I shift, angling my hips just so, and a sharp cry tears from her throat. “Kaiven!”
“Sha,” I command, my voice a low, dominant rumble. “Sha for me, Keandra. Now.”
She shatters.
Her back arches. A choked sob escapes her lips. Her body convulses around me, a series of tight, rhythmic spasms that milk me, pulling me deeper, demanding more.
The sight of her, lost in pleasure, undone by me, is too much. My control snaps. I thrust into her once, twice, three more times, hard and deep, and then I follow her over the edge.
A roar rips from my chest as I spill into her. Hot. Thick. Possessive. I am breeding her. Marking her from the inside out. Making her irrevocably, undeniably mine.
I collapse over her, careful not to crush her with my weight, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Both of us are breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. I can feel the frantic race of her pulse against my lips.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The fire pops and crackles, casting long shadows across the furs. The world slowly comes back into focus.
I am still inside her. Still hard. The instinct to take her again, to claim her once more, is a low hum beneath my skin. But I push it down. I have made my point. I have claimed her. For now.
I push myself up on my elbows, looking down at her. Her eyes are closed, her face flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses. She looks… wrecked. Beautifully, thoroughly wrecked. And she is covered in my marks—the faint red lines from my claws on her hips, and the marks where I gripped her thighs to hold her open.
A surge of primal satisfaction goes through me.
She opens her eyes then, and the look in them is not fear. It’s something much more complicated. Something that looks a lot like awe. And belonging.
I reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. The gesture is surprisingly gentle. A stark contrast to the brutal way I just took her.
“Vel,” I say, the word a possessive rumble in my chest. “Veli.” Beloved.
I don’t pull out. Not yet. I stay buried inside her, a heavy, undeniable presence, a physical reminder of what has just passed between us.
Keandra swallows, her throat moving. “I…” She starts, then stops, her breath hitching as I shift inside her. A fresh wave of arousal, weaker this time, but still there, scents the air.
I feel a smile touch my lips. “Again, Narai?” I murmur, a challenge and a promise in one.
She doesn’t answer. Just closes her eyes, a faint, exhausted smile of her own playing on her lips.
I will have her again before the night is over. But for now, this is enough. This quiet moment in the firelight, with my scent all over her and my seed warming her from the inside.
I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
She is mine. And I will never let her go.
Chapter 18
Kaiven
The women go out after midday, when the sun is high enough to give light but not yet brutal at the top of the sky. Keandra goes with them.
I knew she would sooner or later. Oshara is not foolish, and neither is the horde. A wife who cannot step beyond the king’s tent becomes a burden too quickly, and burdens draw contempt in hard places. Knowing it does not ease the restless edge in me when I see her moving with the women toward the gathering grounds, a basket in her hands, my mark hidden beneath her clothing.
She is learning. That is the truth I try to hold to. She has begun to listen before stepping. Begun to watch the older women’s hands when they sort plants and roots. Begun to lift her face when the wind changes, as if she can force the land into teaching her if she pays enough attention. She does not belong to the plains yet. But she is trying.
The trying does not calm me. Not when the world around her remains what it is. Hard. Alive. Unforgiving.
I watch the gathering party leave from the edge of camp while pretending my attention is on two warriors arguing over tack repair. The women move in a loose group with baskets, cutting tools, and a pair of younger guards assigned to range the outer edge. Keandra is easy to pick out among them. Smaller than the Tigris women. Dark hair bound back. Wrapped properly now, at least. Walking with too much care in each step because she thinks about every patch of ground before trusting it.
Good. Let her think. Let her be cautious. Caution keeps breath in the body.
Oshara walks with them too. That eases one part of my mind. If the First Mother is there, the gathering will not drift too far or grow sloppy with talk and inattention.
