Both Valak and Gabe lied to me. Valak has an easily identifiable way to tell them apart. A tattoo blazes like a neon sign on his thigh, hip, and ass. It takes me a moment to figure out how I missed it when he was in the shower, but it’s on the side opposite from me, and when I saw him after they went surfing he was wrapped in a towel. Now though, the wolves and the bleeding knife are unavoidable, as is the obvious Welsh inspiration in the heavy lines and imagery.
If I ever needed a sign, that was it. Because it is not any usual wolves Valak has tattooed, it is the Cwn Annwn, Arawn’s personal hunting pack, and the dagger is the Black Corchan, one of his weapons. Out of all the things in the world, why did he choose those?
“Why did you get that tattoo?” I demand; a flash of unease makes me suspicious and snappy.
“Why did you call your company what you did? Jesus, Lennon, I walked into a tattoo shop with the image in my hand years ago. Ask Gabe. There was no explaining it then, because maybe I just figured out the reason now.”
Valak doesn’t move as I squeeze my eyes shut and fall down into a ball of disbelief in the middle of his bed. There’s no snarky retort falling from his lips, because that’s not him. Instead, he comes at me from the other side of the bed and curls his whole body around my balled limbs. He covers me completely; his arms over mine, his head next to my ear, his legs on the outside of mine, his naked groin pushed against my butt. There is no part of me he does not cover and shield, and when he curls his arms around me, tugging them to sit over my bare chest, I know it is my heart he is seeking—not my boobs.
He tightens his hold, drops his weight, and opens his shields. “I know you have something you’re not telling anyone, Lennon. I can feel it. I’ve already told you what you being in my bed means. Let me be that person.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can see it on your face! I bet not even Bailey knows. Does she?”
I push my head against his, ignoring his question about Bailey and skipping to the issue. “It’s dangerous.” But he pushes back just as hard.
He growls into my ear, blowing his dependable, comforting scent into my bubble. “So am I.”
“I don’t think I want to.” I squeeze my eyes shut and admit the painful truth.
“Then don’t.” His words are like rumbles of thunder, his presence just as big.
Except there is more to my whispered confession. “I think I have to.”
“Then you do it with me by your side. With the rest of your pack there too. You’re not alone.”
“I should be.”
“Why?” He snarls.
“Because I could have stopped it all.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s not.”
“Lennon…”
“I have to tell you, Valak.”
“Then tell me after you let me be yours.”
How the hell does he know things like that?
He lets one hand go, brushing the hair off my face, turning me to face him and leaning down to kiss any further argument off my lips. His feather soft kiss rips me apart, shredding my reluctance. I don’t think it was ever reluctance, it was knowledge I couldn’t do it alone. I need them. I wiggle slightly, adoring his stranglehold and the way he keeps giving me exactly what I need.
I don’t need roses and chocolates; I can buy my own. I don’t need money or sweet inaccurate claims about fairy-tale endings, because life is hard and you have to work for what you want. Sweet pretend is most definitely not what Valak is offering. None of them have really.
“I want you,” I murmur against his lips. And he goes from sweet to something else entirely.
Valak lets my face go, his hand disappearing as he shuffles us both, barely letting any distance open up against our bodies. He rubs his dick over my thong and I dive my hand under our bodies to pull it to one side. A frenetic energy stirs between us, and it brings all parts of me together—I’m not just a woman, I’m not just an omega, I’m not just a survivor, I am more. And I will have it all.
“Help me.” It is not a whispered plea, it is a power laden command, and one that Valak has been wanting and waiting for.
He doesn’t slam inside; his claim is brutal though. Locking me in place he drives himself in using powerful strokes of his hips, over, and over. He moves me where he wants me but keeps me bundled in a ball under him. It’s a vulnerable position, but it seems like perhaps that’s how I am meant to be with him. He holds me together, I can’t do anything but accept, although it is also such an easy acceptance now that I’ve made the decision.
“You drive me to rut,” he snaps in my ear at one point.
