Page 130 of Given to the Black King

His hands close around my wrists. Not pulling them away. Holding on.

“Say exactly what you mean.”

“I mean I choose you.”

The room goes still.

“You,” I say. “The part that waited. The part that killed for the wall and still stopped for one word from me.” My voice breaks. “I want the rest too. I want the bond. Your bite. I want to wake and know you are there.”

His eyes are black now.

I lean close enough that my mouth almost touches his.

“Torgan.”

His whole body locks.

“Come here.”

“I give you the bite. Freely. I mean it. I choose you now, and I will choose you again when the venom clears.”

For one heartbeat he does nothing.

Then he stands so fast the bench falls backward.

His mouth takes mine.

He does not become careless because the rite is spoken. He angles the kiss around the fangs even while his whole body shakes. His lips bruise mine. His tongue takes. One fang cuts his own lower lip when he moves too quickly, and I taste iron.

His hands lift me from the floor.

I wrap my legs around his waist.

He carries me to the furs and comes down over me. The gray robe tears under his claws from collar to hem. The points never touch skin.

Cold air reaches me.

His mouth follows.

He smells every mark from the hunt. Shoulder. Breast. Hip. Thigh. His nose drags over each bruise before his tongue does.

“These,” he says against the crescent above my breast. “You wore them on my wall.”

“Yes.”

“For men who came to kill me.”

“For everyone.”

He turns his jaw and fits the old mark between the points. His back teeth close and renew it.

Pain flashes.

Heat floods after.

I grip both horns.

He growls into my breast.