She doesn't resist or pull away. She stays there on her hands and knees, breath coming fast, offering herself for the claiming.
Every instinct screams to do it, to bite down, complete the bond, make her mine in every way that matters.
My teeth find her nape, pressing against skin without breaking through yet. She trembles beneath me, caught between anticipation and need. Her body clenches around my cock, so close to the edge that one more thrust might send her over.
At the last second, I release her hair and change my grip to her shoulder instead, pulling her up and back against my chest, changing the angle, moving my mouth from her nape to hershoulder blade. Teeth sink deep into muscle there, breaking skin but not completing the transformation.
She cries out, the sound caught between pain and pleasure. Her body convulses around me, clenching in waves as the orgasm rips through her. I keep the bite, keep driving into her, feeling her come apart while I hold her against my chest.
Blood fills my mouth with copper and salt and everything that is uniquely hers. My tiger screams fury at being denied, but I hold firm, maintaining control even as my own release builds, even as she shudders and comes apart in my arms.
When I finally let go, when my body drives into hers one last time and I come with force that makes us both gasp, I release the bite. Pull back to see the deep impression of my teeth in her shoulder, blood welling in the marks.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, I keep her body locked against mine, our bodies convulsing with aftershocks. Her breathing is ragged. Her body still clenching around me in smaller waves.
Then she pulls away, pushing me back. I slip out of her as she turns to face me. Fury blazes in her eyes.
"You bastard."
"Catriona—"
"You made the choice for me." She pushes me back enough to sit up despite the tremors still running through her. Blood streaks her shoulder where my teeth broke skin, the mark already darkening into a bruise that will last for days. "You let me think you were going to claim me. You positioned me for the bite. You had your teeth on my nape. And then you chose my shoulder instead because you're still too afraid to give me what I asked for."
"I'm protecting you?—"
"From myself? From what I'm capable of deciding?" She's naked and bleeding, facing a predator who could end her life, and she doesn't flinch. "You don't get to decide what I canhandle. You don't get to make decisions about my body, my transformation, my future without my consent."
"You gave consent. You got on your hands and knees, you stayed down when I pulled your hair, you offered your nape?—"
"To the claiming bite. Not to some half-measure that brands me without transforming me. Not to being yours without actually being claimed." She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it on despite the blood. "You talk about consent and autonomy, but you're just as controlling as any alpha male who thinks he knows better."
She's right. I made the call without asking her.
"I've watched you kill," she continues, voice shaking with fury rather than fear. "I've seen what you're capable of. And I still asked for the bond. I still offered myself for the claiming. But you couldn't trust me to know my own mind."
"It's not about trust?—"
"Then what's it about? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you made a promise with your actions and then broke it at the last second. You had your teeth on my nape, Kian. You were inside me. I was offering everything, and you took my shoulder instead because you decided I couldn't handle the truth of what you are."
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from one of the Russians:
Boss wants update on cop. Keep her cooperative.
She grabs it before I can, reads the message, then tosses the phone back onto the bed. "Get out." Her hand shakes as she points toward the door. "Get out of this bedroom. I'll deal with Zharkov tomorrow. Tonight, I need space from you and your overprotective bullshit."
I grab my clothes and the phone, leaving because she's right to be angry, right to demand space, right to hate me for deciding what she couldn't handle.
The door closes behind me with a finality that echoes through the safe house. I stand in the hallway wearing hastily pulled-on jeans, tasting her blood on my tongue. The phone sits heavy in my hand, the message still glowing on the screen.
The syndicate expects cooperation. They expect control. They expect me to keep her in line. What they're going to get tomorrow is a police chief with fury in her eyes.
I sink onto the couch in darkness, listening to her move around in the bedroom, knowing she's as awake and unsatisfied as I am.
I set the phone down and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. My shoulder aches where her nails broke skin. The taste of her blood lingers on my tongue. The bite I left on her shoulder burns in my mind like a brand.
She's mine now, marked if not claimed. And tomorrow when this Zharkov walks into her office, I'll be nearby, whether she wants my protection or not.
Eventually the sounds from the bedroom stop. No more movement, no indication of what she's doing. I close my eyes but sleep won't come. Not with her scent everywhere, saturating the safe house, reminding me of what just happened.
