“Then we prepare,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “What do you need from me?”
The brothers exchange glances, something like respect flickering across their features before Scar steps forward again, his expression turning serious. “You, witch girl, you need to stay alive,” he says simply. “You stay close to Raze. And you trust us to handle the rest.”
Before I can respond, movement near the greenhouse catches my attention. Ivy emerges, her tree nymph nature making her movements graceful and flowing, bark-like undertones visible along her skin as she approaches. She carries a bundle of herbs and small sachets, her expression focused and professional as she distributes them among the brothers. “Protective talismans,” she explains, her voice carrying the kind of calm efficiency that speaks to someone doing their job, not rallying around a cause. “Wear them. They’ll help against fae enchantments.”
Ash appears next, flame-red hair shot through with gold, amber eyes glowing as she strides through the club room, checking weapons with practiced ease. Phoenix fire dances across her shoulders, flickering and bright, illuminating her features as she works. She glances at me once, expression unreadable, before returning her attention to the task at hand. “Fight ring defenses are prepped,” she announces to no one in particular. “Anyone who gets through the outer perimeter is walking into a kill zone.”
Luna moves through the background, silvery-blonde hair catching the light as she brews something at the bar, her selkie nature lending her movements a fluid grace that makes herseem almost ethereal. She doesn’t look up, or acknowledge me, she just works with quiet competence that speaks to someone preparing for casualties, not celebrating reunions.
They work with quiet professionalism, preparing for war with the kind of focus that comes from knowing exactly what’s at stake. No dramatics, no forced comfort, just steady presence and unspoken acceptance as they fold me into the rhythm of the room.
I’m not just watching from the edges anymore. I’m woven into the equation now.
And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe and accept that I belong here, not because they need me emotionally, but because I’m useful. Because I’ve proven my worth. Because Raze claimed me, and the club protects what belongs to their president.
Raze’s hand finds the small of my back, heat bleeding through my shirt as he guides me deeper into the clubhouse, past brothers preparing for battle, past the broken dome that once held his flame captive, toward the hallway that leads to his quarters.
“You need rest,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “The fae won’t attack until full dark. We have hours.”
His jaw tightens, control visibly fraying at the edges as his gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, mapping every inch of me like he’s afraid I might vanish if he looks away. The air between us charges with something electric and dangerous, heat bleeding off him in waves that have nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with barely restrained desire.
“Roxy.” My name leaves his mouth like a warning, rough and strained. “You need to rest. The fae—”
“Fuck the fae,” I cut him off, closing the distance between us until my body presses against his, until I can feel the rigid tension in every muscle, the way his hands flex at his sides likehe’s physically restraining himself from touching me. “I don’t want rest. I don’t want to think about what’s coming.” I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palm. “I want you, right now, before the world tries to tear us apart again.”
Something in him snaps. His control fractures like ice cracking under pressure, and suddenly his mouth is on mine, hot, demanding and desperate, stealing the breath from my lungs as his hands grip my hips with bruising intensity. I gasp against his lips, opening for him, and the kiss turns savage. His tongue slides against mine, reminding me of every moment we spent together before the witch ripped my memories away.
I kiss him back with equal ferocity, three weeks of aching emptiness pouring into the contact, my fingers sliding into his hair and gripping hard enough to make him growl against my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, primal and hungry, sending heat pooling low in my belly while my body responds to his nearness with desperate urgency.
He walks me backward down the hallway, never breaking the kiss, his body crowding mine until my shoulders hit the wall outside his door. The impact punches the air from my lungs, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss until I’m drowning in him, in the taste of ice, fire, and possession that makes rational thought impossible.
His hands slide beneath my shirt, callused palms rough against sensitive skin as they trace the curve of my waist, my ribs, mapping territory he’s already claimed but needs to reclaim, to confirm that I still belong. I arch into his touch, a sound escaping my throat that’s half gasp, half plea, needingmore, needingeverything.
“Tell me you want this,” he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes my knees threaten to buckle. “Tell me you’re sure, because once I start, I’mnot stopping. I’m going to claim every fucking inch of you until you can’t remember a time you weren’t mine.”
“I’m sure,” I breathe out, nails raking down his back, feeling muscle shift and flex beneath my fingers as his dragon stirs just beneath the surface. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I’m yours, Raze. I’vealwaysbeen yours.”
That’s all the permission he needs.
He reaches behind him, shoving the door open to his room with enough force that it slams against the interior wall, and then we’re stumbling inside, a tangle of desperate hands and hungry mouths. The door is kicked shut behind us, sealing us in darkness broken only by moonlight streaming through the windows, casting everything in shades of silver and gray.
Raze’s hands find the hem of my shirt, and he tears it over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without care before his mouth descends on my collarbone, teeth and tongue working the sensitive skin until I’m trembling against him. His frostbitten hands cup my breasts through my bra, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples, and I cry out, the sensation shooting straight to my core.
“Too many clothes,” I manage, my voice rough with need as my fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. “Off. Now.”
He helps me, shrugging out of his leather cut first, letting it fall reverently to the chair beside his bed before working his shirt buttons open. I push it off his shoulders, revealing the scarred, muscled expanse of his chest, ice-kissed marks from centuries of containing power he was never meant to hold back, threading across his skin in beautiful, brutal patterns.
I trace them with my fingers, then my mouth, kissing my way across his chest, feeling him shudder beneath my touch. His hands tangle in my hair, grip tightening as I work my way lower, dropping to my knees in front of him.
His breath catches, eyes blazing down at me with such intensity that it steals the air from my lungs. “Roxy—”
“My turn,” I tell him, my hands working his belt, popping his jeans button, and dragging the zipper down. “You’ve had three weeks to think about this. So have I, and I’m not wasting another second.”
I free his cock from his jeans, wrapping my hand around the hard, thick length of him, and the groan that tears from his throat is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. I stroke him slowly, learning his responses, watching the way his jaw clenches, his hands flex in my hair, and his control frays with every deliberate movement. Then I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
“Fuck!” The word explodes from him, his hips jerking forward before he catches himself, his control visibly trembling as I work him with lips and tongue, taking him deeper, hollowing my cheeks and sucking until his breathing turns ragged and desperate.
His hands tighten in my hair, not forcing but guiding, and I let him, reveling in the power I have in this moment, the way I can reduce a centuries-old dragon to trembling need with nothing but my mouth and determination. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, and the sound he makes is pure devastation.
