"Not letting go," he corrects gently. "Loosening. Changing. Letting you choose what gets preserved instead of taking that choice from you."
The admission breaks something open in my chest. He's trying. Actually trying to give me back some of what he took.
"Right now, that's enough," I finish quietly.
We lie there, locked together, as the bond continues to strengthen. The dying connection that had been killing me for weeks floods back to full strength, golden threads weaving through ice-blue magic until we're connected at every level.
I should feel trapped. Should resent being knotted and helpless, forced to accept hour after hour of being claimed. But instead, I feel safe. Complete. Like I've finally stopped fighting a current too strong to resist and let it carry me where I was always meant to be.
"Rest," he murmurs against my hair. "Your body needs to recover. We have days of this ahead of us."
Days of being knotted and bred, of his seed flooding my womb again and again until pregnancy is certain. The thought should overwhelm me. Instead, it just makes me feel drowsy with contentment, my heat-addled brain content with the knowledge that I'm exactly where I need to be.
"Alpha," I whisper, already drifting.
"Sleep, omega," he commands softly. "I have you. You're safe now."
And despite everything—the captivity, the forced transformation, the systematic destruction of my old life—I believe him. Because the bond doesn't lie, and through it I can feel his genuine need to protect what's his.
Even if what's his is a woman who still hates him for making her need him at all.
I wake to the sensation of his knots deflating, the swelling gradually reducing until we can separate. The loss feels profound—not just physical emptiness, but something deeper. Like severing a connection I didn't realize had become essential.
"How long?" I ask, my voice rough with sleep.
"Four hours," he answers, carefully withdrawing from my body. The slide of his cocks leaving my thoroughly used holes makes me whimper. "Your body needed the extended connection to fully reactivate the bond."
I can feel his seed leaking from both entrances, marking the sheets beneath us. The evidence of his claiming should be humiliating. Instead, it fills me with primitive satisfaction.
"Again," I whisper, already missing the fullness. "I need more."
"Soon," he promises, gathering me close. "Let me care for you first."
He reaches for a soft cloth and begins cleaning me with gentle strokes. The tenderness is almost overwhelming after the brutal intensity of our claiming. This duality—savage possession followed by reverent care—defines what we are to each other.
"You don't have to—" I start to protest.
"I want to," he interrupts firmly. "Let me show you that this isn't just about taking. It's about caring for what's mine."
The possessive phrasing should grate, but I'm too tired to fight it. Besides, through the bond I can feel his sincerity. He genuinely needs to provide aftercare, needs to ensure I'm comfortable and cared for.
When he's finished cleaning me, he reaches for the tray of food his servants prepared. "You need to eat. The heat is burning through your energy stores."
I realize he's right. I'm ravenous in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with my body desperately needing fuel.
He selects a piece of honeyed bread and brings it to my lips. I accept it without hesitation, the sweet taste exploding on my tongue. Something so simple—being fed by my alpha—but it satisfies a need I didn't know I had.
"Good girl," he murmurs, watching me chew. The approval in his voice sends warmth through my chest.
He feeds me slowly, selecting the choicest pieces. Fresh berries, delicate pastries, small sips of ice-wine. Between bites, he strokes my hair, my face, constant gentle contact that soothes something deep in my omega hindbrain.
"Better?" he asks when I've eaten my fill.
"Much," I admit, settling against his chest. "I feel... stronger."
"The bond needed this," he explains. "Physical intimacy combined with care. Your body was shutting down without both elements."
"How long was I dying?"
