Page 48

CHAPTER 48

POV: Briar

I've spent most of my life avoiding detection. Hiding my omega status from village census takers, masking my scent with herbal concoctions, wearing bindings tight enough to make breathing an optional activity. But I've never seen anything like the invisible pathways that honeycomb the Winter Palace.

"These passages were designed centuries ago," Lysandra explains as she guides me through a narrow corridor hidden behind what had appeared to be a solid ice wall. "A way for omega servants to move throughout the palace without disturbing the sensibilities of noble alphas."

"You mean so they wouldn't have to acknowledge that actual people were cleaning up after them," I translate, trailing my fingers along the wall. Unlike the polished perfection of the main corridors, these passages bear the marks of countless hands—smooth depressions worn into the ice by generations of omegas passing through.

Lysandra's lips quirk in that almost-smile I'm coming to recognize as her version of outright laughter. "Indeed. The irony being that these 'invisible' pathways actually provide access to nearly every chamber in the palace, including many the nobles believe to be completely secure."

The little ones shift restlessly as we walk, one of them jamming what feels like an elbow directly into my bladder. I wince, pressing a hand against the spot.

"Are you alright?" Lysandra asks, cillae brightening with concern.

"Just internal acrobatics," I assure her, adjusting my increasingly uncomfortable stance. "I swear they're having a competition in there to see who can hit the most vital organs."

We've been exploring the hidden network for several hours, ever since Cadeyrn left for his meeting with the council. Instead of waiting passively in our quarters as instructed (like I've ever been good at following instructions), I convinced Lysandra to show me the omega passages that might prove crucial to our plans.

Eventually, we find ourselves in what appears to be a vast library. Unlike the stark perfection of the public rooms, this chamber feels ancient, almost organic. Bookshelves carved directly from ice rise to the vaulted ceiling, while tables formed from a strange blue-white material that's neither ice nor stone dot the open floor.

"The Ancient Archives," Lysandra explains, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "Most of the court has forgotten its existence. Those who remember believe the knowledge here to be obsolete, superseded by modern court understanding."

"Let me guess—that 'modern understanding' conveniently supports current power structures," I say, approaching the nearest shelf with undisguised curiosity.

"Perceptive," she murmurs, following behind me. "The court physicians have their own medical texts, carefully curated to include only approved knowledge. But these..." Her hand sweeps to encompass the vast collection. "These contain truths that predate court divisions."

I run my fingers along the spines of several ancient tomes, surprised to find them warm to the touch despite the frigid surroundings. A book with a pale blue cover etched with cillae seems to pulse beneath my touch, calling to me. Without thinking, I pull it from the shelf.

The tome falls open to illustrations that make heat rise in my cheeks. Unlike the clinical medical texts I'd expected, these depict the original Wild Hunt in explicit detail. An alpha in full rut chases an omega in heat through a moonlit forest, his powerful body transformed by primal need. The next image shows their claiming—the omega on hands and knees, back arched in submission, the alpha mounted behind her with teeth bared at her neck. The alpha's knot is clearly visible, binding them together while cillae spiral across both their bodies in matching rhythms.

What strikes me most isn't the explicit nature of the images—it's the expressions captured on both faces. The omega's features show not fear but ecstasy, her submission clearly willing, even eager. The alpha's possessiveness is protective rather than destructive. A primal dance of dominance and yielding, intense and raw but without cruelty.

I turn the page and find more explicit depictions—the alpha claiming the omega against a tree, pinning her wrists above her head; the omega riding the alpha, head thrown back in pleasure while his hands grip her hips with bruising force; the pair locked together by his knot, his teeth breaking the skin at her throat in a claiming bite that sends cillae spiraling across her entire body.

Beside these are ancient drawings of omega bodies nurturing fae offspring. The illustrations show an alpha claiming a pregnant omega, their bodies joined while streams of ancient power flow visibly from alpha to omega.

"This is why most omegas don't survive carrying fae children," I whisper, understanding dawning. "The magical drain is too intense without regular claiming."

"Precisely," Lysandra confirms. "For a single fae child, the drain is severe. For four..." She shakes her head, clearly still amazed by my situation. "It's unprecedented."

"The alpha's continued claiming during pregnancy replenishes the omega," I continue, studying the images with growing fascination. "But the court abandoned this practice?"

"It was deemed inefficient," Lysandra says with barely concealed distaste. "Court physicians determined it was simpler to use more omegas rather than sustain pregnancies with continued claiming. Especially as it required alphas to remain with a single omega rather than spreading their seed widely."

I stare at the illustrations, thinking of how my body has been increasingly hungry for Cadeyrn's touch these past days, how the fatigue lifts momentarily whenever he's near. "And without this..."

"The magic eventually becomes fatal," Lysandra confirms. "Modern court practice focuses on extracting viable offspring before omega death rather than preventing that death altogether."

"Barbaric," I mutter, but my attention remains fixed on the illustrations, a growing heat pooling low in my belly. The claiming bond with Cadeyrn pulses in response, as if my body recognizes what it needs even before my mind fully comprehends.

I continue turning pages, finding detailed explanations of how omega scent glands evolved to trigger their paired alpha's rut again during pregnancy. The resulting claiming involved a different kind of alpha seed—one full of raw magical power that replenished the omega rather than creating new life.

The library door opens, and Cadeyrn strides in, cillae pulsing with agitation. He stops short at the sight of us bent over the ancient text.

"I thought I asked you to stay in our quarters," he says, his gaze fixed on me.

"You did," I acknowledge cheerfully. "I decided this was more interesting."

For a moment, I think he might actually be angry. Then his expression softens into that almost-smile that makes something flutter in my chest.

"I should have known better than to expect compliance," he says, crossing to where I stand. His hand settles at the small of my back, a gesture that's becoming familiar. "The council session has adjourned with no resolution. Elder Iris Bloom continues to press for our surrender, while Lord Frostbaine makes thinly veiled threats about omega insurrection."

His eyes drop to the book still open before me, taking in the explicit illustrations. I feel his body go still beside me, cillae brightening with sudden realization.

"We need to move forward with securing the birth chambers tonight," he says, voice tight with new urgency. "Court physicians loyal to Lord Frostbaine have been making unauthorized modifications to siphon magical discharge during birth."

"I've seen them," Lysandra confirms. "If Briar delivers in those chambers as currently configured, the ancient power flowing through the little ones would be drained into containment crystals for court use."

The little ones shift again, and I wince as one of them presses against my spine. Cadeyrn notices immediately, his arm sliding around my waist to support me. His eyes are drawn again to the illustrations, understanding darkening his features.

"The alpha power during the carrying," he murmurs. "It's different from that during initial breeding."

"During rut-induced claiming of a pregnant omega, the alpha produces pure magical essence rather than reproductive material," Lysandra explains clinically. "It replenishes what the fae offspring draw from their mother."

I can't meet Cadeyrn's eyes as the implications sink in. My body's growing hunger for his touch these past days hasn't just been inconvenient biology or confusing emotions—it's been survival instinct.

"I've been an idiot," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

Cadeyrn's hand travels from my back to my face. His thumb traces my cheekbone in a gesture so tender it momentarily steals my breath. "No," he says softly. "You had every reason to keep your distance after what you learned."

But I know the truth—I've been denying myself his touch partly out of lingering anger, yes, but also out of stubborn pride. Even as my body grew heavier with his children, even as forgiveness began taking root in my heart, I'd resisted the natural progression of our bond out of some misguided sense that yielding to pleasure meant yielding the moral high ground.

"We need to secure those birth chambers," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady as his scent surrounds me, suddenly overwhelming in its appeal. "But first..."

"We should return to our chambers," Cadeyrn finishes, his voice carrying a new note of urgency that sends a shiver down my spine.

For once, I don't argue. The knowledge from the ancient texts has awakened an awareness in my body that's impossible to ignore—a hungry, demanding pull that centers in my core and spreads outward in waves of heat that have nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with the claiming bond between us.

"Yes," I agree, already turning toward the door. "Right now."

Lysandra's knowing smile follows us. "I'll prepare the proper herbs for after," she calls after us. "The first claiming during pregnancy often triggers a stronger response than expected."

I should be embarrassed by her clinical discussion of what's about to happen between Cadeyrn and me, but I'm beyond caring. My skin feels too tight, my senses hyperfocused on the alpha beside me—his scent, his movement, the steady rhythm of his breathing that I suddenly want to disrupt with pleasure.

The door to our chambers closes with a soft click that somehow echoes through my bones. For a moment, we simply stand there, eyes locked across the space between us, the ancient knowledge we discovered still hanging in the air like frost.

"So," I say, breaking the silence with deliberate lightness, "turns out we've been doing this all wrong."

Cadeyrn's lips quirk into that almost-smile that makes something flutter in my chest. "Is that what you took from those ancient texts? That we've been... inefficient?"

"Well, I've been starving myself of something I apparently need, and you've been..." I gesture vaguely at him, at the hunger so evident in his eyes, "restraining yourself for no good reason."

"No good reason?" He takes a step toward me, cillae pulsing beneath his skin with each heartbeat. "I thought you hated me."

The words hang between us, honest and vulnerable in a way the cold, calculating Winter Prince of old could never have managed. The transformation isn't just physical—the man watching me now bears little resemblance to the detached royal who observed omegas at the Gathering Circle.

"I wanted to," I admit, remaining where I stand rather than retreating. This isn't about the chase anymore. "I tried to. It would have been easier."

"And now?" Another step closer, his winter scent—pine and metal and something uniquely him—washing over me like a physical caress.

"Now I'm carrying four lives that shouldn't be possible." My hands rest on my swollen belly where the little ones shift restlessly. "And I'm tired of fighting what we both know is happening between us."

Something flashes in his eyes—hope, hunger, relief—quickly banked but not before I catch it. "And what exactly is happening between us, little deceiver?"

The old nickname draws an involuntary smile from me. "Something neither of us expected. Something neither of us was looking for."

He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head to maintain eye contact, close enough that the heat of his body creates its own gravitational pull. His hand lifts, hovering near my face without quite touching.

"May I?" he asks, the simple request laden with meaning beyond the physical.

Instead of answering, I lean into his touch, my cheek pressing against his palm. The contact sends cillae spiraling from his skin to mine, blue-white lines of magic meeting and merging in delicate whorls.

"I've missed you," he confesses, voice rough with emotion that the Winter Prince of old would have considered weakness. "Even when you were right beside me in council chambers, in the archives. I've missed this." His thumb traces my lower lip. "The connection."

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs at his honesty. This isn't the calculated seduction of an alpha in rut or the cold manipulation of a court politician. This is simply Cadeyrn—stripped of pretense, of performance, of seven centuries of careful walls.

"I've missed you too," I whisper back, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Though I'd have bitten my tongue off before admitting it yesterday."

His laugh is low and warm. "Your pride rivals mine, blacksmith."

"Maybe that's why we work," I suggest, my own hands coming up to trace the cillae that spiral across his chest. "We're equally stubborn."

"Equally transformed," he corrects, tilting my face up to his. "Equally changed by whatever magic we've awakened between us."

When his lips finally meet mine, the gentleness lasts only a heartbeat before something primal shatters between us. A wave of heat crashes through my core, so intense it steals my breath—my heat, rising in violent response to his proximity. The scent of my arousal fills the air between us, sweet and heavy with need, and Cadeyrn's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply.

"Fuck," he growls against my mouth, his pupils dilating so rapidly the ice-blue is nearly swallowed by black. "Your heat—it's coming on stronger than before."

My skin burns everywhere we touch, nerve endings alive with sensation as my biology responds to compatible alpha pheromones. I feel myself getting wet, my body preparing with embarrassing eagerness, my inner muscles clenching around desperate emptiness.

"I need—" I gasp, unable to form coherent thoughts as heat floods my system. "Cadeyrn, I need?—"

His teeth find my lower lip, biting hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure shooting down my spine. "I know exactly what you need."

Frost explodes outward from where our bodies connect, crystallizing the air around us in violent, beautiful patterns. His hands tangle in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat as his mouth descends. When his teeth graze my claiming mark, my knees actually buckle, a sound escaping my lips that I'd be mortified by if I could think clearly.

His arms encircle me, careful of my pregnant belly as he draws me closer. I feel his cock hardening against my hip, his body responding to our proximity with instinctive eagerness. Through our connected cillae, I sense his rut rising to meet my heat, our biology synchronizing as it was always meant to.

"I need you," I murmur against his mouth, the admission easier now than it's ever been. "Not just for them." I glance down at my rounded belly. "For me."

His pupils dilate at my words, ice-blue nearly disappearing as rut takes firmer hold. "Say it again," he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest against mine.

"I need you," I repeat, reaching between us to cup his hardness through his clothing. "I want you. Now."

With a sound that's half-groan, half-growl, he lifts me into his arms, carrying me to our bed with effortless strength. I find myself laughing as he sets me down among silks and furs, the simple joy of giving in to what we both want bubbling up unexpectedly.

"Something amusing?" he asks, removing his formal Winter Court attire with swift efficiency.

"Just... this." I gesture between us, watching in undisguised appreciation as his body is revealed. "The idea that for weeks we've been denying ourselves something we both desperately want, all because I was too proud to admit I'd forgiven you and you were too considerate to push."

His expression softens into something dangerous close to tenderness. "Have you? Forgiven me?"

I meet his gaze directly, not hiding from the question or my answer. "Yes. Not because what you did wasn't terrible, but because who you're becoming is someone worth forgiving." I reach for him, drawing him down beside me on the bed. "Someone worth loving."

The word hangs between us, neither of us having dared speak it before. His cillae flare brightly at my admission, blue-white light pulsing with the rhythm of his quickened heartbeat.

"Briar," he murmurs, my name emerging like a prayer.

"Don't make it a big thing," I warn, though my own patterns respond to his with matching brightness. "I'm just stating facts. Now are you going to claim me properly or shall I find someone else to help with my little magical crisis?"

The teasing provocation works exactly as intended. His eyes narrow, pupils expanding further as rut floods his system. "You're playing with fire, little deceiver."

"Maybe I want to burn," I challenge, heat rising in my own blood to match his rut. The little ones choose that moment to shift vigorously, as if responding to the change in my hormones.

Cadeyrn's attention drops to my belly, his expression shifting from predatory to something I can only describe as reverent. He places his palm gently over the swell where the most movement centers, cillae flowing from his skin to mine in glowing rivulets.

"They know," he says softly. "They feel the bond between us, the ancient power that flows through them."

"They know their father," I agree, placing my hand over his. "They've always responded to you, even when I was still trying to hate you."

His gaze returns to mine, something vulnerable and fierce in his expression. "I don't deserve this. Any of it. You. Them. This chance at..." He trails off, the word 'redemption' hanging unspoken between us.

"Maybe it's not about deserving," I suggest, reaching up to trace the cillae that spiral across his cheek. "Maybe it's about becoming. About who we are now, not who we were."

His kiss is urgent this time, need overtaking tenderness as he presses me back against the bed. I go willingly, eagerly, heat rising through my body in welcome waves. My dress becomes an unwelcome barrier, frustrating both of us until he simply tears it open with a growl that sends shivers down my spine.

"I'll have new ones made," he promises against my throat, teeth grazing my claiming mark in a way that makes my back arch involuntarily.

"I don't care about the fucking dress," I gasp, hands exploring the powerful muscles of his back as he moves lower. "I care about feeling you against me. Now."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin where his mouth explores the cillae spiraling between my breasts. "Always so demanding."

"You love it," I retort without thinking.

His movements pause, his gaze rising to meet mine with startling intensity. "Yes," he says simply. "I do."

The admission steals my breath, the naked honesty in his eyes more disarming than any physical touch. Before I can form a response, his mouth continues its journey downward, trailing kisses across my swollen belly with such genuine reverence that tears prick unexpectedly at my eyes.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, hands cradling the curve of my belly as if it's something precious beyond value. "Perfect."

The praise would have made me snort with disbelief weeks ago. Now it makes my chest ache with emotions I've never allowed myself to feel before. My body responds by growing wetter between my thighs, my heat rising to meet his rut with eager anticipation.

He scents the change immediately, nostrils flaring as his head lifts. "You're getting wetter for me," he observes, satisfaction darkening his voice. "Your body remembers what it needs."

"Then give it to me," I demand, spreading my thighs in blatant invitation. "Unless you're all talk now that we're in your precious court."

His laugh is dark and knowing. "Still trying to provoke me into roughness?" His fingers trace the inside of my thigh, moving higher with deliberate slowness. "What if I want to take my time with you? What if I want to savor every inch of what's mine?"

The possessive claim sends another rush of warmth through my core. "Maybe next time," I suggest, reaching between us to wrap my hand around his cock, now fully hard and flushed with rut. "Right now, I need you inside me."

His control shatters completely at my touch, frost exploding across his skin as rut surges through his system like wildfire. His scent intensifies—winter pine and metal and raw alpha musk—flooding my senses until I'm drunk on it. My heat responds instantly, cranking higher until I'm nearly delirious with need, my body slick with desire, my core aching with emptiness that borders on pain.

"Alpha," I whimper, the instinctive term slipping past all defenses as biological imperative overwhelms everything else. "Please—I need?—"

His growl vibrates through his chest, the sound hitting me somewhere primal and ancient. He grabs my wrist, pinning it above my head as he looms over me, eyes completely consumed by rut-black pupils.

"I smell how wet you are," he rumbles, his free hand tearing away what remains of my clothing with savage impatience. "How fucking desperate for my cock."

The crude words send another flood of heat between my thighs, my body responding to his dominance with eager surrender that would mortify me if I weren't so far gone in heat-haze. I arch toward him, shameless and needy, every inch of my skin alive and begging for his touch.

He slides his hand between my thighs, fingers parting slick flesh with experienced precision. When they dip inside, testing my readiness, I can't hold back a moan at the delicious intrusion.

"So hot," he murmurs, watching my face as his fingers work deeper. "So wet and ready for me."

I expect him to mount me then, to satisfy the rut that clearly burns through his veins with increasing intensity. Instead, he shifts lower, settling between my spread thighs with clear intent.

"What are you—" I begin, then gasp as his mouth makes contact with my core. "Oh!"

His tongue works with devastating precision, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping lower to taste me more deeply. Each stroke sends electric pulses of pleasure radiating outward, making my thighs tremble on either side of his head.

"You taste of wild magic," he growls against my flesh, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. "Of winter storm and summer lightning."

I'm beyond words now, able only to tangle my fingers in his midnight hair and hold on as he devours me with single-minded focus. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch frost spread from his hands across my inner thighs, the cold contrasting exquisitely with the heat of his mouth.

When he slides two fingers inside me while his tongue continues its relentless attention, the combination pushes me rapidly toward climax. My inner walls clench around his fingers, my back arching as pleasure coils tighter.

"That's it," he encourages, glancing up to watch my face as I approach the edge. "Let go for me. Let me feel you come apart."

It's his primal growl rather than his movements that sends me over—the raw need in his voice matching the desperation clawing through my own veins. My release crashes through me with brutal intensity, inner muscles contracting around his fingers as my vision whites out completely.

But the release only intensifies the heat rather than sating it. As I come down, gasping and oversensitized, I'm somehow hungrier, emptier, more desperate than before.

"Please," I sob, beyond pride or shame, beyond anything but the all-consuming need to be filled, claimed, knotted. "Cadeyrn, I can't—it hurts?—"

He understands without further explanation, rising above me and positioning himself between my spread thighs. His cock looks impressively large, flushed dark with rut, veins standing out prominently along the shaft, the head already glistening with pre-come.

"Look at me," he commands, the tenderness in his voice at odds with the feral hunger in his eyes. "I want to see your face when I claim you."

I force my gaze to meet his, even as another wave of heat makes me writhe beneath him. "I'm looking," I manage, voice raw with need. "I see you. All of you."

Something vulnerable flashes across his expression, quickly consumed by rut as my scent spikes with another surge of heat. He bares his teeth in a predatory snarl, and without warning, drives into me with enough force to drive the breath from my lungs.

The stretch burns exquisitely, my body adjusting to his rut-swollen size despite my abundant readiness. I cry out, pleasure bleeding together into something transcendent as he fills me completely, his cock reaching places inside me that send stars exploding behind my eyelids.

"Mine," he growls, teeth finding my claiming mark and biting down hard enough to break skin.

The exquisite pain of the bite combined with the perfect fullness of his cock stretching me triggers another immediate release, more intense than the first. I scream his name, inner walls clenching violently around his shaft as frost explodes across my skin in wild, uncontrolled patterns.

The joining feels perfect—my body welcoming him despite his impressive size, inner walls adjusting to accommodate his rut-swollen length. For a moment, we remain perfectly still, joined in the most intimate way possible, magic pulsing between us in visible cillae that illuminate our skin from within.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "Like you were made for me."

"Like we were made for each other," I correct, turning to the side and lifting a leg to draw him deeper, as deep as my swollen pregnant belly will allow. "Now fuck me, my alpha."

There's nothing measured or controlled about the way he moves inside me. He withdraws almost completely before driving back in with brutal force, setting a punishing rhythm that has the headboard crashing against the wall with each thrust. His hands grip my splayed leg with bruising intensity, angling me to take him deeper, harder, each drive of his cock hitting places inside me that make me sob with pleasure.

"Take it," he snarls against my bleeding throat, lapping at the claiming bite between words. "Take every fucking inch."

And I do—gods help me, I love the roughness, the primal claiming that speaks to something ancient in my blood. My nails rake down his back, drawing silver-blue blood that crystallizes instantly against his frost-marked skin. I bite his shoulder in return, tasting winter and metal as my teeth break his skin.

His rhythm falters only momentarily at my counter-claim, a growl of surprised pleasure rumbling through his chest before he redoubles his efforts, claiming me with a savagery that would frighten me if it didn't feel so perfectly, desperately right.

Our cillae flare with violent brightness, blue-white light exploding beyond our bodies to coat the entire chamber in crystalline formations. The little ones respond to the surge of power, their movements growing more vigorous inside me—as if they too feel the magic transferring from father to mother in this most primal exchange.

"Can you feel it?" Cadeyrn asks, his rhythm never faltering. "The magic flowing between us. Through us."

I nod, words momentarily beyond my capacity as pleasure builds again within me. Each thrust sends sparks of sensation radiating outward, each withdrawal creates an emptiness that demands to be filled again. My hands roam his back, tracing the powerful muscles that flex and release with his movements.

"Mine," he growls against my neck, teeth grazing my claiming mark as his pace increases. "My omega. My heart."

The possessive declarations would have infuriated me weeks ago. Now they send fresh heat coursing through my veins, my inner walls clenching around him in greedy response.

"Yours," I agree, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. "And you're mine."

His rhythm falters momentarily at my claiming words, surprise and pleasure flickering across his features. Then his smile turns predatory, satisfaction darkening his gaze.

"Yes," he acknowledges, driving deeper with his next thrust. "Yours. Bound to you as surely as you're bound to me."

The dual claiming—his of me, mine of him—sends a surge of magic pulsing between us. Frost explodes outward from where our bodies join, coating the chamber in delicate patterns that glitter in the dim light. The air itself crystallizes around us, suspended moisture particles catching the blue-white glow of our connected magic.

His knot begins to swell at the base of his cock, catching on my entrance with each thrust. The added friction sends fresh waves of pleasure radiating outward from my core, pushing me rapidly toward another release.

"Come for me again," Cadeyrn urges, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control as his own pleasure builds. "Let me feel you fall apart around my cock."

His hand slides between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center and circling with precise pressure. The dual sensation—his cock stretching me from within, his fingers working expertly against my most sensitive spot—sends me hurling over the edge without warning.

My climax tears through me with devastating intensity, inner walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses that draw a roar from his throat. I'm vaguely aware of frost exploding across the entire chamber, of furniture creaking as ice forms along its surfaces, of cillae spreading from our joined bodies to cover the walls in glowing constellations.

"Briar," he groans, his rhythm faltering as his own release approaches. His knot swells rapidly now, stretching my entrance with each thrust as it prepares to lock us together. "Can I?—"

"Yes," I gasp, understanding his question without him having to complete it. "Knot me. Fill me."

With a roar that shakes the very foundations of our chamber, he drives forward one final time, his knot forcing past my entrance with enough pressure to hover at the exquisite edge between pleasure and pain. It locks inside me, swelling to its full size, stretching me beyond what I thought possible.

His release floods me in violent pulses, each one triggering another wave of pleasure that has me convulsing beneath him. I come again, and again, and again—orgasms stacking on top of each other until I'm incoherent, crying his name interspersed with primal omega sounds I didn't know I could make.

The heat that's been consuming me from the inside out finally begins to recede, replaced by a different kind of warmth—the satisfaction of being thoroughly claimed, properly knotted, completely filled.

Through our claiming bond, I feel his rut-pleasure merging with my heat-release—the primal satisfaction of knotting his omega, the triumph of flooding her with his seed, the pride of providing exactly what she and their unborn children need. The feedback loop intensifies every sensation, our shared ecstasy building upon itself until I can't tell where my pleasure ends and his begins.

Even locked together, his hips continue making small, grinding movements that keep his knot pressed against spots inside me that send continuous aftershocks of pleasure rippling through my oversensitized body. I gasp as another orgasm builds, gentler than the others but somehow deeper.

"That's it," he encourages, his mouth finding my claiming mark again, teeth pressing just hard enough to send fresh sparks shooting down my spine. "One more. Give me one more, little omega."

His hand slides between us, finding where my body stretches around his knot, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves there with precise pressure. The dual sensation—his knot pulsing inside me, his fingers working against me—pushes me over into one final release that has frost exploding from my fingertips in uncontrolled bursts.

As we come down together, still locked by his knot, Cadeyrn carefully shifts us to our sides without separating. His arms cradle me against his chest, one hand splayed protectively over my rounded belly where our children grow.

"That was..." I begin, then trail off, words insufficient to describe what just happened between us.

"Yes," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. "It was."

The little ones shift beneath his palm, their movements gentler now, almost peaceful. Through our claiming bond, I sense their satisfaction—as if the magic flowing from their father through me has eased some essential hunger.

"They're calmer," I observe, placing my hand over his. "They've been restless for days."

"They needed this," Cadeyrn confirms, his thumb tracing idle patterns on my skin. "The magic that nourishes them. That sustains you."

I feel the truth of it in my bones—the bone-deep fatigue that's plagued me receding like tide going out, replaced by vibrant energy that pulses through my veins. My body feels stronger, more resilient, nourished by whatever essence transferred during our claiming.

"The ancient texts were right," I murmur, turning my head to meet his gaze. "Carrying fae offspring requires regular claiming to sustain the magical drain."

"They were right about many things," he agrees, his expression thoughtful as his fingers trace the cillae along my collarbone. "About the original purpose of the Hunt. About the balance between alpha and omega, not just dominance and submission."

His knot pulses inside me, still fully swollen and showing no signs of receding soon. Each subtle movement sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through my body.

"We should probably do this more often," I suggest with deliberate casualness, fighting a smile at his immediate look of interest. "For the little ones' sake, of course."

"Of course," he agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with humor rarely displayed by the Winter Prince of old. "A purely practical arrangement."

"Purely practical," I echo, pressing closer against him as another pulse of his knot draws a soft gasp from my lips. "Nothing to do with how good it feels or how much I might actually enjoy your company."

His laugh is warm against my hair, his arms tightening around me. "Heaven forbid you admit to such weakness."

"Exactly," I agree, finding myself smiling despite everything. "I have a reputation to maintain."

We lapse into comfortable silence, our bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible, our cillae pulsing in synchronized rhythm across our skin. Outside our chambers, court politics and ancient traditions continue their dangerous dance. Four combined courts still hunt us. Birth chambers still await our children's arrival.

But in this moment, in this bed, none of that matters. There is only this connection—this claiming that goes deeper than biology, this bond that transcends mere instinct. Whatever names we give it—love, magic, destiny—it burns between us with undeniable power.

"Rest," Cadeyrn murmurs against my hair, his hand protectively covering our unborn children. "But only for a moment. Your heat isn't fully sated yet."

The promise in his voice sends a renewed pulse of warmth through my body. He's right—the edge has been taken off the desperate need, but there's a banked fire still smoldering beneath my skin, ready to ignite again at his slightest touch.

"How can you tell?" I ask, feeling his cock twitch inside me, still hard despite his release.

His smile is pure predatory satisfaction. "Your scent. It's changed, but not completely." He inhales deeply against my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. "You need more of my seed. More of my magic."

"Greedy alpha," I tease, though the idea sends fresh heat coiling through my core.

"Insatiable omega," he counters, his hand moving to cup my breast, thumb circling the sensitive nipple in a way that makes me gasp.

His knot has barely begun to recede when he suddenly pulls away, leaving me empty and aching. Before I can protest, he flips me onto my stomach with effortless strength.

"On your hands and knees," he commands, voice rough with renewed rut.

Heat surges through my veins at his dominant tone, my body responding instantly despite recent satisfaction. I raise myself as instructed, presenting to his hungry gaze.

"Perfect," he growls, hands gripping my hips with bruising intensity. "I want to take you like this. Want to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

"Big talk for someone who just came," I challenge over my shoulder, deliberately provoking him.

His laugh is dark and promising. "I've been in rut for weeks, little deceiver. One release barely touches the edge."

To prove his point, he enters me from behind, filling me with one powerful thrust that has me crying out in shocked pleasure. The angle is deeper than before without my swollen belly in the way, his cock reaching places inside me that send stars exploding behind my eyelids.

"Gods!" I gasp, fingers clawing at the bed beneath us as he establishes a ruthless pace.

"Not gods," he corrects, hand fisting in my hair to pull my head back. "Just me. Your alpha. Your mate."

"Cadeyrn," I moan, arching my back to take him deeper.

His free hand comes down on my ass in a stinging slap that sends a jolt of unexpected pleasure up my spine. "Louder," he demands, repeating the action on the other cheek. "I want the entire Winter Court to hear who's claiming you."

Another sharp slap coincides with a particularly deep thrust, and I stop caring about pride or restraint. "Cadeyrn!" I scream, pushing back to meet each brutal drive of his hips.

"That's it," he approves, continuing the delicious dual assault—his cock filling me from behind while his hand delivers stinging slaps that somehow intensify every sensation. "Show me how much you love being claimed by your alpha."

In this position, I'm completely at his mercy, and some omega part of me revels in the surrender. Each thrust drives me forward, his grip on my hair the only thing keeping me from collapsing face-first into the pillows. His knot begins to swell again with astonishing speed, catching on my entrance with each withdraw and forceful return.

"Going to knot you again," he growls, pace becoming erratic as his control slips. "Going to fill you so full you'll be dripping for days."

"Yes," I beg, beyond shame or pride, lost in the primal pleasure of being claimed so thoroughly. "Please—alpha—knot me?—"

With a roar that seems to shake the chamber walls, he drives forward one final time, his knot forcing past my already-sensitive entrance to lock us together again. His release triggers my own, a tidal wave of pleasure that has me screaming his name as my inner walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing knot.

Frost explodes outward from where our bodies join, coating the entire chamber in crystalline patterns that pulse with the rhythm of our shared heartbeats. Magic flows between us in visible streams, blue-white light connecting cillae across our skin in complex constellations.

Still locked inside me, Cadeyrn carefully maneuvers us onto our sides, his arm wrapped protectively around my belly where our children rest. His mouth finds my claiming mark again, teeth pressing just hard enough to send aftershocks of pleasure rippling through my boneless body.

"Mine," he murmurs against my neck, the possessive claim somehow both primal and tender.

"Yours," I agree, too satiated to maintain my usual defenses. I reach back to touch his face, feeling the cillae spiraling across his cheek. "And you're mine."

His arm tightens around me, his knot pulsing with another release of seed that fills me with warmth and vital magic. "Always," he promises, the word vibrating with truth that resonates through our claiming bond.

As exhaustion finally begins to claim me, I feel the little ones shift contentedly beneath our joined hands, their magic pulsing in harmony with our own. Whatever challenges await us—court politics, birth chambers, combined enemies—we face them not as Winter Prince and claimed omega, but as something new and ancient all at once.

Partners. Equals. Alpha and omega transformed through Wild Magic and love into something neither the courts nor we ourselves could have predicted.

I've never been one for fairy tales or destiny, but as cillae trace constellations across our joined bodies, I find myself believing in possibilities I would have scoffed at mere weeks ago.

After all, I'm carrying four lives that shouldn't be possible, claimed by a prince who shouldn't be capable of love, in a court that never imagined change could come from within.

Anything, it seems, is possible when Wild Magic awakens.