Chapter 32
brYONY
I CAN’T STAY in this room for another second.
The Wolf told me to lock myself in here—what, a day ago? More? I haven’t eaten since before Amara flew me to Caelestis, and I’ve tried every distraction I can think of. I’ve picked up books and tossed them aside. Tried to sleep. Watched the aetherlight dance across the ceiling.
Nothing works.
Pressing my ear to the door, I listen hard, but there’s only silence on the other side. The sort of eerie quiet that settles over old places at night. For all I know, the rut-fever could have driven the Wolf to the other side of the tower, as far from me as he can get.
My stomach growls, insistent now. If he thinks I’m going to spend three days in here wasting away to nothing, he’s out of his mind.
I unlock the door and ease it open. The hinges let out a groan, and I pause, pulse racing. Nothing. So I hurry down to the kitchen.
The table is a mess of half-prepared food left abandoned.
Platters of cheese, bowls of apples and pears, some bread.
I make quick work of the cheese and bread first, then I snatch up an oatcake, slather it with berry preserves, and devour two.
I lick each finger clean, so distracted that I forget why I shouldn’t be in here.
Until a soft groan shatters the quiet.
Slowly, I turn. And there, filling the doorway, is a very large, very beautiful, very naked, very aroused god.
The Wolf’s black hair is tangled around his face. He clutches the frame, breathing hard. I can’t help but drink in the sight of him—his bare, muscled chest, the lines of his abdomen, the tantalizing cut of muscle framing his hips. Those appealing V-shaped lines that guide my gaze downward.
Oh. Oh my.
“Eyes up, Devaliant.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I force myself to meet his stare.
This isn’t the Wolf I’m used to. Not the cold, calculating male with an assassin’s control.
This god is more lethal than the executioner—stripped down to his most base self, with no civility to blunt his edges.
He’s staring at me like a feral animal in the woods.
He looks like he wants to eat me alive.
He looks like he might enjoy it.
Somehow, I find my voice. “You’re looking rough, Wolf. Trouble sleeping?”
A muscle in his jaw tics, the only sign that he’s heard me. That he’s even fully present. “What part of stay in your fucking room was unclear?” His fingers flex on the doorframe like he’s fighting the urge to grab me.
“Even prisoners get fed,” I argue. “I was starving.”
I step back as the Wolf moves closer.
“You want to talk about hunger? Starvation?” He cages me against the table, palms flat on either side of my hips. “I’ve been in my room for the last sixteen hours with only my hand, your scent, and the most depraved fantasies for company.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Images flood my mind. The Wolf, naked and glistening with sweat, working that big cock with urgent strokes. Moaning my name as he finds his release.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined fucking you,” he continues mercilessly.
His palm skims up my side to the curve of my breast. “Spread out beneath me. Bent over my desk. Shackled to the wall with my cock buried deep inside you. This entire tower is saturated with your scent, and it’s driving me fucking insane.
I can’t think about anything else except this clawing desperation to have you. That, Devaliant, is starvation.”
His hand curves around my nape, and some long-buried instinct shrieks at me to go limp. To run. To do anything but stand here and let him put his teeth so close to all my soft parts. Because the Wolf is a weapon, and I’ve seen what those brutal hands can do.
I know with a blinding certainty that he wants to take and take and take until there’s nothing left.
And maybe I want him to.
The Wolf’s head dips, and I feel the drag of his parted lips. He nuzzles into my neck, making a low, hungry sound as he breathes me in. Scents me like the wild thing he is.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “You’re going to walk backward. Slowly. Eyes on me, no sudden movements. Don’t run, and don’t ever give me your back, or the instinct to chase will be impossible to ignore.”
I shiver.
“And don’t,” he murmurs, “bare this pretty throat to me again unless you want me to bite.”
In the silence, there is only the rasp of our breathing. And with each shared exhale, a single truth crystallizes.
He wants me. Not in some abstract way, but with the kind of violent need that drives creatures to tear each other apart. It’s written in every line of his body, in the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the clench of his fists. In Caelestis, he’d called me his.
I’m the one with the power here. Me.
“And what would you do?” I ask as I reach behind me for the vessel of honey. “If I bared my throat and begged for your teeth?”
I dip my fingers into the sticky-sweet syrup. Slowly, so slowly, letting him track the movement. A low growl escapes him as I bring my hand to my lips and drag my tongue over my fingers in a long, slow lick.
Aroused gods, I’ve been warned, are governed entirely by their most primal desires. An inferno that consumes and incinerates anything foolish enough to stand in its path.
But I can’t help but want to destroy.
“What,” he grits out, “are you doing, you reckless creature?”
I savor the last of the honey, holding his gaze. “Move. Countermove. Isn’t that our game? I’m just leaning into my role as your entertainment.”
“Listen to me very carefully,” he says, leaning close. “I’m not a good male. And you need to understand that, before you do something you regret. Keep pushing, and I’ll pin you to the floor and ruin you.”
I’m almost sure he’ll do it. That he’ll spread me out and devour. And I’d let him. I’d let him fuck me, bite me, put his hands all over me, and do whatever he wanted.
The Wolf shuts his eyes with a soft groan. “You’re not wearing anything under that chemise, are you?”
My breath hitches. “How can you—”
“Rut dials everything to eleven. So whatever filthy shit you’re imagining? Stop. Because I can smell exactly how wet you are, and it’s making it real fucking difficult to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t bend you over this table and take what you’re so clearly offering.”
Lift me onto the table, I want to say, and have me.
He steps away and drags a palm down his face. “This is a rare moment of restraint that I’m absolutely going to regret. Get your ass to your room, and I’ll let you keep your skin.”
The Wolf is on the verge of shattering. Barely leashed and vibrating with the need to pounce. To claim and conquer and consume.
I slip past him, careful not to brush his outstretched wing as I head for the archway. I keep my eyes on him, just like he said to, never giving him my back.
But when I reach the door, something in me seizes. Rebels. Because as I stare at this god who’s straining for control, I realize I don’t want careful. I don’t want controlled. I’m tired of being small and silent and tiptoeing through a world that has only ever sought to destroy me.
So I bare my teeth in a smile. The Wolf’s pupils flare, his control fraying another inch.
“Devaliant,” he growls. “Don’t.”
I turn and run.
One heartbeat. Two. Three. Then the thundering chorus of pursuit. The Wolf’s footsteps pound behind me, the sweep of his wings churning the air.
I don’t slow. Not even when his power scorches through the air and strokes along my spine in a blatant caress. No, he won’t get me that easily. I leap up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and something fierce and wild sears through my veins when I hear the Wolf’s growl.
The chase fills some primal need I didn’t know lived inside me, one that sings and claws and spurs me on.
Drawing me up through the tower’s higher levels.
Making him chase. Because I want him exactly like this—wild and feral and starved for me.
His footfalls are closer now, all that power gliding along my skin like he’s readying me. Getting me wet.
An arm snakes around my waist and wrenches me back into a hard body.
The Wolf lowers his face into the crook of my shoulder. “That,” he murmurs, “was unwise.”
“Was it?”
“Mm. You’ll regret this in the morning when you remember what I am.”
“You’ll be the worst mistake of my life,” I agree. “But right now, I don’t care. Make it worth it.”
“In that case—”
With a brutal yank, he rips my chemise away, leaving me naked and panting. He shoves me face down on the hall table.
“Stay. And grip the table.” Every nerve ending sparks to life when he splays his palm over the small of my back to pin me in place. “Should’ve known it would come to this. All that wanting between us was destined to end messy.”
I wrap my fingers around the table’s edge, waiting for those questing fingers to dip lower. To part my thighs. But the Wolf only squeezes my hip, a little chiding.
“Before we play, we need to establish a ground rule. If you had to pick any word that would stop me, no matter what depraved, filthy things I was doing to this body when you said it…” His other hand drags down my thigh, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “What would it be?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a shudder rolling through me. It takes every scrap of concentration to find my voice again. “Why?”
“Because yesterday you put yourself at risk in Caelestis.” His palm presses more insistently into my hip. “Means I’m in a punishing sort of mood. Give me a word, or I’m picking for you.”
I try to think of something, anything, to ground me. Prevent me from drowning in his scent, his heat, the thrumming energy of his magic skating over my bare skin.
“Ishkah,” I manage. The Lybr?ian command for cease. Halt.
He leans over me and nips my jaw. “And if that pretty mouth is busy?”
“Two taps. Anywhere.”
“Don’t forget your other orders. Grip the fucking table and be still.”
The smart thing would be to disengage. To flee to my room, throw every lock between us, and establish some much-needed distance.
But the wild thing behind my ribs is howling for freedom.
It wants to roll in his scent, lick over his sharp edges until it draws blood.
I want to poke the beast until it bites.
To see what lives on the other side of that ironclad discipline when it shatters.
“My trip to Caelestis seems to be working out for me,” I say. “Maybe I should defy you more often if this is my rewar—”
He bites the join of my shoulder and neck. A hiss escapes me at the sudden flare of pain-pleasure. I imagine the picture I must make like this, bent over and spread out like an offering.
“Earned rewards are sweeter.” His voice is a dark purr against my ear. “Remind me of your word so there’s no confusion.”
“Ishkah,” I breathe.
A pleased hum resonates through his chest, vibrating along all the places we’re pressed together. Then he’s smoothing his palm over the curve of my ass as he flattens me more snugly against the table.
I hold my breath.
The first crack of his palm against my skin is a sweet, stinging shock.
It sends me jolting forward, a choked sound tangling in my throat.
Then he’s delivering another. Slap. Another.
Spanking me hard, setting my nerve endings alight, kindling a wildfire beneath my skin.
The sweet-sharp blows wind me tighter and tighter, pushing me toward some precipice.
“Defying a god in the middle of rut is idiocy,” he says. His other hand keeps me ruthlessly pinned, an unspoken demand to submit. Take it and like it. He slaps my ass again. “It deserves a lesson in obedience.”
I’m panting now. “This… Isn’t this my lesson?”
The Wolf leans forward, caging me more tightly between the table and his body. His erection presses against me. “Oh, nemesis,” he murmurs as his fingers push between my thighs. “This is the warm-up. You shouldn’t be this wet when I’m punishing you.”
“Does that… that mean you aren’t going to—”
“I’m going to fuck you. That was never a question.” He punctuates the filthy promise by sinking a finger inside me. I gasp, my fingernails digging into the table. “First, we’re going to play a little game.”
I can barely think. “What kind of game?”
“Simple.” He slides his lips up my jaw and whispers in my ear, “You run, I hunt.”
His thumb flicks over my clit and I arch against him with a rough cry.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“You’re going to use every trick Amara’s taught you to evade me.” He works me in a lazy slide, as if he has all the time in the world. “All that training? Time to put it to use.”
“Rules?”
“Rule one. You stay naked.”
He adds another finger, thrusting harder now. My hips follow his hand, chasing pleasure. Chasing release.
“Rule two,” he continues. “If you make it too easy, you get nothing from me. No mouth. No cock. Just your own hand tonight. The longer it takes me to find you, the harder I fuck you when I do.” He punctuates that filthy promise with a slow grind against me, letting me feel every hard inch of him.
“Last one. When I catch you—and I will catch you—no begging. No mercy. It gets to be too much, you tap out. Give me your word one more time so I know we’re clear. ”
“Ishkah.”
“Good. You get five minutes. Then I’m coming for you.” He steps back and spanks my ass one last time. “Run, Devaliant.”