Page 11

Alaric

The Eyrie—The Dining Hall to the Bedroom

“Alaric,” she breathes against my lips, and fuck, my name has never sounded like that.

Like prayer and sin at once.

She clings to me like I’m something good.

Something worthy.

But I’m not any of that.

I am lies.

I am illusion.

This is seduction. Practiced and planned.

“Will you give yourself to me, Jules Strano?” I ask, my voice rougher now.

“I’ve never felt like this before. It’s crazy. You’re like a dream. A stranger in the night whisking me away to some faraway fairytale,” she whispers, and her eyes— fuck , they look at me with so much heat I can’t resist it.

I kiss her again.

“I asked you something,” I remind her, wanting to kick myself and needing her answer all at the same time.

“You asked if you can have me,” she says.

But this time, she makes the first move, pulling my head down so she can claim my lips with hers.

“And?” I whisper, holding on by a thread.

This woman lights fires in my blood.

She has no idea of the beast that lurks beneath my skin.

No notion of the monster she’s teasing with promises of carnal delights and ownership .

Fuck, yes.

My Dragon likes that idea. He wants to own her, to possess her .

If I was the confessing kind, I’d admit I want that, too.

I can’t wait to sink into her lush body, fill her with my seed, my scent.

To claim her with my bite.

My viyella.

She grins, stepping back. Cool air slips between us, and I hate it.

“And this is me saying yes,” she says, reaching for the hem of her gown.

I don’t wait. I can’t.

So, I pounce. I drag her temptingly plump body to mine.

So damn soft.

“Tell me why first?” I ask, and yes, I still want to kick myself.

What am I doing giving her an out?

Asking questions when I should be claiming her?

“Because I trust you,” she says, and that damn near breaks me.

“I’m not safe, Myrrin . Not even close.”

Her reply? A soft, wicked little kiss and a whispered, “I didn’t say you were safe. I said I trust you.”

A pause. A flutter.

“So, what are you going to do with me now that I said yes?”

Her voice is a caress.

A challenge.

My chest tightens like a fist around glass, because she doesn’t know what she’s just done.

What it means to trust someone like me.

A Demon.

A liar.

A Lord of Illusion and hunger and too many secrets.

But gods help me, I’m going to take everything she’s offering.

And then some.

I drag her back to me, one hand slipping around her waist while the other fists in her hair, angling her mouth so I can claim it again. The way I want to.

Roughly, deeply this time.

Our kiss ignites like dry lightning across a velvet sky.

Her dress is gone with a flick of my fingers, magic shredding silk like water against rock.

She gasps as I lift her easily, possessively , cradling her thighs around my hips as I walk us to the bed.

“ Myrrin ,” I murmur, reverent and ravenous, “I’m going to worship every inch of you.”

She laughs softly, breath catching as her back meets the bed.

“You talk like the villain in my very own fantasy novel starring me.”

“I am the villain in your fantasy novel,” I admit as I crawl over her, stripping away my own clothes, my horns gleaming in the firelight now that illusion has been fully discarded.

“But even villains can bring pleasure.”

“You don’t look like a villain,” she whispers.

And as if of its own accord the rest of my illusion shatters.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the full truth of me.

Wings spanning almost the entire room, runes etched into my skin, claws extending from my fingers, fangs protruding from my gums, and silver fire dancing in my eyes.

But Jules? She doesn’t flinch.

She reaches.

Touches.

Claims.

And my soul sings.

The moment her palm lays over the mark glowing just beneath my collarbone, something ancient stirs between us.

An echo of the zareth already whispering through the ether.

I can hardly breathe for the magic swirling around us. It’s like I’m mesmerized by her. Bewitched.

Maybe she isn’t mortal? Maybe I made a mistake thinking her human?

Jules Strano is more dangerous than she appears.

Still, I lower my mouth to hers, driving my tongue inside, claiming her with this kiss.

Then I travel lower, dropping biting kisses on her neck, her magnificent breasts— tip-tilted and topped with dusky nipples I want to devour —but I’m not finished exploring.

So, I continue licking and nibbling her soft skin to her stomach, her thighs, the soft curls covering her mound, trailing fire with every breath.

Her moans are magic, casting spells on me to keep me there, gifting her pleasure.

Her trembling, a vow, an oath to never stop until she screams my name.

And when I finally slide my fingers between her silky, wet folds, it’s like an act of devotion.

“There you are, Myrrin ,” I murmur before I lick into her hot, glistening pussy.

She tastes—fuck, she tastes like mine.

Spicy and tangy, her sweet musk balancing it all and it’s like ambrosia.

She moans and mewls, arching off the bed, but I’ll have none of that. I’m in charge here. And I let her know by sucking on her clit and holding her down gently.

“Alaric,” she whimpers, clutching at my hair while her orgasm crests over her.

I crave her passion, so I keep going. Licking her into her next climax, but by then, fuck me, this sassy little human has her hands wrapped around my horns.

My fucking horns.

My cock hardens even more and precum leaks from the tip. I almost can’t take it, so I back off to tell her.

“Not the horns,” I growl, lifting my head.

“Why? Does it hurt?” she asks, lifting up on her elbows and watching me with pupils blown.

“No, Myrrin . It doesn’t hurt. But I want to be inside of you when I come.”

“Oh fuck, that’s hot. I want that, too. Please,” she murmurs, licking her lips and reaching for me.

I wasn’t planning on this.

Not tonight.

But with Jules beneath me, writhing, offering, waiting, I lose the last thread of restraint.

The room is bathed in moonlight, soft and blue as magic itself. It spills across the bed, gilding her bare skin in silver.

Her body— gods —her body is fucking glorious.

Full. Plush. Warm. Real.

She’s spread across my sheets like she was always meant to be here.

Hair wild. Lips parted. Cheeks flushed.

Her curves rise and fall with each breath, and the sight of her like this?

Waiting for me, wanting me?

It makes my cock throb painfully.

I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.

I rise to my knees, nudging her legs open with mine, and place myself at her slick entrance.

She’s already dripping for me— soft, wet heat beckoning like a siren.

I grip her hips, steadying her, steadying myself.

“This is when I claim you, Myrrin ,” I growl, voice rasping through the quiet. “This is when I make you mine.”

And then I push in.

Fuck.

Tight. Hot. Perfect.

My eyes slam shut at the first squeeze of her around me, and my control shatters into ash.

I slide in deeper, inch by aching inch, until I’m buried to the hilt inside the most exquisite fucking heat I’ve ever known.

She moans. Her head is thrown back, lips forming my name like a curse and a promise.

“Alaric,” she gasps.

I pull out slowly, just to the tip, then slam back in, hard enough to make the headboard crack against the stone.

She is tight. Small. And I know I’m well-endowed. I should go slow.

But I can’t. Something won’t let me.

I need to savage her. To make her mine in every way.

But I know she feels pleasure.

I can sense it.

Fuck, I can still taste it.

Her legs wrap around me, heels pressing into the small of my back, and I give in to the rhythm.

Hard. Deep.

Slow. Then fast.

Fucking her like I need her to live.

Because honestly? I think I do.

The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes in the chamber, matched only by her moans and my gritted curses.

She feels too good. Too right.

Her nails drag down my back, then up again. Her eyes are locked on mine as she does it—slides her nimble fingers up my neck, caressing my face, and then my horns.

Fuck. Me.

I roar.

Pleasure jolts up my spine, touching every nerve ending.

She’s everywhere, everything.

My wings snap open behind me, shadows stretching across the walls.

The runes carved into my flesh burn like fire, glowing brighter with each thrust.

Magic pulses from my skin to hers, the air sparking with every grind of her hips against mine.

We are wild together.

Desperate. Ruined.

She’s close. I feel it.

“Let go for me,” I whisper into her neck, licking the skin where I’ll soon leave my mark. “Come, Jules.”

And gods, she does.

Her pussy clenches so tight I nearly explode.

She cries out, shattering under me, her back arching, body spasming, voice breaking.

I follow with a savage growl, thrusting hard one last time, emptying myself deep inside her as my fangs pierce her shoulder.

I bite.

I claim.

And that’s when the world detonates.

Magic erupts from our joined bodies—silver lightning crashing through the air, blinding and hot.

The bed shakes.

The walls quake.

My wings flare wide, catching the blast of raw power as a bond forms between us.

Unbreakable. Irrefutable.

Real.

I see it, my mark as it sears into her skin in glowing silver.

An ancient symbol.

A tether.

A soul-knot.

This is it. The Zareth.

It shouldn't be possible. Not with a human. Not like this.

But I feel it.

Like a silver tether locked around our hearts and anchored deep into Nightfall’s core.

And suddenly, all my plans— my schemes, my lies, my illusions —mean nothing.

Because this bond doesn’t lie.

This magic does not bend.

And it scares the shit out of me.

I look down at her. She’s panting, glowing, marked with my bite and filled with my seed.

Her eyes— half-lidded and dazed —find mine.

“Wow. W-what was that?” she breathes.

I press my lips to her temple and whisper the only truth that matters now:

“It means you are mine, Myrrin . My viyella .”

Impossible.

And yet real .

Her body shivers beneath mine, a tremor of aftershocks rippling through her as her hand lifts to the place where I bit her.

My mark glows faintly, silver and fire beneath her skin.

Claimed. Bound. Mine.

She touches it gently, fingers brushing the bruised flesh, and lifts those dark eyes to mine.

“And are you mine, Alaric?” she asks, teasing, playful—yet there’s something raw in her voice.

Something unguarded.

She doesn’t know what that question does to me.

The words are light on her lips, but they strike with deadly precision.

Because yes— gods help me —yes, she’s nailed it.

The bond isn’t one-sided.

It was never meant to be .

I lower my head and kiss her neck, lips brushing the heat of the mark, the pulse of magic still throbbing between us.

She tastes like wild air and the promise of ruin.

I breathe her in and try to lie.

But I can’t.

Not to her.

Not anymore.

My voice breaks the silence. It’s rough, low, barely above a whisper.

“I might just be yours.”

And the second I say it, I know the truth I’ve been dodging has finally caught up to me.

Because I don’t just want her anymore.

I need her.

Not as a pawn.

Not as part of a plan.

But as the one thing I never thought I’d have.

A home.

And that terrifies me more than the SoulTakers ever could.