Page 20

CHAPTER 20

POV: Briar

The clearing appears in front of me like an ancient forge circle—a perfect ring surrounded by blackthorns twisted into nightmare shapes. I stagger to a halt, lungs burning as if I've been working the bellows for days without rest.

Fuck, it hurts. Eleven days of running, of fighting this heat, and now it's consuming me from within. My skin radiates like iron just pulled from the fire, my leggings soaked through with evidence of my body's betrayal. Every heartbeat pulses between my legs, each one another hammer striking the same tender spot.

At the clearing's center stands a massive blackthorn tree, its bark black as coal at midnight. Red sap oozes from deep cracks like blood from a wounded beast, viscous and obscene. The crimson moon hangs overhead like some bloated, watchful eye, painting everything in the color of fresh-spilled iron.

Another wave hits me—not gradual like before but a tsunami of need that drives me to my knees. I fall hard, palms scraping against silver leaves that curl toward me like grasping fingers. The hollowness inside me has carved me out completely, like a mold waiting desperately to be filled.

"Shit," I hiss through clenched teeth, fighting to stand again, legs wobbling like poorly forged blades.

The cillae from that damned bracelet have spread again, covering my entire arm in blue-white light that pulses in time with my frantic heart. With each throb, heat surges through me, the cruel magic of the Hunt amplifying what should be natural into something torturous, like a smith deliberately overheating metal until it's one degree from ruin.

My hand instinctively reaches for the iron token tucked into the waistband of my tattered leggings. I clutch it like a talisman, its edge biting into my palm. My other hand drops to my thigh, fingers finding the makeshift knife I fashioned from a rusted blade and tree branch, bound with strips torn from my shift. Meager protection against what's coming, but I won't go down without a fight.

The air shifts suddenly, growing colder despite the fever burning through me. I don't need to look up to know he's here. My body already knows, the traitorous thing, my inner forge flaring hotter at his proximity.

"Well, look who finally showed up," I force out, hating how my voice shakes and my legs tremble.

Prince Cadeyrn steps from between the trees, and holy fucking hell, he's transformed even further since our moonlight confrontation. He was disturbing then—but now? He's feral, reforged into something barely recognizable.

His frame has expanded beyond what should be possible, muscles bulging as if someone hammered them into shape from living marble. What little remains of his clothing hangs in tatters, barely clinging to a body that's shed all pretense of civilization. Veins stand out like rivers of blue fire along his arms and chest, tracing cillae identical to those covering my skin. His marble-white body now flushes with violent vitality, sweat gleaming on skin that radiates power and heat despite the winter chill he brings—like hot metal that refuses to cool.

But it's his eyes—gods, his eyes. The ice-blue has been completely consumed by massive black pupils, leaving only the thinnest ring of color around abysses of hunger. Nothing remains of calculation or nobility—only primal, savage need fixed entirely on me.

His scent hits like a physical blow—winter wind and cold-forged steel with something so potently, aggressively male that my core responds with an involuntary clench. Fresh dampness gathers between my thighs, my body's instant, eager betrayal, reacting like metal melting under perfect heat.

He wears only a makeshift loincloth of animal hide that does absolutely nothing to hide his state. His arousal strains against the thin material, the outline obscenely visible—longer and thicker than seems possible, the head pushing well above the waistband against his stomach. Even from here, I can see it pulse with each beat of his heart, a living thing with its own desperate hunger. At the base, a subtle thickness hints at what will come—the knot that will lock us together, not yet fully formed but promising its eventual emergence.

"Found you," he growls, voice so ravaged by rut it barely sounds human. His chest heaves with each breath, muscles twitching with barely contained violence, frost forming and melting around his clenched fists.

I swallow hard, forcing defiance I don't entirely feel. "Congrats. Want a prize?"

His laugh is more snarl than amusement. "Oh, I'll be taking my prize." He stalks forward with deliberate steps, frost spreading from his bare feet only to melt instantly into the forest floor. "But don't worry, little deceiver. You'll get yours too."

He circles me like the predator he is, and I turn to keep him in sight, refusing to show my back despite the omega instincts screaming at me to submit, to present, to be taken. To melt beneath his touch like ore in a furnace.

"I see you," he says, nostrils flaring as he scents me through the failing glamour. "Not the illusion you've been hiding behind. Your true self, the self that’s finally at the forefront.”

Ice slides through my veins despite the heat, cold fear alongside burning need—the dangerous contrast that can shatter heated metal.

"Your copper hair," he continues, moving closer with each word. "Your amber eyes that dare to challenge when you should submit. Those arms strong enough to fight me."

"Noticed a lot about me, have you?" I snap, retreating until my back hits the massive blackthorn. More sap oozes at the contact, the bark hot against my shoulders like a forge wall.

His smile is all teeth, sharp canines elongated with rut. "I've noticed everything about you since the moment you walked into that circle wearing another's face."

"Then you know I'm not like the others," I say, chin lifting despite the tremors wracking my body. "I'm not some pampered breeding omega who'll roll over and beg. I've been hammering metal into submission since I was a child. You think I'm afraid of heat?"

"Good." The word drips with dark promise. "I've killed nine alphas to ensure no one else touches what's mine. The least you can do is make the claiming interesting."

Nine! I knew about the ones I'd found, but nine? The casual mention of his kills sends a conflicted thrill through me—horror at the brutality, alongside a shameful pulse of satisfaction that he fought so hard to claim me. Like learning a master smith destroyed his competitors' work to preserve his claim on a masterpiece.

Another wave of heat crashes through me, stronger than before, doubling me over with its force. My knees buckle, and I slide down the trunk, bark scraping my back through my thin shift like a rasp across metal.

"Fuck," I gasp, sweat soaking through my clothes as fever spikes.

Cadeyrn is on me in an instant, dropping to a predatory crouch. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, scenting my heat, my arousal, my fear—reading me like a smith reads metal by its color and scent.

"You've been fighting it too long," he says, close enough now that his breath stirs the hair at my temple. "Too many years suppressing what you are. And now you pay the price."

His hand shoots out, wrapping around my throat in a grip that's firm but not crushing. My pulse hammers against his palm, my airway clear but a silent threat established.

"Do you know what you've done to me?" he demands, rage edging his voice. "Seven centuries of control. Seven centuries without a single rut. Then you appear, and it all burns away like it was nothing.”

His other hand tangles in my hair, still platinum blonde from the glamour spell, and the magic melts against his palm, copper strands breaking through the illusion.

“I should despise you for it," he continues, his jaw clenched. "My court position, my immortality, my reputation—all compromised because I can't get your fucking scent out of my head."

The crude word sounds strange from those lips, evidence of how far he's crumbled from princely perfection.

"Not my problem," I gasp out, arching against his hold despite myself. "No one asked you to hunt me."

"As if I had a choice!" His grip tightens momentarily before he catches himself. "They told me rut would age me, weaken me. They lied." A feral smile spreads across his face. "I can't think straight, can barely form words, and yet I've never felt this powerful."

The iron token burns against my palm as I grip it tighter. Without warning, I lunge forward, driving it straight at his chest. He reacts with inhuman speed, catching my wrist in a bruising grip just before the iron makes contact. His skin sizzles where it nears the token, and he snarls in pain and fury.

"You little savage," he growls, something like admiration flashing in his eyes.

I twist violently, my other hand whipping around with the makeshift knife. The rusted blade scrapes his shoulder before he catches that wrist too, blood beading along the shallow cut. For a moment, surprise crosses his features—not at the wound, which is negligible, but at my audacity.

"Still fighting," he says, something like respect coloring his voice. "Good."

In a single, brutal movement, he slams both my wrists above my head, pinning them against the tree with one massive hand. The knife clatters uselessly to the ground. He pries the iron token from my fingers with his free hand, examining it briefly before flinging it far into the undergrowth.

"Clever," he says, "but futile."

He shudders violently, as if fighting against himself. "It burns inside me every second, a fucking inferno demanding I find you, claim you, fill you with my seed until you're rounded with my offspring."

The graphic description wrenches a moan from my throat, my body responding with eagerness while my mind still fights. I hate this—hate my weakness, hate how much I want exactly what he's describing.

"I won't make it easy for you," I warn, baring my teeth.

His smile is devastating, a predator's delight in worthy prey. "Good." One hand slides down my body, ripping my shift open with casual strength. "Fighting will make your surrender all the sweeter."

Cool air hits my overheated skin, and I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, relief floods me as the confining fabric falls away. His eyes devour me, pupils dark as the night sky.

"Perfect," he breathes, voice dropping to something reverent and starved at once.

The glamour shatters completely at his touch—Willow's delicate features dissolving like flux in a forge. My copper hair tumbles free around my shoulders, its true color revealed in the crimson moonlight. My skin, flushed with heat rather than Willow's pearly pallor. My strength, no longer disguised by illusion—the blacksmith's body I've earned through years of labor on display.

"There she is," Cadeyrn murmurs, satisfaction dark in his voice. "My little omega. Finally."

His mouth crashes down on mine, more attack than kiss. His tongue forces past my lips, claiming, conquering. I bite down hard enough to draw blood, copper flooding my mouth as I mark him back. If I'm to be claimed, I'll leave my own marks too, just as metal scars the smith's hands.

He growls into the kiss, the sound vibrating through my bones. His hands roam my body with bruising intensity, claiming every inch. When his fingers find my breasts, I gasp against his mouth, arching shamelessly into his touch.

"Look how eager and willing you are," he taunts, rolling my nipple between his fingers with precision that borders on cruelty. "This body you've denied for so long—it knows what it needs."

"Fuck you," I spit, even as my hips buck against him, seeking friction, seeking relief.

"Soon," he promises with terrifying certainty.

His hand travels lower, over the curve of my hip, then between my thighs where I'm embarrassingly ready. When his fingers slide through my dampness, I cry out, the sensation almost painful after days of heat with no relief.

"So wet for me," he murmurs against my throat, two fingers circling my entrance without penetrating. "Tell me how much you need this. Beg me to claim you."

"Never," I grit out, even as my hips roll against his hand, seeking deeper contact.

His teeth scrape the junction of my neck and shoulder—not breaking skin yet, just promising what's to come. "Your pride means nothing now. Your body tells the truth your words deny."

When his fingers finally push inside me, I nearly scream. The emptiness that's been tormenting me for days finally, finally filled—though not enough, nowhere near enough. He works me with ruthless efficiency, adding a third finger that stretches and burns in the best way.

"That's it," he encourages as I rock against his hand, chasing pleasure I've denied myself for years. "Show me how badly you need me to fill you."

"I hate you," I pant, the words lacking conviction as pressure builds low in my spine.

His thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center, circling with perfect pressure. "Hate me all you want. Your cunt still weeps for my cock."

The crude language from such a refined being breaks something inside me. The release crashes through me without warning, inner walls clenching around his fingers as wave after wave spills through me like metal giving way to perfect heat.

But it's not enough. The heat recedes only momentarily before returning stronger than before. This is just the beginning. I need more. Need him.

Cadeyrn watches my face as I come down, his expression a mix of hunger and triumph. "See?" he murmurs. "Your body knows its alpha."

Before I can form a retort, he's moving, tearing away the loincloth to reveal himself fully. My eyes widen at the sight. He's massive, the rut state causing an enlargement that seems impossible. Veins stand out along the shaft, the head flushed an angry purple-red.

"Now you understand what's coming," he says, noting my expression. "This is what fighting your nature has earned you—the most painful claiming possible."

I make one last, desperate attempt at resistance, driving my knee up toward his groin with all my blacksmith's strength. He catches my thigh with contemptuous ease, using the momentum to flip me suddenly, pressing me face-first against the blackthorn tree. The bark scrapes my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. More sap flows at the contact, burning where it touches my skin before sinking beneath the surface, leaving no trace.

"Present," he commands, a hand between my shoulder blades forcing me to arch my back, hips tilted to expose me completely.

I twist suddenly, fighting against his hold. "No," I snarl, adrenaline surging through exhaustion and need. "I won't just submit to you!"

His growl vibrates through the clearing as I struggle beneath him, using every ounce of my blacksmith's strength to buck and twist. My elbow connects with his ribs—it's like hitting an anvil, but I feel a satisfying grunt of surprise from him.

"Stop fighting what you need," he growls, pinning my wrists above my head with one massive hand.

"Fuck you," I spit, still thrashing. "I decide what I need, not you, not my biology, not?—"

His teeth sink into the curve of my shoulder—not the claiming spot, just a warning bite that sends competing signals of pain and pleasure shooting through me. I cry out, my body freezing instinctively beneath a predator's jaws.

"Your mind fights," he murmurs against my skin, tongue soothing the bite mark, "but your body knows better."

His free hand slides between my thighs, fingers coated instantly with evidence of my desire. The proof of my body's betrayal is humiliating and undeniable.

"That's just heat," I protest weakly, even as my hips betray me by tilting up into his touch.

"No," he says with terrible certainty. "That's you. Heat amplifies what's already there. You want this—want me—as much as I want you."

He gathers my wrists in one hand again, pressing me face-down against the blackthorn tree. His other hand grips my hip, positioning me with ruthless precision.

I struggle one last time, pride demanding the fight even as my body screams for surrender. "I won't be just another claimed omega," I gasp out.

His teeth find my ear, biting just hard enough to send a spark of pleasure shooting down my spine. "You could never be 'just' anything," he says, voice rough with need and something that might be respect. "Now stop fighting what we both need."

His next bite is harder, at the junction where neck meets shoulder—not the claiming bite yet, but savage enough to draw blood. The sharp pain rips through me like a hot chisel striking cold metal. Against every stubborn instinct I possess, my body responds, my back arching of its own accord, presenting my hips at the perfect angle for claiming.

"Fight me," he orders, his voice guttural and raw. "Don't surrender so easily, little one."

I respond with fury, bucking violently against his grip. My elbow catches his jaw with a satisfying crack that would have shattered human bone. He laughs, the sound more animal than fae, and pins me harder against the tree, bark digging cruelly into my breasts, splinters drawing blood that mingles with the tree's red sap.

"Better," he growls, appreciating my resistance. "I want to feel you break."

I twist suddenly, my blacksmith's strength momentarily surprising him. I land a solid punch to his solar plexus that would have dropped a normal man. Cadeyrn merely snarls, eyes flashing with primal delight as he slams me back against the tree hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The impact sends pulsing stars across my vision.

"I'm not yours," I spit, blood from my split lip spraying across his perfect face.

He licks my blood from his skin, eyes never leaving mine. "Not yet."

His hand shoots between my thighs, fingers roughly penetrating me without preamble. The invasion is brutal and perfect, his thumb finding my sensitive bud with unerring precision. He reads my body's responses like a master smith reads metal at just the right temperature, applying pressure in a rhythm that has me gasping despite my rage.

"Your cunt says otherwise," he taunts, crooking his fingers to strike a spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. "Soaked for me. Made for me."

I bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but my body betrays me again, hips grinding against his hand. The emptiness inside demands to be filled, my heat-maddened body uncaring about my pride.

"I'll kill you for this," I promise through gritted teeth, even as my inner walls clench hungrily around his fingers.

His smile is terrifying in its beauty. "You can try. After."

I feel him position himself behind me, his clothing fully torn away now. The blunt head of his arousal presses against my entrance—impossibly large, impossibly hard, radiating heat like steel from the forge.

Fear and arousal collide within me, neither yielding to the other. Despite how ready I am, he feels too large, too much. I renew my struggles, panic lending me strength.

"Hold still," he commands, voice laced with power that resonates through my very bones.

"Fuck you," I snarl, throwing my head back in an attempt to crack his skull.

He catches my hair, wrenching my head to the side with brutal efficiency. His other arm locks around my waist, positioning me exactly as he wants, immovable as an anvil.

"Submit," he growls, and drives his cock inside me with punishing force.

The invasion is exquisite agony—pain and pleasure so intertwined I can't separate them. I scream, the sound torn from my throat as he splits me open. He's deeper than should be possible, stretching tissues never meant to accommodate something so massive. The burn is excruciating and perfect, my body simultaneously rebelling against and surrendering to the intrusion.

He pauses when fully seated, his chest heaving against my back, his length throbbing inside me like a living brand. I can feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of blood through his shaft. For one suspended moment, we're frozen together, joined but still warring.

"Look how perfectly you take me," he says, voice rough with wonder and possession. “This little cunt of yours so wet and eager for my cock. Almost as if you’ve been waiting for me your whole puny human life.”

“Not even a little bit,” I gasp, the denial weak even to my own ears.

He pulls back slowly, the drag of his hardness against my sensitive inner walls drawing a broken sound from my lips. Then he slams forward again with brutal force, driving me against the tree. Bark tears at my skin, pain blossoming across my chest and stomach, the sensations only heightening the devastating pleasure of his length stretching me beyond my limits.

He sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust violent and precise. The clearing fills with obscene sounds—the wet impact of flesh against flesh, the animalistic grunts torn from his throat, my own desperate cries that I can no longer suppress. His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises shaped like his fingers, controlling my body with unstoppable strength.

"Still fighting me?" he taunts, reaching around to pinch my sensitive bud between cruel fingers. The sharp pain sends lightning through my veins, building pressure at the base of my spine.

"Always," I manage, the word breaking on a moan as he adjusts his angle, striking something deep inside that makes my vision white out momentarily.

He chuckles, the sound dark and knowing. "Then fight this."

His rhythm speeds up, becomes impossibly harder. One hand slides up to grab my throat, squeezing just enough to restrict my air, sending dizzying waves of intensified sensation crashing through me. His other hand works between my legs, fingers circling with the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm.

My body betrays me spectacularly. The release hits like a hammer striking white-hot metal, explosive and transformative. My inner walls clamp down on his invading length, rippling and pulsing around him. I scream his name, the sound torn from my throat as pleasure beyond anything I've ever known consumes me.

"That's it," he growls, never slowing his brutal pace. "Take what I give you."

The pleasure crests and breaks, only to build again immediately as he adjusts his angle, targeting that devastating spot inside me with ruthless precision. I'm caught in an endless storm of sensation, my body no longer my own. A second release crashes through me before the first fully recedes, my mind fracturing under the onslaught.

"Please," I hear myself beg, not sure if I'm asking him to stop or never stop.

His rhythm falters, grows erratic. I feel the base of his length beginning to swell, the knot forming. Panic slices through the haze of pleasure. This is the final claim, the irrevocable joining.

"No—" I gasp, struggling again, but my strength is spent, my body limp with exhaustion and overwhelming sensation.

Cadeyrn pulls me upright against his chest, one arm locked around my waist, the other hand splayed possessively across my throat. His lips brush my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"That's it," he snarls, "Give in."

All of the pleasure—his length inside me, his hand on my neck—hurtles me toward another release with brutal efficiency. When it hits, the orgasm tears through me like a forge explosion, my inner muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses that wring a guttural sound from his throat.

"Yes," he hisses against my neck, hand squeezing tight. "Squeeze me just like that. Take everything I give you. Take my fucking knot."

With a final, brutal thrust, he seats himself fully inside me, his swelling knot pushing past my entrance with excruciating pressure. For a heartbeat, I'm certain it will tear me apart. The pain is blinding, too much, impossible?—

Then the knot pops inside, locking into place, and agony transforms into delirious pleasure as he begins to pulse. Hot spurts of his seed flood my depths, each one triggering another wave of pleasure that radiates outward from where we're joined.

As his knot locks us together, his teeth find the perfect spot where my neck meets my shoulder—the claiming gland that's throbbed with anticipation since the first day of the Hunt. His bite is savage, canines sinking deep, breaking skin and tissue with brutal efficiency.

I scream, the sound inhuman, as claiming hormones flood my system. The bite ignites something primal inside me, a chemical reaction as violent as quenching red-hot steel. My body responds with a final, devastating release that seems to consume my very soul. The world fractures around us, reality itself bending under the force of our joining.

Magic explodes through the clearing—raw, wild, ancient power that has nothing to do with court politics or human understanding. Dormant plants burst into sudden, violent bloom around us, flowers erupting from winter-dead soil. The blackthorn tree behind us groans, branches bending to form a cathedral-like canopy above our joined bodies. The ground beneath us shifts, roots erupting to create a natural nest, cradling our entwined forms.

But most shocking of all is the mental connection that slams into place between us. The barrier between our minds shatters like brittle iron, leaving us completely exposed to each other.

I'm hurled into Cadeyrn's memories—centuries of isolation, of ruthless self-control, of court physicians forcing bitter concoctions down his throat whenever emotion threatened to break through his perfect mask. I feel the weight of immortality crushing him, the endless politics, the calculated cruelty of a system that values power above all else. I witness the exact moment he saw me at the Gathering Circle—the shock of recognition that shook seven centuries of perfect control, the instant, unwanted desire that blazed through him like a forge fire, the fury at his own response that quickly became obsession.

And Cadeyrn experiences me with equal intimacy—my fierce protection of Willow, my years hiding as a beta, the constant vigilance to avoid discovery. He feels my pride in my blacksmith's strength, the satisfaction I find in bending stubborn metal to my will. Most intimate of all, he experiences my contradictory response to him—the attraction I've fought since first seeing him, the thrill of being hunted by something so powerful, the shame those feelings ignite in me.

As he continues to pump endless waves of seed into me, his knot pulsing with each release, the cillae from the silver bracelet spread across both our bodies in matching designs. They meet over our hearts, forming an intricate pattern that glows with blue-white light in perfect synchronization with our shared heartbeat.

The blackthorn tree's red sap drips onto our joined bodies, burning like liquid fire where it touches skin before sinking beneath the surface. It leaves no visible mark, but I feel it traveling through my veins, marking me from within with ancient magic.

Carefully, mindful of the knot binding us together, Cadeyrn lowers us to the ground. He cradles me in his lap, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around me in a hold that's both possessive and strangely protective. I can feel his heart thundering against my spine, its rhythm perfectly matched to my own.

His knot keeps us locked together, impossibly large inside me. It shows no signs of diminishing—we'll remain joined like this for at least an hour, I realize, his seed continuing to fill me in rhythmic waves. My body shudders with aftershocks, muscles clenching involuntarily around the intrusion, drawing strangled groans from Cadeyrn with each pulse.

"What...the fuck...was that?" I finally manage, my voice utterly destroyed, throat raw from screaming.

His arms tighten around me, his cheek pressing against the top of my head in a gesture so tender it seems impossible from the same being who just claimed me with such violence.

"I don't know," he admits, confusion evident beneath the lingering haze of rut. "I've never felt anything like it. Never heard of anything like it."

I shift slightly, gasping as the movement tugs his knot against oversensitized tissues. He hisses in shared response, hands immediately steadying my hips.

"Don't," he warns, voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "You'll only hurt yourself. We're locked together until the knot subsides."

"How long?" I ask, though I already know the answer from Flora's clinical explanations.

"An hour. Maybe more." His hand comes up to trace the claiming bite on my neck. The touch sends a jolt of pleasure through me, my inner walls clenching reflexively around his knot. We both groan at the sensation.

"The magic..." I begin, struggling to form coherent thoughts through the haze of aftermath.

"Wild Magic," he says, the words carrying wonder and unease in equal measure. "Something from before the courts. Before the Hunt was corrupted."

Another wave of pleasure washes through me as his knot pulses, releasing another flood of warmth inside me. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but he feels it through our newfound connection, a growl rumbling through his chest in response.

"You need more," he states, understanding my body's continued hunger. His hand slides between our joined bodies to circle my bud.

"I can't," I protest weakly, certain I'll shatter if pushed to another climax.

"You can," he counters, fingers moving with devastating skill. "And you will."

He applies the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm, reading my responses through our mental link. His other hand comes up to cup my breast, thumb and forefinger rolling the sensitive peak with precise cruelty. Behind me, his hips make tiny, grinding movements that shift his knot against my most sensitive spots.

I try to fight it, determined to maintain some shred of control, but it's hopeless. The pleasure builds again, impossibly intense after everything I've already experienced. When it breaks over me, it's less an orgasm than a complete dissolution of self. I scatter like sparks from a hammer blow, existing for one eternal moment as pure sensation.

My inner walls contract violently around his knot, triggering another release from him. I feel the hot pulses of his seed, feel his pleasure echoing through our connection, amplifying my own in an endless feedback loop. We're caught in a cycle of shared ecstasy that seems to have no beginning and no end.

When I return to myself, I find him watching me with an expression I can't quite interpret—hunger still, but tempered with something almost like awe.

"You needed an alpha," he says, his thumb tracing the bite mark on my neck with surprising tenderness. "Your heat would have killed you otherwise."

The statement should infuriate me, but exhaustion and the lingering euphoria of multiple climaxes blunt the edge of my usual defiance. Besides, there's something disarmingly honest in his tone—not smug dominance but simple truth.

"And you needed me," I counter, feeling his length twitch inside me at the words.

Something almost like a smile crosses his face. "It seems we're both claimed, little omega."

The forest whispers around us, silver leaves rustling messages too ancient for human understanding. The crimson moon watches from above as we remain joined, locked together by biology and something far more complex. His seed works deep inside me, and another pulse of his knot reminds me that we're far from finished.

My body burns from the inside out, from the bite at my neck that throbs with each heartbeat to the knot that stretches me beyond what should be possible. Every nerve ending is raw, hypersensitive, like metal heated past its limits and reshaped into something new. When I try to move, his arms tighten possessively, a growl vibrating through his chest against my back.

"Be still," he orders, though his voice has lost some of its earlier savagery. "The bond is still forming."

"Bond?" The word comes out broken, my throat wrecked from screaming.

I feel his nod against my hair. "The claiming bond. It's... different than it should be. Stronger."

Through our mental connection, I catch flashes of his thoughts—confusion mingled with possessive satisfaction, concern shadowed by primal triumph. He's as shaken as I am by whatever has happened between us, this magical union that goes far beyond the physical claiming.

His hands roam my body almost reverently now, tracing the patterns of bruises and bite marks he's left on my skin. Each touch sends sparks through my nerve endings. I should hate this, hate him, hate myself for responding to him—but the hatred won't come, burned away by something deeper and more complex.

"I can feel you," he murmurs against my temple, lips surprisingly gentle. "Your thoughts. Your emotions."

"Get out of my head," I snap, though there's little heat behind it. I'm too exhausted, too overwhelmed by everything that's happened.

His soft laugh surprises me. "I would if I could," he admits. "This wasn't... expected."

Another wave of his release pulses through the knot, filling me with liquid heat. My body responds with a shuddering aftershock, inner walls contracting around him, drawing a hiss from his lips.

"You're going to kill me, little blacksmith," he groans, fingers digging into my hips as pleasure courses through us both.

"That was my original plan," I manage, a ghost of my earlier defiance surfacing through the exhaustion.

"And now?" He shifts slightly, deliberately pressing his knot against that devastating spot inside me. Stars explode behind my eyes, my back arching involuntarily.

"Now I'll wait until after you've proven useful," I gasp, stubbornly refusing to give him the satisfaction of complete surrender.

His laugh is richer this time, almost genuine. His hand comes up to cup my face, turning it so he can look into my eyes. What I see there staggers me—the raw hunger remains, but alongside it is something like wonder.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" he asks, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Seven centuries of perfect control, shattered by one copper-haired deceiver."

"Not sorry," I mutter, though the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to maintain my bravado.

"No, you wouldn't be." There's something almost like admiration in his voice. "The first omega to ever challenge me. The first to ever make me feel..."

He doesn't finish the thought, but through our connection, I catch impressions—heat and hunger, yes, but also a desperate, clawing need for something beyond physical satisfaction. Connection. Recognition. Understanding.

"I didn't ask for this," I say, needing to assert some boundary, some control over what's happening between us.

"Neither did I." His honesty is jarring. "But here we are."

Here we are indeed—joined physically, mentally, magically, surrounded by a forest transformed by our claiming, with wild magic awakened that neither of us fully understands.

Whatever happens next, whatever consequences arise from what we've awakened here, one thing is certain: I entered this forest as one person and will leave it as another. Not just claimed, but transformed like metal through fire, hammer, and quenching. And Cadeyrn, for all his power and immortality, appears equally changed.

The Hunt has only just begun.