That woman is gone. In her place is something new—something that’s still taking shape, still fighting to understand what it’s become.
“It’s over,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse from three days of screaming.
“The heat is over.” I stroke her hair, feeling her shiver at the touch. “But you’re still mine.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. I feel the war happening inside her—the part of her that wants to fight, to resist, to reclaim the independence she lost. And the part of her that remembers how good it felt to surrender. How peaceful. Howright.
“I can still feel you,” she says finally. “In my head. In my… everywhere.”
“The bond.” I press a kiss to her temple. “It won’t fade. You’ll always be able to feel me now. My presence. My desire.” I let my hand slide down her spine, feeling her arch into the touch despite herself. “My pleasure when I’m inside you.”
“I don’t want—”
“You do.” I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. She looks wrecked—dark circles under her eyes, lips swollen from my kisses, marks from my hands and mouth scattered across her skin like a map of everything I’ve done to her. She looks like she’s been thoroughly claimed.
Because she has.
“Some part of you wanted this from the moment you saw me in that arena,” I tell her. “Some part of you was tired of fighting,tired of being strong, tired of carrying everyone else’s burdens while no one carried you. That part recognized what I could give you.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, feeling her breath catch. Through the bond, I feel the spike of arousal she can’t hide—her body responding to my touch even now, even exhausted. “And now that you’ve had it—now that you know what it feels like to surrender, to be held, to let someone else be strong—you won’t be able to forget.”
Her eyes are wet. I feel the conflict through the bond—hate and want and something terrifyingly close to gratitude. She hates that I’m right. Hates that some part of her is relieved this happened, that the burden of being strong has finally been taken from her.
“I still hate you,” she whispers.
“I know.” I pull her closer, tucking her head under my chin. She fits perfectly against me, her small body molding to mine like it was designed for this purpose. “Hate me all you want. But you’re still going to come when I call you. Still going to get wet when I touch you. Still going to call me Alpha when I’m inside you.”
She doesn’t deny it.
She can’t.
“Rest now,” I murmur against her hair. “The heat is over, but your body needs to recover. And we have things to discuss when you’re stronger.”
“What things?”
“Your place here. Your training. What comes next.” My hand slides down to rest on her belly, feeling the slight swell where my seed has been pooling for three days. “And whether I’ve put a child in you.”
I feel the shock pulse through the bond. The fear. And underneath it, buried so deep she might not even recognize it yet—
Hope.
She doesn’t say anything. But she doesn’t pull away either. Her hand comes to rest on top of mine, her fingers brushing against my knuckles in a touch so light I might have imagined it.
She’s not ready to admit what that means. Not yet.
But I can wait.
When she finally falls asleep in my arms, I feel the tension drain out of her body in a way it never has before. Her breathing slows. Her muscles unclench. Even through the bond, the constant hum of resistance fades to something quieter.
Like she’s finally stopped fighting.
Like some part of her—small, hidden, barely acknowledged—is exactly where it wants to be.Chapter 15: Hannah
I wake alone for the first time in three days.
The bed is still warm where Karax was lying, his scent saturating the furs, but he’s gone. I can feel him through the bond—a steady presence somewhere nearby, calm and focused on something that isn’t me—but the physical absence of his body against mine feels wrong in ways I don’t want to examine.
