“Only for you.”
She lets the blade rest in her lap, her fingers still curled around the hilt like it belongs there. Likeshebelongs here.
My chest aches with something raw and frightening.
I’ve waded through blood and fire. I’ve ruled by tooth and claw. But giving her that blade—watching her accept it—it scares me in a way no war ever has.
Because this isn’t conquest. This is surrender.
CHAPTER 9
AYLA
The moment I see the door slide open, my decision steels itself in my chest like a knife forged in fire.
I’m naked on the floor.
Not curled up, not hesitant—but kneeling, legs spread, hands clasped behind my head, eyes forward, breath steady. My pulse might be chaotic—a furnace in my veins—but I’m unwavering.
Kallus steps in like a storm made flesh. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no surprise, only a slow, dark hunger blooming behind red irises like eclipsed stars. His nostrils flare, and I know he can smell me—heat, want, surrender.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
Not a plea. Not a question. A truth.
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t scoff. He stalks forward like a predator who’s already claimed his prize. The soft hiss of the door closing is the only sound besides our breathing. My thighs tremble, not from fear—never fear—but anticipation so sharp it tastes like blood.
He crouches before me, claws resting on his thighs. “Mine,” he murmurs. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
His hand cups my cheek, callused palm against flushed skin, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like he’s memorizing it.
“Then I’ll treat you as mine.”
He rises, towering above me, and slowly—painfully slowly—removes each piece of his armor. The clink of metal and synth against the floor echoes like a heartbeat. My eyes trace every revealed inch of him: the gleam of his obsidian skin, the stark white bone spurs rising like armor from shoulders, hips, elbows. His cock hangs heavy between powerful thighs, thick and ridged, with a visible spur at the crown twitching in anticipation.
My breath catches. I ache.
He sees it. Smells it.
“You need discipline,” he growls. “And reward.”
I nod, silent, obedient. His eyes glitter with approval.
He moves behind me and begins binding me—not to restrain, but to frame. Black leather and Reaper bone curl around my limbs, cradling me like art. The harness bites lightly into my flesh, not painful, just enough to remind me I’m claimed.
Then he blindfolds me.
Sight disappears, and with it, the last illusion of control. My skin is alive with sensation. Every breath he takes feels like thunder against my back.
“Spread your legs wider,” he commands.
I do. The air against my pussy is shockingly cold—but it only heightens the awareness of every inch of bare skin.
His breath brushes the back of my neck. “Perfect.”
His fingers trail up my calves, teasing, stroking. Then higher. My inner thighs quake as he reaches the edge of my slit, brushing so lightly I sob.
