"And I claim you," I answer, my voice steady. "I claim your silence and your noise. I claim the Wolf and the Man. I will be the anchor when the world gets too heavy."
He leans down. He kisses me.
It isn't a polite wedding kiss. It is deep, possessive, and tastes of bourbon and forever.
The Pack howls. A long, synchronized song that rises to the stars. And for the first time in three hundred years, the Vampires don't hiss in response. They bow their heads.
The master bedroom ofBelle Rêvehas been purged.
The heavy, suffocating velvet curtains are gone, replaced by sheer linen that lets the moonlight filter in. The scent of dried roses and formaldehyde has been scrubbed away, replaced by the smell of cedar, beeswax, andus.
In the corner, the grandfather clock Jax gave me ticks steadily.Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.A perfect, regulated heartbeat for the room.
Jax locks the door. The sound of the bolt sliding home is the only barrier we need tonight.
He turns to me.
I am standing by the massive four-poster bed, still wearing the simple white silk slip dress I chose for the ceremony. It ripples around my legs like water.
"Come here, Mrs. Roux," he growls.
I walk to him. I don't stop until my chest brushes his.
"Take it off," I whisper.
He reaches for the straps of my dress. His fingers are large, capable of snapping bone, but he slides the silk down my shoulders with the delicacy of a clockmaker handling a balance spring. The dress pools at my feet.
I step out of it. I am naked underneath.
Jax stops breathing. His gaze travels over me, mapping every inch of skin, lingering on the birthmark at my throat, the curve of my breasts, the flare of my hips.
"Magnificent," he breathes.
He sheds his jacket. He rips the buttons of his shirt open, buttons popping onto the floor, and shrugs it off. His chest is broad, scarred, and moving with the heavy rhythm of his breathing.
He pulls me against him. Skin to skin. The heat is instantaneous. It fuses us.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down on the cool, fresh sheets.
He crawls over me. He doesn't rush. There is no desperation tonight, only celebration. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.
"I love you," he murmurs against my jaw. "God, Miranda, I love you."
"I love you," I breathe, arching into him. "Now stop talking and show me."
He kisses his way down my throat. He bites gently at the pulse point, scraping his teeth against the skin, making meshiver. His hands roam over my body, heavy and possessive, claiming territory he already owns.
He moves lower. He kisses the valley between my breasts, his tongue swirling over the nipples until they ache. He kisses the soft curve of my belly.
He parts my legs.
"Jax," I gasp as his breath hits the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
He looks up at me, his eyes glowing gold in the semi-darkness. "Open for me,chérie. Let me taste my wife."
I spread wider.
He buries his face in me.
