory—Khorlar’s heat, the scrape of fang against my lip—played on a loop behind my eyes. Heat bloomed low in my belly just thinking about it.

The door scraped open. A slice of corridor light appeared, then shadow filled the frame. Khorlar.

His shoulders were rigid. The way he held his weight was wrong. Even silhouetted, I knew.

“You’re hurt,” I said, the words sharp. I was on my feet before the thought finished forming.

His nostrils flared, a subtle shift in the dim light as he stepped fully inside, and the door hissed closed. The air shifted with him, carrying a scent sharper than his usual smoke and scorched metal—ozone, maybe? And underneath, faint but undeniable, copper. Blood.

“It is insignificant,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, like stones grinding together.

Liar. My gaze snagged on the dark, wet patch dulling the scales of his left forearm. It was a gash. And I noticed the almost imperceptible favoring of his right leg.

“The Ignarath?” My throat tightened.

His eyes, molten gold in the gloom, found mine. Something dangerous flared there—old, predatory, deeply satisfied. “He poses no further threat.”

The finality of it hung in the air. Cold. Efficient. A shiver traced my spine, but it wasn’t fear. More like … resonance. A dark chord struck deep inside. He’d dealt with a danger. To me. Because of me.

“Sit.” I pointed to the platform, adopting a tone I usually reserved for malfunctioning equipment. “Now.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The wounds are shallow.”

“I wasn’t asking.” It was old habit. Assume command when things go sideways.

Surprise flickered across his harsh features, quickly masked. Then, almost amusement? He gave a stiff nod and moved to the platform, lowering himself with a control that didn’t quite hide the strain. His wings rustled, settling like folded shadows against his back.

I grabbed water and cloths. My movements felt jerky, too fast. Back in the main room, Khorlar watched me, his stillness a counterpoint to my buzzing nerves. I knelt before him, setting the basin down with a soft click. I was closer than strictly necessary. The air between us felt thick, charged.

“Arm.” I held out my hand, palm up.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, then extended the limb. The gash wasn't ragged but clean, deep enough to part scales, revealing the darker, vulnerable flesh beneath. Dried blood flaked away as I touched the edge. I dipped a cloth, the cool water darkening the fabric.

Starting at the edge, I cleaned gently. His scales were cool and smooth under my fingers, almost like stone, transitioning abruptly to the raw edge of the wound. He didn’t flinch, but I felt the tension radiating from him, a low hum beneath the surface.

My thumb brushed against an intact scale. Hard, unyielding.

A low rumble shook his chest, dismissive. “Desperation lends false strength.” His eyes burned into me, tracking my every small movement. “His words sealed his fate.”

I looked up, the cloth poised in my hand. “His words?”

“Regarding Plaktish. Regarding … intentions for you.” The gold in his eyes turned golden, lethal. “Unacceptable intentions.”

Unacceptable. My stomach clenched. Not with fear. It was something else. Possessive heat. I dipped the cloth again, needing the focus. “You killed him. For saying things.”

“For intending them,” he corrected, his voice flat. “For daring to voice them in my presence. For touching you. Trying to hurt you. I would rend him apart again.”

There was no hesitation. Just fact. The heat in my gut intensified, spreading outward. I shifted my attention, spotting another tear in his tunic, dark blood staining the fabric near his ribs.

“Shirt off,” I ordered, my voice huskier than intended.

He went utterly still. For a long second, the air crackled. Then, with a fluid ripple of muscle, he pulled the tunic over his head, tossing it aside.

Oh. God .

Gray scales flowed over muscle, defined and dangerous. Scars, pale lines against the dark crimson undertones, mapped old battles. And the rings. Twin hoops of dark metal pierced his nipples, catching the faint light. Primitive. Provocative. My fingers twitched.

Focus. I pressed the damp cloth to the shallow cut on his ribs. His muscles jumped, abs clenching hard under my touch. His breathing hitched, growing rougher. Not from pain. Definitely not from pain. His tail twitched once against the floor. A restless whip-crack sound in the quiet.

“Leg?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the scrape I was cleaning.

“A bruise,” he grumbled. “It requires nothing.”

I finished, setting the cloth aside. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. His scent filled my lungs—ozone, hot metal, and something intensely male, musky underneath. I started to pull back. “All done. Don’t get it?—”

He moved like lightning striking. One hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back. His mouth crashed down on mine.

It was not like before. There was no caution here. This was raw. Starvation unleashed. A claiming.

My gasp was swallowed whole. My hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard scales, anchoring myself as his tongue swept inside. Longer than human. Hotter. Textured ridges scraped against my own tongue, sending shocks straight down my spine. Smoke, metal, the coppery tang of his blood, and pure, undiluted Khorlar. Intoxicating.

“ Vrakasha ,” he groaned, the alien word a vibration against my lips.

I didn’t know it. Didn’t care. More .

My fingers dug in, nails scraping against the unyielding surface. A deep growl answered me, rumbling from his chest into mine. He surged to his feet, lifting me effortlessly. Air rushed past as he pinned me against the wall. Cool stone pressed against my back, his scorching heat branding my front. I moaned into his mouth.

“ Yes ,” he snarled, less a word, more a guttural agreement. His hands found my thighs, strong fingers digging in as he hitched my legs around his waist. His mouth left mine to plunder the side of my neck. Fangs grazed my pulse. Not breaking skin. Promising. Threatening. My head fell back, offering more.

The hard ridge of his cock pressed against my belly, insistent through the layers of our clothes. His hips rolled, a slow, deliberate friction that lit a firestorm between my legs. I arched against him, desperate for the contact.

“Clothes,” I gasped, fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers. “Too many.”

A sharp, guttural sound of assent came from him. His mouth returned to mine, devouring, as his claws made short work of the tough fabric. His cock sprang free, thick, dark crimson, glistening. Dark scales covered the base, fading into flushed, impossibly swollen flesh. That strange, mobile lip at the head pulsed. My breath caught.

My own clothes disappeared in a tangle of limbs and frantic need. Torn fabric joined his tunic on the floor. We were naked. I was gloriously, terrifyingly naked against him. He pulled back, his tail unwinding from its resting place to snake up my inner thigh, the tip leaving a trail of gooseflesh.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost reverent. Golden eyes devoured me. “Open for me.”

Shame warred with a defiant surge of heat. I didn’t cover myself. My gaze dropped, tracing the powerful lines of his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen, down to the thick, alien shaft straining toward me. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, catching the light like a dark jewel.

“Bed,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a register that resonated in my bones.

My legs trembled as I slid down the wall. I took two steps toward the platform, but his tail whipped around my waist, hauling me back against his chest. Hard muscle, cool scales, radiating heat. I gasped.

“Every inch,” he murmured, hot breath ghosting against my ear. “I will taste everywhere . Mark you until your scent screams mine .”

Was it offensive? It should be. But it wasn’t. Heat pooled, heavy and demanding, between my thighs.

His tail released my waist, the tip tracing a teasing path down my spine as I crawled onto the platform. Cool silks against burning skin. It was a moment’s relief. Then he was there, looming over me. His wings flared, plunging us into deeper shadow, a world shrunk to just the two of us.

The tip of his tail returned, dancing between my legs. Teasing strokes against slick folds, circling my entrance but never pushing inside. Never giving me the friction I craved. I writhed, hips lifting off the sheets.

“Please,” the word ripped out of me, raw and unfamiliar.

“Please what , vrakasha ?” That word again. Dark honey and threat. “Tell me.” His voice was a low growl near my ear.

“You. Inside. Now .” I reached down, trying to guide him.

His hand clamped around my wrist, pinning it gently above my head. “Patience.” A predator’s rumble. His mouth descended, closing over my breast. That tongue—long, rough, unbelievably hot—rasped across my nipple. I cried out, arching hard.

“So sensitive,” he purred against my skin, pure masculine satisfaction. “Trembling for me.” His tail resumed its wicked game, sliding through the wetness, stretching me just enough to torment. “So wet.”

It was truth. My body screamed its betrayal, its need. His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of fire over my ribs, my stomach. I knew where he was going. I couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to.

The first touch of his tongue to my core—I shattered. It was deeper than human. Rougher. The ridges created an almost unbearable friction. His hands gripped my thighs, parting me further. He consumed me. Relentless focus.

“Taste …,” he growled into me, the vibrations shaking my bones, “like fire. Like mine.”

His lips closed around my clit. Fangs, a hair's breadth away. Delicious danger. He suckled, tongue working magic, and the world dissolved. Orgasm slammed into me, stealing breath, stealing thought. My back bowed off the silks, a scream tearing from my throat, his name echoing in the small space. My fingers clawed at his shoulders, seeking purchase in a world gone white-hot.

He didn’t stop. He kept lapping, sucking, working me through the aftershocks until I was limp, trembling, skin exquisitely oversensitive. Only then did he lift his head, golden eyes blazing with fierce, possessive pride.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, crawling up my body. He kissed me, deep and slow. I tasted myself on him. The intimacy stole my breath all over again.

I felt the thick, blunt pressure near my entrance. Not his cock. His tail. More insistent this time. “Let me,” he murmured, voice ragged against my throat. “Prepare you. Don’t want to hurt …”

Before I could form words, he pushed inside. It was slow. Inexorable. The tapered tip stretched me, scales providing a rippling, alien friction. Not pain. Just … fullness. Strange perfection.

“Easy,” he coaxed, his voice strained. “Take it.”

His tail moved within me, a slow, deliberate invasion. Stretching, curling, learning my depths. Finding places I didn’t know existed. Each internal ripple sent sparks behind my eyes. His mouth worked my throat, my collarbone, leaving damp heat and the faint sting of fang marks. He was branding me.

I was dissolving under the dual assault, writhing, gasping his name, pleading without words. He withdrew his tail. A moment of shocking emptiness. Then it was replaced. Hot, blunt, impossibly thick. The head of his cock nudged against my opening.

“Look at me.” One large hand cupped my jaw, forcing my gaze to meet his. Molten gold burned into me. “Watch.”

Eyes locked, he pushed inside. Slowly. That ridged, pulsing lip at the crown nudged against hyper-sensitive flesh. Stretching. Burning. Filling me completely. He was bigger. So much bigger than human. The texture—scales grading into velvet heat—was utterly alien, utterly consuming.

“Tight,” he groaned, his control shredding. Fangs grazed his lower lip. “Gods … perfect .”

He sank deeper. Inch by agonizingly slow inch. His wings trembled. Restraint was costing him. When the scaled base of him finally met my slick flesh, he paused. Let me adjust. Let the overwhelming fullness settle. Stuffed. Claimed. Completed.

Then. He. Moved.

The first thrust was deep. Hitting bottom. A choked cry tore from me. Instinct took over. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the base of his spine, just above where the tail joined his body.

“Harder,” I sobbed, nails scoring crimson paths down the black scales of his back.

A roar ripped from him, primal and terrifying. He slammed into me. Faster. Deeper. That strange structure at the head of his cock pulsed, stroked, rubbed with every withdrawal, driving me insane. Finding nerves I didn't know I had.

We moved together. Flesh against scale. Silk twisting beneath us. We created a frantic rhythm. Sweat slicked our bodies. His scent—ozone, metal, musk—filled the air, thick and heavy.

“ Mine ,” he snarled, biting the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Not gently. Marking me. The word vibrated through my bones. “Say it, vrakasha .”

“Yours!” The word ripped free, torn from a place deeper than thought. Primal. Honest. In that moment, nothing else existed. His. Mine.

His rhythm broke. Thrusts became erratic, desperate. He was almost losing control. The scaled base ground against my clit, friction building unbearably. His tail lashed around my thigh, squeezing hard, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his hips.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice thick, guttural. “With me. Feel you.”

That final, deep thrust. The grinding pressure. The command. It shattered me. My inner muscles clenched around him, milking him. His answering roar shook the room, vibrating through the floor, through me. I felt his release flood me, hot, thick, branding me from the inside out. His pulses echoed my own climax.

Silence crashed down. Khorlar collapsed, his weight pinning me, his forehead pressed to mine. His wings draped over us like a fallen curtain. I felt his tremors, the harsh rasp of his breathing mingling with my own ragged gasps. He pulsed weakly inside me still. Echoes of the storm.

Eventually, agonizingly slowly, he shifted, rolling onto his side but pulling me with him. His arm banded my waist, his tail a heavy, possessive coil around my thigh. Claiming, even in exhaustion.

No words. What could be said? Inevitable disaster? Necessary collision? Both? My mind spun, trying to calculate consequences, risks. Warnings screamed silently.

But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I curled closer, my cheek finding the solid, steady beat of his heart beneath the scales. His arm tightened. Cool scales against fevered skin.

A mistake? Probably. Definitely. But as darkness pulled me under, wrapped in his heat and scent, I couldn't regret a single second.