She smiled, reaching up and traced the scars on his chest.
“Then claim me,” she whispered.
He lost all semblance of control then. He ripped away the remains of her ruined dress, exposing the map of stars scattered across her body. He wanted to trace every single one with his tongue, to commit them all to memory.
He started with her collarbone, tasting the salt and the honey of her, learning every gasp and shiver. He mapped the curve of her hip, the delicate line of her ankle, the sensitive peaks of her breasts. He explored her until she was a writhing, begging mass of violet light beneath him, her nails scoring patterns into his back.
Then he moved lower.
“Look at me,” he demanded, and her star spangled eyes met his. “Watch me take what’s mine.”
She was wet and wanting, her body blooming for him like a night flower. He tasted her, and the flavor of her—rich and complex and entirely unique—made his beast howl with triumph. She cried out, her back arching off the furs as he explored her with tongue and teeth, learning the rhythm that made her writhe and sob, that made her skin flare with blinding, brilliant light.
He didn’t stop. He rode out her climax, his tongue relentless, pushing her higher, harder, until a second, more intense release ripped through her, leaving her breathless and trembling.
“Valrek,” she gasped, reaching for him. “Please.”
“I want you ready for me.” His voice was a low growl against her thigh. “I want you so full of me that you can’t remember what it felt like not to have me inside you.”
He moved over her, his body blanketing hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He positioned himself at her entrance, and for a moment, he held himself there, the head of his cock nudging her slick heat.
“Mine,” he snarled.
He drove into her in one smooth, possessive stroke.
She cried out, a sharp, shocked sound of pleasure, and the light of her skin flared so bright that for a moment, he was blinded. He could feel every inch of her, hot and tight and welcoming, as if her body had been shaped for this, for him. For this single, perfect moment of union.
His beast roared its approval, and the last of his control snapped.
He set a punishing pace, each thrust a claiming, a branding, a promise. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at his back, tangling in his hair, pulling him down for desperate, hungry kisses that were all teeth and tongue and frantic need. She met his intensity with her own, her hips rising to meet his thrust for thrust, taking everything he had and demanding more.
The only sounds in the cave were the slap of skin against skin, their ragged breathing, and the distant murmur of the sea. It was a primitive rhythm, an ancient dance, and she moved with him as if they had been doing this for lifetimes.
Perfect. Ours. Mate.
The thought was a constant, triumphant chant in the back of his mind.
He could feel her body beginning to tighten again, her movements becoming more frantic, her cries higher and more desperate. He slid a hand between their bodies, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her apex and stroking it in time with his thrusts.
“Valrek,” she sobbed, her head thrown back, her neck a beautiful, arched line of silver and blue. “Valrek, I?—”
“Let go,” he growled against her ear. “Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”
She shattered.
A scream tore from her throat as her climax ripped through her, a violent, blinding wave of pleasure that made her whole body convulse. Her skin exploded with light, a supernova of blue and gold and violet that illuminated the entire cavern, and her inner muscles clenched around him, tight and hot and perfect, driving him to the edge. But he held back, gritting his teeth, because there was one more thing he needed to do.
The mark.
His beast guided him, ancient instinct taking over. He bent his head to the curve of her shoulder, carefully avoiding her gill slits, and breathed deep. Her scent was overwhelming here—pure, undiluted, hers. His fangs extended, longer and sharper than his normal teeth, and he hesitated for just a moment.
“Do it,” she whispered and he bit down, the taste of her blood like lightning on his tongue.
She cried out—pain and pleasure tangled together—and her body convulsed around him again. The sight, the feel, the sheer, undeniable rightness of it, sent him over the edge, his knot expanding and locking them together as he poured himself into her, making her irrevocably, eternally his.
He collapsed against her, his body shaking with the force of his release, burying his face in the crook of her neck as the aftershocks shuddered through them both. Her arms were wrapped around his back, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close even as their bodies struggled to recover.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the cave were their ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against her chest. And then he heard the echo-pipe. A note rang through the cave, pure and clear, resonating with a frequency he felt in his bones. The harp was responding—to the bite, to the bond, to the merging of his blood with hers.
