"Yes," she admits, then quickly adds, "But not in a bad way. It was... intense. Overwhelming. But not bad."
Relief floods through me. I was careful, as careful as the rut would allow, but she's so much smaller than me that some discomfort was inevitable. The fact that she found pleasure in it, that her body welcomed the stretch and the claiming, speaks to the strength of our bond.
"You took me better than I dared hope," I tell her honestly. "Your body is made for mine."
She shivers at the words, and I smell fresh arousal blooming in her scent. Remarkable. Most omegas need time to recover after their first knotting, but she's already responding to my presence again.
"I can smell how much you want me," I murmur, nuzzling the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Even full of my knot, you're already thinking about the next time."
"I'm not—" she starts to protest, but her words cut off in a moan as I shift inside her.
"You are," I correct gently. "And that's exactly as it should be. You're in heat, little omega. Your body knows it needs to be sated."
The flush spreads down her throat, painting her skin the most delicious shade of pink. She's embarrassed by her body's demands, but she can't deny them. The bond has awakened her omega nature completely, and she'll crave my touch until her heat runs its course.
"How long?" she whispers. "How long will this last?"
"Three days, perhaps four," I tell her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "Long enough to ensure my seed has taken."
Her breath catches at the words, and I feel her inner walls clench around my knot. The idea of being bred excites her, even if she's not ready to admit it yet.
"What if—" she starts, then stops, biting her lip.
"What if what?" I prompt gently.
"What if it takes?" she whispers. "What if I get pregnant?"
The hope in her voice is barely detectable, buried beneath layers of fear and uncertainty, but I catch it. She wants my child, even if she's terrified to admit it.
"Then you'll give me strong sons and beautiful daughters," I tell her firmly. "And you'll be honored above all other women in the clan."
Her eyes widen at the certainty in my voice. "You want children?"
"I wantyourchildren," I correct. "I want to see you round with my seed, your body changing to nurture our young. I wantto watch you nurse our babes and know that I was the one who put them in your belly."
The raw possession in my words makes her shiver, and her scent flares with renewed arousal. She's imagining it now—her body swelling with pregnancy, her breasts heavy with milk. The omega in her craves it as much as the alpha in me demands it.
My knot has receded enough that I can finally withdraw from her body, though I do so reluctantly. She gasps at the sensation, her hands flying to her belly as if to hold my seed inside her.
"Easy," I murmur, tucking her into the curve of my body as a flood of our combined fluids escapes her well-used body. "Rest now. Let your body process what we've done."
She melts against me like she was made to fit in my arms, her head tucked under my chin, her breathing gradually slowing as exhaustion takes hold.
"Sleep," I murmur against her hair, savoring the rich layered scent that clings to her skin now. She smells like mine, thoroughly marked and claimed. "I'll watch over you."
She's already drifting off, but I can smell it in her scent—the heat isn't done with her yet. Neither am I.
VESHA
Consciousness returns slowly, like swimming up from a deep, warm sea. For days, my world has been a blur of heat and need, of a massive body covering mine and a bond settling into my very bones. But now, for the first time, my mind feels clear. The roaring fire of the heat has banked to warm embers, and I can think again.
Memory returns in a dizzying flood, and I sit up in the massive bed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The ritual. The bond. Ghazrek.
My hand flies to my throat, fingers seeking the raised welt where his tusk marked my skin. The mark throbs under my touch, a constant reminder that the last few days weren't a fever dream. A sudden ache of separation tears through me, a sharp, physical pull in my gut, as if a rope is tied to my navel and anchored to him, wherever he is.
The Warlord is gone.
