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His grip tightens, restraint unraveling thread by thread.

“You don’t get it. I want you all the time.

I need you, viyella. Have to mark you. Inside and out.

I need every piece of you screaming my name, telling the world who you belong to, so no one— not the Fates, not the gods, not any fucking traitor —can ever take you from me. ”

My body responds before my mind can catch up—helpless against the force of his words, the way he says them like a vow, like a spell cast just for me.

Heat blooms beneath my skin, rushing in waves across my chest, my belly, lower.

My breasts grow heavy, nipples tightening as if summoned by the gravel in his voice.

Between my thighs, I throb, a new wetness flooding me in a sudden, shamefully eager pulse.

I ache.

Fuck, how I ache for him.

For his mouth, his hands, his body pinning mine down while he ruins me in the best possible way.

My skin tingles, hypersensitive, my breath catching in my throat as every nerve screams for his touch.

The possessiveness in his tone— the hunger —it lights something reckless inside me.

Because I want to be taken.

Claimed.

Marked.

And never, ever let go.

“Then stop talking, Dragon Lord,” I whisper, lips brushing his. “And fuck me already . ”

And thank fuck, he does.

First, he claims my mouth— savage and starved.

There’s no patience in his kiss, no pretense.

Just teeth, tongue, and aching need.

He devours me with an urgency that leaves me gasping for breath when he finally pulls back, his silver eyes gleaming like wildfire.

I don’t get a second to recover before I feel it— him —the thick, hard press of his cock grinding against the slick heat between my thighs.

My body bows toward him, every nerve ending lit up like fire in a thunderstorm.

“So hot and wet for me, viyella, ” he growls, voice like velvet dragged over flame.

Then, with supernatural speed and strength, he lifts me, spins me, and settles me on his lap, facing away from him.

“Alaric?” I manage, my voice breathless, unsure if I’m trembling from anticipation or the aftershocks of everything we’ve endured.

“I’ve got you, Myrrin,” he murmurs, voice a promise etched in steel. “I will never let you fall. Just trust me.”

And I do trust him. Yes, I really do.

One powerful hand braces my hips as he guides me down onto him.

I cry out, a sharp, shocked sound as he fills me—deep and claiming with one hard thrust of his incredible hips.

My fingers scrabble for purchase on his thighs, and he holds me steady, groaning low and filthy against my back.

“ Gods, ” I breathe.

The stretch. The heat. The way he pushes inside me—it borders on unbearable.

And still, I want more.

Alaric thrusts up hard, and my head falls back with a gasp, pleasure crashing through me in waves.

Then his hand slides around my waist, fingers seeking the place that drives me wild. When he finds my clit, he doesn’t tease.

He plays me like an instrument he’s mastered a thousand times over.

“Look at you, Myrrin. Wrapped around me like you were forged to take me. Do you even realize how perfect you are?”

“Alaric, more,” I beg, and he never makes me wait.

He thrusts deeper, harder, making me see stars.

“You drive me mad, Jules. Every sound you make, every time you gasp my name—I live for it. I burn for it.”

God, his words. They hit me hard.

Like adding fuel to the fire burning inside me. For him. Only him.

“Yes, only me. I want you ruined for anyone else. I want you aching for days because I claimed you too hard. I want my name to be the only thing your body remembers.”

My body is so primed. So ready. I am seconds from exploding. And all I can think is how is it this good?

How is it possible it keeps getting better?

“Because I love you. And it will. Every time, Jules,” he growls into my neck, “it’ll be better. Deeper. Stronger. You and me, we were made for this. For each other. ”

His words, his touch, the frantic pounding of our bond— it breaks me wide open.

I lose myself in the rhythm of our bodies. In the sound of our breath. In the heat of his hands and the low, wicked things he whispers in my ear between kisses.

“Don’t think,” he commands, voice low and rough, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear like a brand. “Just feel .”

And oh my God—I do .

I feel him.

All of him.

The dark, divine rush of his magic slipping over my skin like smoke and silk.

The weight of his body beneath me, heavy and anchoring, pressing me into the moment.

The raw possession in his touch, his thrusts, the way he holds nothing back, not even his heart.

I feel the way he loves me— wildly, completely, without hesitation or end.

“I love you, viyen ,” I gasp, the words torn from me as pleasure claws through my body, relentless and consuming.

His moves stutter. His chest heaves. Then he starts again, and pleasure feels like an all-consuming wave surrounding me.

I’m floating on it. Soaring high above. Hovering on the edge of oblivion.

“ Fuck , that’s it,” he growls, voice cracking on a groan as he slams into me one final time. “Give it to me. Mine.”

And then we fall— together —dragged under by the storm we created. My body clenches around him, and I feel him thicken, pulse, and finally break with me, our cries lost in the magic that erupts like lightning around us.

The zareth surges, that sacred tether between us igniting silver and fierce, curling around our souls like a promise.

Our bond hums in the air, in our skin, in the shadows of the room. It lives.

“I love you, Myrrin ,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips brushing against the crown of my head as I slump back against him, utterly undone.

“I love you, too,” I breathe, unable to do anything else.

His massive chest rises beneath me, rumbling with a deep, wordless sound that might be a laugh or a cry— maybe both.

And I just melt.

No more pretending.

No more wondering if I’m enough.

Because this man— this miracle —holds me like I’m everything.

I close my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to be safe.

To be chosen.

To be loved . Not in pieces or conditions, but wholly.

And it’s better than I ever dared to dream.