Her laughter broke free again, bright and effortless. And something deep inside my chest finally loosened.
For the first time since Derek's threat, the beast grew still. Because my mate was standing beside me beneath a sky made of living light.
14
Tori
* * *
I couldn’t believe we were here.
When we first stepped inside the dome, the Arctic vanished as if someone had closed a door on winter itself. From the outside, the structure looked like a glowing glass bubble resting gently on the ice, but the moment I crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around me in a soft, luxurious embrace.
Heat rose from beneath the floors, seeping through the soles of my boots and chasing away the lingering bite of the frozen air outside. The lighting was low and golden, carefully designed to soften every corner of the space so the room felt less like a hotel suite and more like a private sanctuary carved out of the wilderness.
The bed drew my eyes immediately. It sat in the center of the dome like the focal point of a dream—massive, cloud-soft, layered in thick white linens and heavy fur throws that looked as though they had been chosen with both indulgence and seduction in mind. Above it, the ceiling curved upward into a seamless arc of crystal-clear glass designed for sky watching. From the pillows, a couple could lie back and look straight into the heavens.
The thought alone made something tighten pleasantly in my chest. I could already imagine it—the two of us stretched out beneath the covers, the distant stars scattered across the dark like spilled diamonds, the northern lights spilling ribbons of green and violet across the sky while the rest of the world simply… disappeared.
Everywhere I looked there were small details that spoke of quiet, extravagant wealth. A modern stone fireplace flickered along one curved wall, the flames dancing lazily behind glass and throwing soft shadows across a velvet sofa piled high with plush blankets. Nearby, a polished bar cart held crystal decanters and a chilled bottle of champagne waiting in a silver bucket. A small table for two had been set near the window, the silverware gleaming beneath the low lights, delicate plates already arranged for some midnight dessert service that was less like dining and more like an invitation to linger. Even the bathroom whispered luxury—heated marble floors, a deep soaking tub large enough for two people to sink into comfortably, and thick white robes hanging nearby as if the room itself expected guests to abandon any intention of leaving.
Beyond the glass walls, the Arctic stretched endless and silent beneath the night sky, the frozen landscape glowing faintly under moonlight.
Inside, however, the cold seemed impossibly far away. The warmth of the room, the flicker of firelight, the enormous bed waiting beneath that wide open sky—it all created a strange, intimate quiet that made the air feel heavier somehow. Like the world had narrowed to this single glowing dome on the ice. Like everything beyond these walls had faded away, leaving only warmth, luxury… and the sky above us.
And the Warlord who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in this place.
Egon wasn’t looking at the sky, the bed or anything else. He was watching me. Had been watching me for the last couple hours as I stared in wonder at the sky. At last, we’d ditched the camera crews. According to the official rules, I had my own bubble dome next door. Chet had even made us film a good-night kiss at the entrance. Once the cameras turned off, Chet and his mates said their goodnights and disappeared into the second dome. I didn’t know where the rest of the crew was staying. Didn’t care. We had to be back at the airport in less than ten hours for the flight back to Miami.
Egon locked the door and turned to face me. “I need to touch you.” So direct and to the point, my beast.
The words echoed in my mind as I held Egon's gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs with a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the primal hunger building inside me. My. Beast. The possessive syllables rolled through my consciousness like thunder, awakening something ancient and undeniable in my core.
My naked beast sounded even better.
I let my lips curve into a smile that was positively wicked, even as my fingers trembled with anticipation. The air between us had shifted, thickening with an electricity that made the hairs on my arms stand at attention. I could feel his heat from across the small space, radiating toward me like a furnace, and I wanted nothing more than to burn in it.
"Take off your clothes," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "All of them."
Egon's head tilted, those predatory eyes narrowing with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He stood perfectly still, muscles coiled with restrained power, watching me with the focused attention of a hunter who'd finally cornered his prey. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken promises, until I found the courage to continue.
"You are not touching me with your clothes on," I declared, lifting my chin in a show of bravado I didn't entirely feel. Not with him looking at me like that—like I was the only thing in his world worth devouring. "I want skin, mister. I need you naked. Totally, completely naked."
The sound that rumbled from his chest was unlike anything I'd ever heard—not quite human, not quite animal, but something deliciously in between. Laughter, I realized with wonder. I'd made an Atlan Warlord laugh, and the vibration of it seemed to travel straight through my body, settling low in my belly with a warmth that made me squirm.
"Bossy female," he growled, and the rough timbre of his voice scraped across my senses like velvet over sandpaper.
"Get used to it." I was smiling as I kicked off my boots. I couldn't help it, even as my pulse raced beneath my skin. This dance between us—this push and pull of control and surrender—felt more natural than breathing. "Naked, Egon. Like right now."
His gaze turned serious, the amber depths darkening to something almost black as his pupils dilated with desire. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable—the beast rising to the surface, responding to my challenge with predatory interest.
"Naked," he repeated, the word falling from his lips like a vow. “You first.”
He moved, closing the distance between us with the fluid grace of a predator. His fingertips traced along the waist of my fur-lined pants, the calloused pads of his fingers grazing my skin with excruciating gentleness. For a moment, I thought he might take his time, might torture me with the slow unveiling he seemed to favor.
Then he ripped the seam as easily as I would tear a tissue.
The sound of fabric surrendering to his strength sent a jolt of arousal straight to my core. I gasped, my hands flying to where he'd exposed me, but he was already moving lower. When he hooked his thumb in the waistband of my favorite pink lace panties, I squirmed with sudden urgency.
