He sets a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing, perfect.
I claw at his back. He snarls and kisses me, tongue and teeth and tusks.
“I will never leave you,” he growls against my lips.
“Then stay inside me,” I whisper.
He does.
We move as one, skin slick with sweat, breath tangled. The bed rocks beneath us. The storm outside rises. But in here, in his arms, I am safe.
I feel another orgasm building—fierce, inevitable.
He feels it too.
“I want to feel you come again,” he growls. “I want to feel your pussy milk my cock.”
“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop?—”
And I shatter.
I scream his name as I come again, harder than before. My pussy clenches around him, soaking him in my heat.
He roars and follows, spilling deep inside me with a groan that shakes the walls.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs, hearts pounding.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” I whisper, tracing the curve of his shoulder. The ridge of an old scar. He lets me.
“You should be,” he says. “The battle is not won.”
“No,” I say, “but you’re here.”
He doesn’t reply.
But his hand finds mine, and that says enough.
Outside, the wind rages.
But in here—there is only peace. And the slow, aching thrum of something stronger than fear.
Something like love.
CHAPTER 14
KURSK
The scent of caramelized sugar hits me before I even reach the tents, sweet and thick like nectar gone decadent. It coats the air with the kind of stickiness that begs to be licked from fingers and teeth. Olivia calls itautumn magic—the way the town lights up for this human harvest rite. She says it’s just a fair, just a gathering.
But I know a war mask when I see one.
These people dress their fear in fairy lights and candied apples, pretend that laughter can drown out the dead. But the wind carries whispers only hunters hear. I smell it in the air—the sour stink of rot buried beneath powdered cinnamon and popcorn oil.
Still, I smile. Or at least, I try.
Olivia’s illusion spell makes it easier. In this form, I am “Kurt.” A foreign exchange student. She said it was distant enough to explain away my accent, close enough that no one would ask too many questions. My tusks are hidden, my green skin faded to a warm bronze, my ears human-shaped. Even my hands—callused and scarred from a thousand fights—look soft.
But I still walk like a killer. That, she couldn’t fix.
