Mine. The word echoes through my mind, but it's not my voice. It's his, rumbling through the bond like distant thunder, claiming and possessive and utterly certain.
"The ritual is complete," someone calls out—an elderly orc with scars crisscrossing his face. "The bond is witnessed and approved. Let none challenge what fate has decreed."
Ghazrek releases my throat and straightens to his full, terrifying height. His tongue darts out to lick my blood from his lips, and the sight sends another bolt of liquid fire straight to my core.
The heat that started as a whisper is now a roar, demanding and insatiable. I can smell myself—golden sweetness turning dark and musky, the unmistakable scent of an omega going into full heat. My body prepares itself, slick already beginning to gather between my thighs, and my face burns at the lack of control, even as my hips rock involuntarily.
He scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, one massive arm behind my knees and the other supporting my back. I should struggle, should fight, should do anything except turn my face into his neck and breathe in his scent like it's the only air I need.
"No," I whisper against his skin, though I'm not sure what I'm protesting anymore. The bond? The heat consuming me? The way my hands have somehow tangled themselves in his dark hair instead of pushing him away?
"Yes," he rumbles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "You are mine now, little omega. Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fill."
Fill. The word should horrify me, but instead it sends another gush of slick between my thighs, my body responding to the promise.
He carries me through stone corridors that blur past in a haze of mounting need. Every step jostles me against his chest, and the friction is both too much and not nearly enough. By the time we reach his chambers, I'm panting like I've run miles, my skin fevered and hypersensitive.
His chambers are vast and warm, dominated by a bed that could fit three of me across its width. He sets me down beside it, and I immediately stumble, my legs refusing to support my weight as another wave of heat crashes over me.
"Easy," he murmurs, catching me before I can fall. His hands span my waist completely, making me feel delicate and small in a way that terrifies me but makes me feel cherished. "Your heat is strong."
Strong doesn't begin to cover it. My dress is soaked, clinging to my skin in ways that make every movement torture. I need—something. I need him to touch me, to fill me, to make this burning stop.
"Please," I gasp, my hands fisting in his leather armor. "Please, I can't—it hurts."
"I know," he says, his voice gentler than I expected from someone so massive. "Let me help you."
His hands find the laces of my dress, and I don't protest as he strips it away. The broken pendant, now just a piece of useless, cooled metal, clatters to the stone floor as he pulls the gown away, forgotten. The cool air should be a relief against my fevered skin, but instead it makes me more aware of every inch of exposed flesh, every place he's not touching.
"Beautiful," he growls, his orange eyes burning as they travel over my body. "Such a prize. Made for me."
The possessive reverence in his voice makes me whimper, and when his hands finally—finally—touch my skin, I nearly sob with relief. His palms are huge and callused, rough against my softness, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s been set on fire.
"So hot," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts. "Burning up for your alpha."
"Yes," I breathe, arching into his touch. The admission should make me blush, but the heat has burned away my capacity for embarrassment. All that remains is need, pure and desperate and consuming.
He lifts me onto the bed, arranging me on my back against the furs. I expect him to cover me immediately, to take what the bond has given him, but instead he kneels between my spread thighs and just... looks.
"Show me," he commands, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "Show me how wet you are for me, little omega."
My face burns, but my body obeys before my mind can protest. My hands drift down to the apex of my thighs, and I nearly cry at what I find there. I'm soaked, slick coating my inner thighs in a show of readiness.
"I'm—oh gods, I'm so wet," I whisper, my fingers coming away glistening. "I can't stop it."
"Don't stop it," he growls, his own massive hands working at the buckles of his armor. "Your body knows what it needs. What we both need."
When he strips away his leathers, I forget how to breathe.
He's enormous. Not just tall—though he towers over me even kneeling—but built like a fortress made of muscle and bone and brutal strength. Scars crisscross his pale skin, telling stories of battles won and enemies conquered. But it's not his scars that steal my breath.
It's his cock.
"No," I whisper, staring at the massive length jutting from between his thighs. He's huge everywhere, but this—this is impossible. "I can't. You'll tear me apart."
He's easily twice the size of any human male, thick as my wrist and ridged with veins that promise a pleasure I can't comprehend. The head is already leaking, a bead of moisture that makes my mouth water even as terror claws at my throat.
"You can," he says with absolute certainty, moving closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Your body is made for this. Made for me."
