When his knot swells for the second time, I'm ready for it. My body opens eagerly, accepting the stretch and the claiming with gratitude instead of fear. This knotting feels even more intense than the first, the bond between us deepening with each pulse of his release.
"I can feel you," I whisper during our joined rest, amazed by the new sensation in my mind. "Your emotions."
"The bond," he explains, his hands stroking my back in soothing patterns. "It grows stronger with each claiming. Soon we'll be connected in ways that can never be broken."
"I want that," I realize with shock at my own honesty. "I want to be connected to you forever."
His response is a surge of possessive satisfaction through our forming bond, followed by tender kisses along my neck and shoulders.
The night continues in a haze of pleasure and claiming. Round three has me riding him, both cocks filling me while I control the pace and depth. The position lets me feel every ridge, every pulse, while his hands worship my breasts and the growing ice patterns on my skin.
Round four bends me over the edge of the nest, his body covering mine from behind while he claims me with powerful thrusts that leave me screaming his name. The angle hits new spots, creates new sensations, teaches me new ways to surrender.
Each claiming ends with his knot locking us together for hours, filling me with his seed while our bond deepens. I can feel his emotions more clearly each time—his satisfaction, his possessive love, his deep contentment at finally having me completely.
Between rounds, he cares for me with surprising tenderness. Feeds me fruit and wine by hand, the flavors incredible on my transformed palate. Bathes my fevered skin with cool cloths, washing away sweat and the evidence of our joining before starting again. Tells me stories about his court, his magic, the life we'll build together.
And I listen, hanging on every word, my body already craving his touch again even while we rest.
By the time dawn breaks the next day, we're beginning round five. My hair is completely silver now, spread across the silk like spun moonlight. My eyes have finished their transformation to ice blue, reflecting his pale features as he moves above me in the growing light.
"Perfect," he breathes, sweat beading on his forehead despite his natural cold. "My absolutely perfect omega."
This round is different—slower, more intimate. He takes me missionary style so he can watch my face, studying every expression as he brings me to peak after peak of pleasure. His cocks move in perfect synchronization, creating sensations that layer and build until I'm crying from the intensity.
"I love watching you come apart for me," he murmurs, his thrusts deep and steady. "Love seeing you accept what you are."
"What am I?" I gasp, though I already know the answer.
"Mine," he says simply. "My omega. My mate. My perfect complement."
When his knot swells inside me for the fifth time, the bond solidifies into something unbreakable. I can feel everything he feels—his deep satisfaction, his possessive love, his plans for our future together. And he can feel me—my complete surrender, my growing love, my acceptance of what I've become.
The claiming continues through the morning and into the afternoon. Round six has me on my side, one leg hooked over his hip while he takes me with lazy, thorough strokes that makeme whimper with need. The position lets him hit deep spots while his hands wander my transformed body, tracing every ice pattern, every mark of his claiming.
"I never want this to end," I confess during our sixth knotting, my body exhausted but still craving more.
"It doesn't have to," he promises, his hands stroking my silver hair. "We have eternity, little omega. Eternity for me to worship this perfect body."
The promise makes me clench around his knot, drawing a groan from his throat that vibrates through our bond.
As evening approaches, we begin what I somehow know will be our final round. He positions me beneath him one last time, both cocks filling me with a thoroughness that steals my breath. This claiming is different—deeper, more intense, charged with magic that makes the air around us shimmer.
"Time for the bite," he says as his knot begins to swell for the final time. "Time to make you mine forever."
I offer my neck without hesitation, tilting my head to expose the vulnerable curve where neck meets shoulder. The skin there feels hypersensitive, as if every nerve ending is waiting for this moment.
"This will hurt," he warns, his breath cold against my throat. "But only for a moment."
"I want it," I breathe. "I want to be yours completely."
His lips brush the spot first, a gentle kiss that makes me shiver. Then his tongue traces the area, marking exactly where his teeth will pierce. The anticipation is almost unbearable.
When his fangs finally sink into my flesh, the pain is sharp and immediate—like ice and fire combined, piercing straight through skin and muscle to something deeper. I cry out, my back arching as every nerve in my body lights up at once.
But the pain transforms almost instantly into something else. Power floods through the wound—his power, cold and ancientand vast. I can feel it racing through my bloodstream, changing me at the cellular level, rewriting my very blood to match his.
The sensation is indescribable. Like lightning in my veins, like winter wind in my bones, like every star in the sky suddenly blazing inside my chest. Magic pours into me through the bite, marking me as his in ways that go deeper than flesh, deeper than blood, deeper than soul.
