Chapter 19 Thine and Feral
Chapter nineteen
Thine and Feral
I’m pacing the guest room like a caged animal, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. My heart is still galloping like it thinks Warren’s gonna come through the damn floorboards.
But I’m not scared.
Not exactly.
It’s not fear crackling through my veins—it’s something hotter. Wilder. Like rage and freedom had a baby and left it screaming in my chest.
The door creaks, and I whirl around, ready to snap at whoever dares come in—
It’s him.
Cain.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches me with that too-still expression of his, eyes tracking every frantic movement I make like he’s trying to read a language I haven’t spoken in years.
“You okay, little rabbit?”
His voice is soft. Low. The kind of gentle you use to soothe something skittish, even when you know it bites.
I let out a breath that turns into a laugh. Then a half-sob. Then something in between.
“I don’t know what the fuck I am right now,” I admit, dragging both hands through my hair. “My hands won’t stop shaking, my brain’s on fire, and I think I just screamed a grown man out of a bar while kneeling on the damn counter.”
Cain takes a step closer. Then another. He reaches out, and for a second I think he’s going to grab me—hold me, crush me, kiss me senseless—but instead he just cups my face in one big, calloused palm.
His thumb brushes my cheek, grounding me in a way that makes the storm inside me crack just a little.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, quieter this time. Like maybe he already knows the answer but needs to hear me say it.
I nod, blinking hard.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, I am.”
My lips quirk into something crooked, something feral.
“I did it, Cain. I fucking did it. I stood up to Warren fucking Ellison.”
“You did it, baby,” he says, all low pride and rough reverence.
That one word—baby—nearly buckles me more than the adrenaline ever could. My laugh cracks as it leaves me, but I can’t stop. The energy’s gotta go somewhere.
“I told him to get the fuck out of my bar,” I ramble, eyes wild, breathing quick. “I laughed in his face. I pointed right in that smug bastard’s face, Cain, and I screamed. On top of the fucking bar. Like some kind of deranged saint-turned-siren.”
He grins—grins, like I just handed him the sun gift-wrapped in sin.
“I saw,” he says. “It was glorious.”
“And when he called me Magdal—” I stop myself. Correct. “When he used that name, I denied it. Like it was a curse. Like it was never mine to begin with. I said, ‘nobody here by that name.’ And it felt so goddamn right.”
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers curling gently but possessively. “Because it isn’t yours anymore. That version of you—what he tried to name, claim, own—it’s dead.”
I let out a sharp breath, eyes shining.
“I think I scared him,” I whisper, like it’s a secret I’m trying to believe.
Cain chuckles, dark and delighted. “You terrified him.”
That makes me beam. I feel untouchable. Unhinged. Holy in a way saints never are—wild-eyed and reborn, still buzzing with violence and victory.
“I don’t even know where it came from,” I admit, shoulders starting to slump as the fire burns down to embers. “But I didn’t feel small. Not once.”
Cain pulls me to him, wrapping both arms around my waist and pressing his forehead to mine.
“That’s because you’re not,” he murmurs. “You’re not small, Mags. You’re a goddamn reckoning.”
His hand cradles my jaw—just one, like it’s nothing, like I’m fragile glass and wildfire all at once.
“You sure you’re okay, little rabbit?”
I nod, breathe shallow but steady. “I did it.”
His eyes darken. “Yeah, you did.”
Then he kisses me.
Hard.
Like he’s trying to brand it into me. That pride. That lust. That unholy, undying want.
He pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing mine like a threat and a promise.
“So fucking proud of you,” he growls, voice low and wrecked. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen—watching you crawl on that bar, kneel over that bastard like you were delivering judgment straight from hell. My little sinner, standing tall.”
My breath catches.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, dragging me closer, chest to chest now, his heat swallowing me whole.
“I wanted to take you right there in front of him,” he whispers. “Let him see exactly who you belong to.”
His mouth crashes into mine, devouring any response I might have given. It's not gentle—there's nothing gentle about the way his teeth catch my bottom lip or how his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise.
"Need you," he growls against my mouth. "Need to fuck that power right back into you."
I moan as he shoves me backward until my spine hits the wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but I don't care. I want this—want him—with a desperation that borders on madness.
"Then take me," I challenge, already fumbling with his belt. "Show me who I belong to."
"Goddamn right I will," he snarls, grabbing both my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. His other hand yanks at my jeans, rough and impatient. "You're mine. Not his. Not anyone's. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I arch against him, desperate for friction, for release from the fire burning through my veins.
"Yours," I gasp as his fingers find me, already wet and wanting. "I want that too," I breathe against his mouth. "Show me. Show me who I belong to."
That's all it takes. Cain's eyes flash dark with something primal as he backs me against the wall, his body pinning mine with delicious pressure. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding, stealing what little breath I have left.
"My little saint turned sinner," he growls, teeth grazing my bottom lip as his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. "You have no idea what you did to me down there."
I whimper as his mouth moves to my neck, biting and sucking marks that will be impossible to hide tomorrow. I don't care. I want everyone to see them. To know.
"Tell me," I gasp as his hands roughly shove my shirt up. "Tell me what I did to you."
"Made me harder than I've ever been," he confesses, ripping my bra down without bothering to unhook it. "Watching you claim your power like that. Christ almighty, I nearly took you right there on that fucking bar."
His mouth closes around my nipple, teeth scraping the sensitive peak. "Fuck, I need you now," he growls, voice like gravel against my ear. "Need to be inside you."
"Yes," I gasp, clawing at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach. "Please, Cain."
He spins me around, pressing my chest against the wall. His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back as his lips brush the shell of my ear.
"Look at you," he rasps, his free hand sliding between my legs, finding me slick and ready. "Already soaking for me. Such a good little sinner."
I cry out as his fingers push inside me, rough and demanding. My hips buck against his hand, desperate for more.
"You gonna take me like this?" he asks, curling his fingers just right. "Up against the wall, where anyone could hear you scream my name?"
"Yes," I pant, pushing back against him. "Mark me," I beg, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "I want everyone to know I'm yours."
His teeth sink into my shoulder, hard enough that I cry out, my body arching against his. The pain blooms into something electric, something sacred.
"Like this?" Cain growls, licking over the mark he's made. "You want me to leave my claim all over this perfect body?"
"Yes," I gasp as his hands grip my hips harder. "Everywhere. Please."
He spins me around, eyes burning like hellfire as he drops to his knees before me. His mouth drags up my inner thigh, leaving a trail of bites that make me tremble.
"Gonna mark you where only I can see," he promises, his breath hot against my most intimate place. "Gonna make you remember who you belong to every time you sit down tomorrow."
I whimper as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, then bite down—not enough to break skin, but enough to leave his brand on me. The pleasure-pain makes my knees buckle.
"That's it," he praises, soothing the bite down hard enough to make me gasp. The stinging sensation shoots straight to my core, and I arch into his mouth, desperate for more.
"Look at you—offering yourself up like communion. Like you were made for sin." His voice is reverent, almost worshipful, as he stares up at me, his eyes blazing with dark fire.
The words send a shiver through me—blasphemy falling from his lips, but wrapped in such devotion it feels like praise. He makes sin sound like salvation, and I want to drown in it.
"Maybe I was," I whisper, tangling my fingers in his hair as he marks another bruise on my inner thigh. "Maybe this is exactly what I was made for."
He growls against my skin, the vibration making me tremble. "Damn right you were. Made for my hands, my mouth, my cock."
His tongue traces the seam of me, just a teasing touch that has me whimpering. My legs shake as he grips my thighs harder, spreading me wider against the wall.
"So wet for me," he murmurs. "So fucking perfect."
I cry out as his mouth finally covers me fully, his tongue flat against my center in a slow, devastating lick. My head falls back against the wall, a moan tearing from my throat as pleasure rockets through me.
"Watch me," he commands, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. "I want you to see who's worshipping at your altar."
I force my eyes open, looking down to where he kneels before me, his mouth glistening with my arousal, eyes dark with hunger.
"That's it," he murmurs, holding my gaze as his tongue circles my most sensitive spot. "My little saint, receiving communion from a sinner's mouth."
My breath catches at his words. His hands grip my thighs harder, spreading me wider as he devours me with slow, deliberate strokes.