"You really love being heard, don't you, Omega?" he says. "You'll think about this every time you walk these halls. So will they. They'll remember how their Shadow Lady screamed my name while I made her come with my tongue."
I should be mortified. Should be planning his slow, painful death for this public humiliation. Instead, I feel strangely, terrifyingly free, as if some burden I've carried for years has suddenly lifted.
Before I can process this, Malakai is turning me to face the wall, his chest pressing against my back as he kicks my legs wider. I hear him unfastening his trousers, feel the hot length of him pressing against me from behind. I'm still throbbing from my climax, but I want him inside me, strangely even more aroused by our active audience.
"Tell me you want me to fuck you right here, right now," he demands, one hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. "Tell me to claim you where anyone might hear."
"Yes," I hear myself say, my voice hoarse but utterly certain. "Yes, I want you. I want them to hear you claim me. I want them to know I'm yours."
He enters me in one powerful thrust, filling me so completely I see stars. My hands scrabble for purchase against the smooth stone wall as he sets a punishing rhythm, each stroke driving me higher.
"Say my name," he growls, his movements growing more erratic, more primal. "Let them all hear who you belong to."
"Malakai," I gasp, abandoning the last shreds of my dignity. "Malakai, please…don't stop, never stop…"
His response is a growl of pure Alpha satisfaction. His thrusts grow harder, deeper, more desperate, his shadows wrapping around my breasts, my throat, between my legs—touching me everywhere at once until I can't tell what's real and what's shadow magic anymore.
I'm vaguely aware of more voices in the corridor, of conversations stopping, of shocked exclamations followed by hasty retreats or lingering whispers. The knowledge that we have an audience only intensifies everything, pushing me toward a second climax that feels like it might break me completely.
"Mine," Malakai snarls against my ear, his control fracturing. "I own your pleasure now, own every moan, every scream. My Omega. Say it."
And gods help me, I do.
"Yours," I whisper, then louder as he drives me toward the edge again. "Yours, Malakai. Only yours. Make me come again, please…give me your knot…"
The words tumble from my lips without conscious thought. I feel him swell at the base, his knot beginning to form, and the knowledge that he's going to lock us together sends me over the edge.
He comes with a roar that surely echoes throughout the entire wing of the palace, his knot expanding fully as he empties himself inside me, his release triggering my own. For endless moments, there is nothing but blinding pleasure, nothing but his body joined with mine, nothing but the perfect unity of our shared climax as his knot locks us together.
Gradually, reality returns. I'm pressed against a wall in a semi-public alcove, naked and trembling in the aftermath, with the Shadow Lord—my sworn enemy—knotted inside me. My skin is marked with the imprint of his shadows, my neck bearing fresh bruises from his mouth. And I can still hear voices in the corridor outside, no longer even pretending not to be discussing what they've just witnessed.
What have I done?
Shame crashes over me in sickening waves as the enchantment's effect begins to fade. This wasn't me. This was Ivy's magic, making me act on urges I would never normally acknowledge. And yet...the pleasure was real. The freedom in those moments of abandon was real. The way my Omega nature sang for him was real.
Malakai's arm wraps around me, pulling my back flush against his chest—we're still locked together by his knot, and will be for at least twenty more minutes. His hand comes up to grip my chin, tilting my head back so I can look up into his eyes. His expression is unreadable as he studies me. For once, there's no mockery in his eyes, no cruel triumph, just a focus that makes me want to hide.
"This wasn't real," I say, my voice hoarse from screaming. "This wasn't me."
He studies me for a long moment, thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture almost tender. "Wasn't it?" he asks softly. "Or was it simply the you that you keep buried beneath duty and vengeance and self-denial?"
I don't have an answer for that. Don't want to consider the possibility that he might be right.
We stand there, locked together, his knot still pulsing inside me as we wait for it to subside. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he holds me, supporting my weight, one hand stroking my back in soothing circles.
"They'll talk," I say, more to myself than to him. "The entire court will know what happened here."
"Good. Stop denying what you are." His smile returns, though it lacks some of its usual cruelty. "You loved being heard. Let them talk. Let them wonder what other surprises their new Shadow Lady might hold." He leans closer, until his lips brush my ear. "And let them envy me for having what they can only dream of possessing."
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his knot begins to subside. He pulls out slowly, carefully, and I feel his seed spill from me, marking my thighs.
With surprising gentleness, he helps me dress, his shadows carefully returning my clothing, mending the parted seams so perfectly that no one will know they were ever disturbed. His own clothes are barely disturbed—tunic open at the throat, trousers hastily refastened. The contrast between his composure and my dishevelment only heightens my humiliation.
Before I can respond, he steps back, straightening his tunic with casual elegance. "Rest that wrist," he says, nodding toward my now-healed injury. "I expect an even better fight from you tomorrow."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the alcove with tousled hair, swollen lips, and the terrifying realization that the line between hatred and desire might be thinner than I ever imagined.
I straighten my clothing as best I can, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the alcove and into the corridor.
