Braith
Blood pools around Vasek's dismembered corpse, staining the black stone crimson. Kiakoa’s hands are still on my skin, still tearing at the fabric of my dress, and the sight of him covered in enemy blood sends heat flooding between my thighs.
“Now where were we?” His voice carries that rough edge that means the berserker hasn't fully faded.
“Right about here,” I breathe, pulling his mouth down to mine.
The kiss tastes of copper and possession, violent and desperate. His tongue slides against mine while his hands finish destroying my dress, tearing the fabric away until it pools around my feet on the blood-slicked stone.
“Mine,” he growls against my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse point.
“Yours. Always yours.”
He lifts me higher on the throne, positioning me so I'm spread wide across the black stone where Vasek once sat in arrogant power. The symbolism isn't lost on either of us—I'm claiming this seat, this territory, this victory as thoroughly as he claimed me.
His mouth moves down my throat to my breasts, tongue circling my nipple before his teeth close around it. The sharp pressure makes me arch against him, a gasp escapes my lips, loud in the stone chamber.
“Everyone will know,” he says, moving to the other breast. “Every lord, every territory. They'll know what happens when someone tries to take you.”
“Good.” My hands tangle in his dark hair, still damp with sweat and blood. “Let them all know I chose you.”
His teeth extend, pricking the curve of my breast just above the nipple. Not breaking skin, just pressure that promises pain and pleasure combined. When I don't flinch away, he bites deeper.
The feeding sensation explodes through me, but different this time. Not the careful, controlled draws I've grown accustomed to, but something rawer. Desperate. He's not just feeding—he's claiming, marking, ensuring that every part of me carries his imprint.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back against the throne's carved back. “Don't stop.”
He doesn't. His mouth works at the bite, drawing blood and sensation while his hands map every inch of my exposed skin. His thumb presses against my clit, a firm, knowing circle that makes me grind against his touch.
“So wet,” he murmurs against my breast. “You got wet watching me kill for you.”
“Yes.”
“You liked seeing me tear him apart.”
“Yes.” No shame, no hesitation. “I liked knowing you'd burn the world down to get me back.”
His pupils dilate completely. The careful control he's maintained even in violence finally cracks entirely.
He tears at his own clothes, armor and leather hitting the stone floor with metallic clangs. When he's finally naked, I can see the evidence of his need—his cock thick and hard, already leaking at the tip.
“I need to be inside you,” he says, positioning himself between my spread thighs. “Need to feel you claim me as much as I'm claiming you.”
The head of his cock presses against me, slick with arousal and need. He pushes inside slowly, letting me feel every inch as he fills me. The stretch is perfect—just enough to remind me of his size, his power, his ability to take me completely.
“Perfect,” he breathes when he's seated fully inside me. “Made for me. Only for me.”
He starts to move, each thrust driving him deeper. The throne provides the perfect angle, letting him hit that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. But more than the physical pleasure, it's the emotional connection that overwhelms me.
Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction, his possessive joy, his desperate relief that I'm safe and his and never leaving again. It mingles with my own emotions—love and lust and the dark satisfaction of being claimed by something that just slaughtered dozens to reach me.
“More,” I demand, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want all of you.”
His rhythm changes, becomes harder, more demanding. Each thrust makes the stone throne creak, makes my breasts bounce, makes me cry out with pleasure that echoes through the chamber.
The feeding circuit forms between us again, stronger than it's ever been. Not just him taking from me, but both of us drawing from each other simultaneously. My pleasure feeds his, his satisfaction amplifies mine, until we're caught in a loop that builds and builds.
“Going to knot you,” he pants against my throat. “Going to lock us together right here where he thought he could claim you.”
“Yes. Do it.”
I feel the change in him immediately—his cock swelling inside me, the knot beginning to form. The pressure is intense, almost overwhelming, but the bond carries his pleasure back to me, transforming any discomfort into something that makes me desperate for more.
When the knot locks fully into place, sealing us together, we both cry out. The sensation of being completely filled, completely claimed, completely his sends me over the edge into an orgasm that steals my breath.
He follows immediately, his release pulsing inside me while his teeth sink into my throat. The combination of knotting and feeding creates a feedback loop so intense that for a moment, I can't tell where I end and he begins.
We're locked together, his knot keeping us joined while waves of pleasure crash over me again and again. During that time, he feeds continuously from the bite on my throat while I ride the sensations that seem to go on forever.
When the knot finally begins to subside, we're both shaking and gasping. I'm aware of something different in my body—a strange shiver through our bond, as if there's an echo where there wasn't before.
My hands find the fastenings of his torn clothes, pulling him back down to me as the aftershocks still make me tremble.
“Braith, we should—”
“Vasek? Your guards are dead. What in all the hells happened here?”
Jesseth's voice echoes from the doorway.
I don't flinch or try to cover myself. Instead, I meet his shocked stare directly while Kiakoa pulls a torn piece of fabric over me.
“He took what was mine,” Kiakoa says simply, standing to face the other lord. Blood still stains his skin, and he makes no effort to hide what we've just done. “So I took it back.”
“I chose,” I add, my voice steady despite what Jesseth just witnessed. “I chose him. Always him.”
Jesseth's gaze travels from Vasek's dismembered corpse to us, understanding dawning in his expression. The scent of sex and blood and violence fills the air between us.
“Tell the others what you witnessed here,” Kiakoa commands. “Tell them what happens to lords who touch my mate.”
Jesseth flees without another word.
Only then do we manage to dress in what remains of our clothes. I'm still shaky from the intensity of what just happened, but there's a deep satisfaction in my chest. He came for me. Killed for me. Claimed me over the corpse of the fool who thought he could take me away.
“We should return home,” Kiakoa says, but his hands are gentle as he helps me stand.
“Yes. But first...” I turn to where Scratch materializes in the doorway, his form more solid than I've seen since the attack.
“Forty-eight years, sixty-nine days until my service ends,” he begins automatically, then stops. “Actually, master, I may have miscalculated.”
“How so?” Kiakoa asks, wrapping his cloak around my shoulders.
“When I realized Lady Braith had been taken, I may have... exceeded the parameters of my binding.” His eyes blink in sequence.
“I placed tracking charms without authorization. Actively fought to protect her despite knowing it would damage my form. Violated the terms of my service to ensure your reunion.”
Kiakoa stares at him. “You risked dissolution to save her.”
“I violated the terms of my binding to do so. Technically, this should extend my sentence.”
“Or,” Kiakoa says slowly, “it could end it entirely.”
Scratch's multiple eyes widen. “Master?”
“You risked everything to protect what matters most to me. That deserves reward, not punishment.” Kiakoa moves to retrieve a blade from among the scattered weapons. “I, Lord Kiakoa of the Northern Reaches, release you from your debt-service. You are free.”
He draws the blade across his own palm, letting blood drip onto the stone floor. The binding contract that's held Scratch for decades dissolves in golden light.
“Free,” Scratch breathes, staring at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “I'm... free.”
“Free to go wherever you choose,” Kiakoa confirms.
Scratch considers this for a long moment. Then he produces a scroll from his coat—a new contract, already prepared.
“I choose to stay. Different terms this time—friend and advisor rather than bound servant. And when those babies arrive, someone will need to keep them from accidentally destroying everything.”
“Babies?” I stare at him. “What babies?”
“The ones you're carrying.” He blinks at my expression. “Can you not smell it? The change in your scent during the bonding, the way your body responded to the knotting? Twin heartbeats, actually. Strong ones.”
The world tilts around me. Pregnant. With twins.
“How long?” I manage.
“Two, maybe three weeks since conception. The permanent bond accelerated everything—your body adapted to carry Vethani offspring almost immediately.” Scratch rolls up his new contract, satisfaction clear in his voice.
“Those children will inherit abilities from both parents. Someone experienced should oversee their early development.”
I look at Kiakoa, seeing wonder and possessive joy war across his expression.
“Twins,” he says softly, his hand settling over my still-flat stomach.
“Our children.”
And despite everything—the violence, the blood still staining our clothes, the corpse cooling nearby—it is perfect. We're bonded, pregnant, and finally safe to build the future we've claimed through blood and choice.