Karax fills the doorway—all eight feet of bronze muscle, his golden eyes finding me immediately. I feel the bond pulse between us, feel his satisfaction at seeing me awake and moving. Feel the spike of hunger when he takes in the thin shift clinging to my body, hiding nothing.
“You’re awake.” He crosses the room toward me, and I have to fight the urge to back away. Also fight the urge to move closer. Both impulses war inside me, and I end up frozen in place while he stops in front of me, close enough that I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “How do you feel?”
“Sore.” My voice comes out rough, wrecked. “Used.”
“Good.” The satisfaction in his voice makes something clench low in my belly. “You should feel used. You were. Thoroughly.”
I should be angry. Should snap back at him, remind him that I’m not his property, that what happened during the heat doesn’t change who I am at my core.
But the words won’t come. Because some part of me—some traitorous, broken part—likeshearing him say it. Likes the reminder that I was thoroughly claimed, thoroughly fucked, thoroughly owned for three days straight.
“I see you didn’t care for the dresses.” His eyes travel over the shift, lingering on the places where the thin fabric clings to my curves. “We’ll have more appropriate clothes made. Something that shows what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“Mine.” The word lands like a brand. “The Guardian’s omega. The woman who drew my blood in the arena. Both of those things—the warrior and the omega—are part of you now. The Court will see both.”
“And if I don’t want to be seen at all?”
“That’s not an option.” His hand comes up to wrap around my throat, fingers curling around to brush my spine, palm warm against my pulse. The grip isn’t tight—he’s not restricting my air—but the weight of it makes my whole body go quiet. Still. Obedient.
I hate how much I need this. Hate how the tension drains out of my shoulders the moment he takes control.
“You’re mine,” he continues, his thumb stroking along the side of my neck. “That means you stand where I put you. It means you attend Court functions and training sessions and meals where everyone can see what you’ve become. It means you stop hiding in this chamber and start learning what your life looks like now.”
I should be arguing. Should be fighting this.
Instead, I feel my eyes flutter closed, my breath slow, my resistance melt away under the pressure of his hand.
“There it is,” he murmurs, satisfaction rumbling through his voice. “That’s my good girl.”
I shudder as the praise washes through me, warm and sweet, making my cunt clench around nothing. I hate how much I need to hear those words. Hate how my body responds to them like they’re a drug I’ve become addicted to.
“I’m going to take you out of this chamber today,” he continues, his hand still warm around my throat. “Show you Stone Court. Introduce you to the people who will serve you. And you’re going to walk beside me with your head high, because hiding isn’t something I’ll permit.”
“And what happens if I refuse?”
His grip tightens—just slightly, just enough to make my head swim. “You won’t refuse. Because you know what happens when you’re good for me.” His other hand slides down to rest on my hip, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against the solid wall of his body. “And you know what happens when you’re not.”
Through the bond, I feel his certainty. His patience. His absolute confidence that I’ll do exactly what he wants, because I’ve already proven that I will. Three days of heat taught him every way to break me, and we both know he’ll use that knowledge without hesitation.
“Get dressed,” he says, releasing my throat. I sway toward him, chasing the contact, and I see the flash of satisfaction in his golden eyes. “Something practical. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
He leaves me standing in the middle of the chamber, my heart pounding and my pussy aching and my mind spinning with everything I’ve lost and everything I might have gained.
I look at the dresses laid out on the bed. Then I look at the fighting leathers I wore before the heat—still draped over a chair in the corner, still carrying the scent of who I used to be.
I reach for the leathers.
If I’m going to face Stone Court, I’m going to do it as a warrior. Even if I’m also something else now.
Even if that something else makes my knees weak and my cunt clench every time he calls me a good girl.Chapter 16: Karax
She walks beside me like a warrior going into battle.
Her spine is straight, her shoulders squared, her gray eyes scanning the corridor ahead with the tactical awareness I’vewatched her hone in our training sessions. She chose the fighting leathers over the dresses I provided, and I find I don’t mind. The soft leather hugs her curves, reminds everyone who sees her that she’s not just an omega—she’s a fighter who drew blood from the Guardian of Stone Court.
The first person to do so in seven hundred years.
