Chapter Ten #3
His breath caught in his throat, every instinct screaming at him, and with no more words left to say, he surged forward.
He sunk his teeth into Kaelen’s grin.
A growl, low and guttural, rumbled from Kaelen’s chest, a sound that mixed with Thorne’s own gasp.
The collision of their bodies was violent, unrestrained.
There was no more hesitation, no more space between them.
Thorne pulled Kaelen closer, using the force of the moment, and the bed beneath them seemed to disappear, swallowed up by the intensity of their connection.
“I want you to fucking tear me apart.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when they collided, bodies crashing together with a force that sent waves of heat surging through Thorne’s chest.
They were beasts in tandem.
Vicious, frenzied, rough- their lips met and pulled away to teeth and tongues, hands in hair and in skin, everything else lost to the smear of their bodies together.
Thorne tore through that black tunic, shredded the buttons in careless passion and ripped it from Kaelen’s shoulders with wicked glee as the prince licked strips of fire in the crook of his neck, the trails burning cold in the night air, skin tested by teeth and found delighting.
Through the most immediate obstacle, Thorne clawed for Kaelen through his pants.
It was one sort of gift to feel him with his skin but another to feel him fully with his hands, brutish and magnificent even through the strained leather of his trousers.
He flexed his hand against its obscenity, rejoicing in the wild thrust of hips in response, grinding in the heel of his palm to delicious reprise before Kaelen caught him by the wrist and pushed him back, splaying Thorne out.
And then he was on him again, kissing his open mouth, falling into his teeth.
When they next tore apart to breathe, Thorne took that instant to shove his fingers into his mouth, dragging them over his tongue and drenching them in saliva.
Kaelen’s eyes flickered from his mouth to his wrist to his eyes, heaving and wild-eyed as Thorne freed his fingers and gave him a small smirk before slipping those fingers away, down between them.
Kaelen watched, mystified as Thorne pulled back a leg and rested it atop the beast’s shoulder, spreading himself wider for better access.
And then he reached down, plunging two fingers inside without preamble, a gasp escaping with the stretch.
The beast went very still, utterly transfixed upon the sight of Thorne opening himself for several moments before a moan slipping through Thorne’s lips snapped his gaze back to his face, and then he was on him again, devouring sounds as they were born, whimpering, gasping, hungry, petting Thorne’s hair and face and anything he could reach.
Thorne hurried through a third finger, growling and impatient; he’d need more, if that beast of a bulge against his ass was any indicator of what the wolf was wielding, but he couldn’t wait, wouldn’t let the high fade and reality crush him just yet.
He’d all but begged to be torn apart, anyways.
He pulled out and huffed, fed up with being empty and shaking and desperate .
He fixed the wolf with a look, and rather than do anything useful Kaelen gathered him up in his arms and kissed him again, kissed him over his shoulder and up his neck and Thorne batted him away, smearing blood over his face.
Kaelen reared back and Thorne glanced down at his hand in a daze, blearily recalling the still-weeping cut across his palm.
Back to Kaelen, he watched the red trail down his cheek, over the sharp edge of his cheekbone, and pool in the narrow corner of his lips.
And watched his tongue dart out, lustful gaze locked against Thorne’s, throat bobbing as he swallowed.
Something frayed within Thorne finally snapped.
Wrapping his legs around his hips, Thorne rolled them over, thighs coming down on either side of Kaelen’s stomach and shoving him back into the pillows.
His eyes flew open wide and he let out a gasp when Thorne pressed down on him, taking his place atop that awaiting hardness.
Before Thorne could move, Kaelen’s hand shot out, black leather clamping to his throat.
Thorne glanced down, meeting those blue blue eyes, sharp and glittering as a blade.
Kaelen’s fingers nearly reached the entire way around, long and hot around his neck, and he flexed them, a threat laced in the moan of the leather.
Thorne flashed Kaelen a smirk through his eyelashes, rolling his neck and rising to his knees.
Bracing a hand against Kaelen’s shoulder and reaching back behind him, he freed Kaelen of his small clothes and seized him in his fist, guiding it into himself.
Kaelen gasped when the crown pressed in, eyes slipping closed and fingers drumming against Thorne’s throat, and Thorne dug his own into Kaelen’s shoulder as bit by bit, Thorne claimed him; its was intense, lengthy, the pull to his core, on and on, leagues of thick, mighty hardness reforming his body for its own.
Thorne did not go slow, did not pause or breathe or wait until he was inside him, all of him, all the way, flush and whole unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
He shuddered, insides lighting up in dazzling, warm pangs and flashes, like fireflies in summer.
“Thorne…”
Kaelen groaned beneath him, flexing his grip, stomach clenching and hips stirring beneath Thorne’s own.
He opened his eyes–dark, blown out pupils, no longer lost, no longer lonely–only ravenous, starving .
Thorne closed his eyes.
He rose to his knees.
Thorne did not go slow.
There was no ease to be had, no way to start this that didn't ache and no ache that would keep Thorne from getting what he wanted.
Kaelen was big.
He was so big.
He filled Thorne to his guts and lit up every nerve and spot his other lovers had struggled to and Thorne's body fit around him like it was made for his cock.
Once the tears started they don't stop, and Thorne paid them no heed and he chased his pleasure, took Kaelen for all he had as Kaelen’s hand pulled at his throat, rocking Thorne bodily with the motion, thrusting up and flexing in time, pressure, ache, pleasure, pain.
Thorne’s heart crashing against his ribs and Thorne’s body smashing into Kaelen’s, Kaelen’s hand pressing into his throat, commanding, controlling- but never taking his air.
“Kaelen-”
He was trusting him.
Even now, he was trusting him, completely in control–speared and caught and at his mercy–and yet he didn't assert his victory, affording Thorne all his cleverness, his teeth.
Kaelen’s hand on his hip, crushing, bruising, Kaelen’s hand on his throat, guiding, leading- they met and parted and met and ground into each other, a cry searing out of Thorne’s throat. “Kaelen!”
His free hand flew to Kaelen’s wrapped around his neck, and he held it, held on, held on to him and let the beast take them where he wanted.
"Harder- harder, fuck-"
A hand worked over him, grabbed and pumped and squeezed , and he felt the wave crest and was overcome.
Kaelen fucked him through it, rocked into him, pulling their bodies together.
He spilled down their stomachs, came, came, came, unable to catch his breath as Kaelen kept him in place, pushed through with his brutal pace.
And then he was coming too, growling and snarling, and Thorne felt him release inside.
They shuddered, falling out of rhythm, spiraling out.
He felt him all the way in his stomach, pulsing, seeping.
Felt him when he overflowed, hot and thick, running rivets down his thighs.
He felt his body, his breathing, his heart.
Quick- as with everything else, too quick- Thorne leveraged himself up on his heaving chest, moaning as he forced his hips forward and dislodged Kaelen from within him.
And then his hips gave out almost as quickly as his arms did.
He crashed down to the bed.
Using the last of his wherewithal to pull his arms up over his face, Thorne let it all overcome him.
The dark blotted everything else out for some time.
Quiet drew in, settled atop the room.
It wasn’t silent; Thorne’s breathing was a broken thing, shuddering and heavy through his body as he came down, heartbeat thudding in his head.
Beside him and yet so far away, Kaelen breathed too, panting and laborious, the bed creaking as he stretched out, arm grazing Thorne’s back.
Kaelen.
Kaelen…
Thorne rolled over onto his side, letting out a groan that was barely audible, a mixture of exhaustion and the dull throb of bruises he had no wish to acknowledge.
His eyelids fluttered open, squinting against the dim light.
For a moment, his surroundings seemed to shift, the room in a hazy blur, but as the fog in his mind cleared, it became undeniable.
The room shuddered back into focus, still dark, but cut through by the pale sliver of moonlight streaming in through the window.
The air still smelled of the night, of the lingering traces of everything that had transpired.
He was still in the crown prince of Erethos’ bedchamber.
The same bedchamber where he had been claimed, where he had given in, where the man he had sworn to kill had kept him alive—despite everything.
The realization hit him like a wave, heavy and unrelenting.
He had failed.
He hadn’t gone through with it.
He hadn’t killed Kaelen.
Not when he should have.
Not when it was the only thing that would have set him free.
Thorne squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to force himself to stand, to gather the strength he knew he would need.
His chest tightened, heart racing with the thought of leaving, of escaping this place—escaping him.
It’s over, he told himself, his thoughts fractured and unclear.
It’s all over now.
His first instinct was to flee, to find his way out of the palace, out of this place where he had become so entangled in the lies, the power, the pull of the beast.
The freedom of the open road had always been his escape, his solace, but now—now it felt like a torment.
The thought of riding a horse, of feeling his hips stretch and burn with the effort, was almost more than he could bear.
Not now, he thought, his body crying out in protest.
Not after this.
And yet, despite the overwhelming urge to run, Thorne couldn’t bring himself to move.
The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on him, suffocating him under its gravity.
It was as though the last two weeks had finally caught up with him, crashing down with an unforgiving finality.
Everything hurt.
His head, his throat, his legs, his hips—everything.
The ache in his core was a persistent throb, a reminder of what had been taken from him, and what he had given in return.
The bruises would come, he knew that much. The marks would stay for days, maybe longer. He could feel the sting of the cuts and the places where Kaelen’s touch had left its mark on him.
He might not even be alive to feel it.
A surge of panic made his breath catch in his throat, and with unsteady hands, he reached out to steady himself, his fingers brushing against the top of the bedside table.
He needed to get up.
He needed to leave.
The weight of the bed shifted beneath him as his body trembled with the effort, his muscles stiff and sore from everything they had endured.
He knocked over one of the medicinal bottles in his attempt to rise, the sharp clink of glass echoing in the silence.
His fingers grazed the cold surface of the gauntlets Kaelen had discarded earlier.
They shouldn’t still be here, he thought, the reminder of Kaelen’s presence—his power—making the bile rise in his throat.
But he couldn’t stay.
He couldn’t let himself stay in this place.
Thorne gritted his teeth and tried to push himself up, searching for any purchase, anything to help him rise from the bed.
His limbs felt like lead, his body betraying him, aching with the weight of what had happened.
Just as he found some stability, the bed creaked beneath him again, the sound unsettling in the silence.
A shiver ran down his spine, and before he could react, strong arms circled around him from behind, pulling him back against a warm chest.
Kaelen.
It was as though the prince had been waiting, anticipating his every movement.
Long, black fingers slid over his sides, cool and deliberate, as if to remind him just how little space he had left.
Kaelen's touch, though gentle, was suffocating, trapping him in place.
His hand slid down to rest firmly on Thorne’s stomach, pressing into him, holding him captive.
It wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to remind Thorne that there was nowhere to go.
There was no escape.
As if reading his intentions, Kaelen’s grip tightened slightly, and Thorne froze, the movement stilling in his body like a caught breath.
His pulse thundered in his ears, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow the most dangerous place he could be.
He could feel Kaelen’s body against his back, the warmth of him pressing through the layers of their clothing.
There was an intensity in the stillness, a tension that felt like it could snap at any moment.
Thorne wanted to fight.
He wanted to push back, to break free, but his body was too tired, too worn out from everything that had transpired.
No, he told himself, but the word was hollow, slipping away in the face of Kaelen’s unwavering presence.
There was no fight left in him, not when Kaelen was here, pulling him back into his orbit with every breath, every touch.
"Where are you going?" Kaelen’s voice was low, the words almost a whisper, but they carried the weight of something more.
Thorne couldn’t tell if the question was meant to be teasing, or if it was something else entirely—a warning, perhaps, or a promise.
Either way, it made Thorne’s blood run cold.
His body burned with the need to move, to get away, but the weight of Kaelen’s hands—steady, possessive—made it feel impossible.
Thorne was trapped, in more ways than one, and as much as he hated it, part of him felt...
reluctantly drawn to the warmth, to the presence of the beast that still held him in place.
"You don't have to go," Kaelen murmured, his breath warm against Thorne’s ear, the words filled with an intimacy that made Thorne’s chest tighten, his breath hitching.
He felt Kaelen’s lips brush against the back of his neck, the touch soft and electric, sending another wave of heat surging through his already fevered skin.
And Thorne, for the first time since this madness had begun, found himself utterly surrendering, caught in the storm that Kaelen had created, unable to break free.
Thorne lost track of how many times he had him.
On his back, on his side, pressed against the headboard, held against his chest, taken again and again, taken in every sense of the word.
Taken apart and forced back together, on Kaelen’s cock and hand and mouth.
He took him on his side, curled into each other, not a breath’s space between them as Kaelen whispered sweetness directly into Thorne’s mouth; he took him on his stomach, pressing him down with his body, face crushed into the pillows and hips forced up and spine to bow and tore an orgasm from him untouched.
He marked him, he filled him, he claimed him, kissed the purpling bruises on his hips and added more to him when Thorne bit at his gloves, pressed them to his face and lips.
The world was seared down to heartbeats, to raw sensations—ache and pleasure, a dizzying fusion of the two, overwhelming in its intensity.
The taste of Kaelen’s name lingered on his tongue, bitter and sweet.
Thorne’s hands were numb, pressing into Kaelen's back with a force that dug deep into his muscles, his legs trembling with exhaustion until they went slack, fading into unfeeling numbness.
He closed his eyes, letting everything else fade.
There was nothing left but the feeling.
It felt so right.
The sense of being held like this, of being consumed by him.
To be fucked like this, with a ferocity that left him raw, that made him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.
It was Kaelen—him.
Here.
Now.
This. Thorne’s chest constricted with a dark possessiveness, something primal that took root and unfurled with each heartbeat as he opened his eyes.
Kaelen was above him, bowed, bathed in the haunting white of moonlight, his figure dark and divine and powerful in the dim light.
Sweat poured freely down Kaelen's scarred skin, glistening in the glow of the moon, and Thorne’s fingers gripped Kaelen’s golden mane, holding it away from his forehead, tousling it in the heat of their frenzy.
Kaelen’s pleasure was unmistakable, written plainly across his features—the furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips, the golden flush that painted his long lashes against his cheeks.
Mine.
Thorne thought the word in the deepest corners of his mind, felt it spiral through his chest, taking root, becoming something more than just a fleeting idea.
Mine.
Mine.
A possessiveness that was born of more than desire.
Something darker, deeper, and he reveled in it.
When it was over, and they were both spent, the world was nothing but the sound of their breaths, the steady rise and fall of their chests.
They curled around each other, a tangle of bodies and bruises, and Thorne knew—no, he was certain—that the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely were the arms that still held him.
The cool, gloved hands pressed to his back, grounding him with their steady heat.
The leather was a strange comfort, as though it could shield him from the growing cracks in his mind.
He was ruined, drenched in sweat and blood, his body marked with the traces of their passion.
His skin was raw, bruised, a mess of flesh that felt impossibly tender, as though every inch of him had been peeled back.
But it wasn’t the physical evidence that made him feel used—it was the hollow, aching emptiness that lingered in the aftermath.
The clarity of numbness left him paralyzed, unable to escape the shattering truths that lay before him.
What did any of this mean? What secrets were Seraphina hiding from him—secrets that Kaelen somehow knew? And where did Thorne fit into all of it? His thoughts spiraled, but there was only one question that reverberated in the dark corners of his mind.
Why did Kaelen have to die?
What had Kaelen done—or what would he do—that could threaten everything Seraphina had worked for?
Thorne's eyes fluttered closed as the questions gnawed at him, burning into the edges of his thoughts, but then… pain.
It was sudden, sharp, searing—like nothing he’d ever felt before.
It tore through his body with a force that made his throat tighten, his chest swell.
Every inch of him was on fire.
His stomach churned violently, his limbs jerked in agony as they came alive again, only to writhe in excruciating pain.
His mind fractured, scattered under the weight of the torment, the blackness sweeping over him like a flood.
He couldn’t focus, couldn’t hold on.
His thoughts fled, replaced by only the sound of Kaelen’s voice—gasping his name.
Then, everything went dark.