"The beast…" His voice dropped lower, rougher, the syllables slower now. "He wants you. Now. He is taking over."
I searched his face—searched for hesitation, for fear. I found none. Only the same fierce devotion that had carried us through everything. My pulse fluttered wildly. I’d tasted pleasure with the beast before. My beast was wild. Rough. Could never get enough.
Being wanted so completely was… addictive. "Then let him have me."
The sound that tore from his chest wasn't quite human. His body expanded before my eyes, a transformation both terrifying and mesmerizing no matter how many times I witnessed it. Muscles swelled beneath his skin, each fiber multiplying, thickening, gaining mass with impossible speed. His frame grew larger—taller, broader, more powerful with each passing second until he seemed to fill my vision completely. The already cramped apartment shrank around him, the walls pressing close, the ceiling descending until it nearly brushed the top of his transformed head. Furniture that had seemed adequate moments before now looked like dollhouse pieces scattered at his feet.
Before Egon, I would have been afraid. Any sane woman would have run screaming from the alien beast towering before her, muscles rippling with barely contained power, golden eyes glowing with predatory hunger. Instead, I felt only arousal. Only need. Only the devastating certainty that I wanted this—wanted him—exactly as he was.
"Mine," he rasped, and the word vibrated through the room with the force of an earthquake, a promise written in stone and sealed in blood. My breath caught in my throat, trapped by the intensity of his gaze. Those eyes, no longer entirely civilized, locked onto me with singular focus, seeing nothing else in the world worth noticing.
God. It was so fucking hot when he looked at me like that.
"Yours," I whispered, the admission as much an invitation as a confession.
His hands came for me—larger now, fingers thick and strong and impossibly gentle as they wrapped around my waist. He lifted me effortlessly off the floor, my weight meaningless to his enhanced strength. I barely had time to gasp before my arms wound around his neck of their own accord, clinging to him as the room tilted and spun. He carried me across the apartment with long, purposeful strides, each step jostling me against the hard planes of his chest. I could feel his heart hammering beneath my palms—fast, urgent, racing with the same hunger that burned through my own veins.
"Wall," he growled, the single word rough with barely contained instinct.
I understood immediately. Understood and wanted.
My back met the peeling paint near the water stain, the cool surface a shocking contrast to the furnace of his body. He pressed close, surrounding me completely—his massive frame caging me in, his heat enveloping me, his scent—musky and male and him—filled my lungs with every breath.
My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, locking at the ankles, holding on for dear life as he settled against me. Through the layers of our clothing, I could feel him—hard and huge and impossibly ready—pressed against the cradle of my hips.
My pussy was soaked and ready. Aching. Empty. So fucking ready.
Heat radiated from him in waves. Power rolled off his skin like electricity. Possession darkened his gaze to something almost black.
And beneath it all… unmistakable restraint.
Even now. Even like this—transformed, enlarged, his beast nature riding him hard—he held back. Controlled himself. Protected me from the full force of his hunger.
The realization made my chest ache with fierce, uncontrollable love. Love. I loved him. Totally. Every cell in my body was his. Every beat of my heart belonged to him. I’d proudly told Derek I wasn’t property, but Egon owned me. I was his.
And he was mine.
His breath brushed my lips as he leaned closer, his massive body crowding me against the wall, his golden eyes searching mine for any sign of fear, any hesitation.
He found none.
"You’re mine, beast," I whispered, my fingers threading through the thick silk of his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. "Mine."
Egon
* * *
"Mine." The beast responded to his mate. His claim emerged from my throat like gravel, rough and broken and barely human. My beast nature rode me hard, demanding I claim her, mark her, make her mine in every primitive way possible.
But I was still Egon. Still her mate. Still the man who would rather die than hurt her.
I pressed one massive hand against her stomach—felt the frantic flutter of her breath, the shiver of her muscles, the heat of her skin through her thin shirt—and held her in place. Controlled her completely. Controlled myself.
With my other hand, I tore at her clothing.
Fabric ripped like tissue under my sharp claws. Buttons scattered across the floor, pinging against the walls. I worked quickly, efficiently, stripping her bare with a desperation that bordered on madness until she was on display before me—naked, vulnerable, perfect.
She gasped at the sudden exposure, arching into my touch, her skin hot and soft and glowing with arousal. Her nipples peaked in the cool air, drawing my eye, my hands, my mouth.
