“You win?”
“Enough to be here.”
Without warning, the Beast grasped Riven by the shoulders and turned him around, strong, callused fingers tracing their way down to his lower back.
“Hey—!” Riven started to twist, but a heavy hand landed between his shoulder blades.
“Still,” the Beast warned. “Let me mark you properly.”
“Tattoo me with a tramp stamp?” Riven snapped, voice strained.
“Not a tattoo,” the Beast said.
His hand moved—lower, fingers spreading at the small of Riven’s back, heat and weight pinning him in place.
“A claim.”
The words vibrated down Riven’s spine like a shiver. There was magic in them.
And then heat bloomed—sharp, searing, not pain but pressure, like a kiss held too long. Glyphs burned into his skin, invisible but real. He couldfeelthem binding him—not just body, but soul. A tether. A leash.
His stomach flipped. His pulse kicked. Some primal part of him recoiled—and another part, shameful and shivering,thrummed.
As if sensing his discomfort, the Beast leaned in, his lips almost brushing the shell of Riven’s ear. “You’ll get used to it.”
Riven’s body reacted. Unforgivably, heat pooled low in his gut, a pressure that made his breath catch.
The bastard could probablysmellit.
Thane stepped back but didn’t break contact. “Good. The bond is sealed.”
Riven turned his head, eyes narrowing. “Do you even know my name?”
“I don’t need to. You’ll come when I call.”
“And what exactly am I being used for?”
The Beast gave a wolfish half-smile. “That depends on how well you behave.”
A tense silence stretched between them, thick enough to taste. Riven’s skin prickled under the weight of that invisible bond, the lingering heat where the magic had branded him. His breath came faster, uneven, betraying the calm he tried so hard to project.
The Beast’s hand lingered, fingertips tracing slow, deliberate patterns on his spine, like he was memorizing the shape of the brand. The scent of him—smoky, sharp, and undeniably male—wrapped around Riven like a physical thing. It was suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
Riven swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the profile of the Virellien heir. The sharp jawline, the faint stubble along his chin, the way his lips twitched with some private amusement. That same mouth was capable of breaking him, or burning him alive.
“You’re quiet,” the Beast said, voice low, teasing.
“I’m thinking.”
“That can be dangerous,” he warned, stepping even closer.
Riven could feel the solid press of the Beast’s chest against his back. The electric charge between them deepened, a slow-burning fire licking beneath his ribs.
“Thinking about what?”
“How much of a bastard you must be, honestly.”
The Beast laughed then, soft and dark.
