Chapter 45
Callum
The sudden shift in positions jolts through me like lightning, the sight of Lyanna above me igniting something primal and fierce. My wolf surges forward, not with dominance but with raw, unfiltered desire.
“Fuck,” I growl, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
She settles her weight, adjusting until I’m buried impossibly deep.
The sensation is maddening—I feel myself stretching her, feel her inner muscles clenching around me in perfect rhythm.
But through our bond, I also experience what she feels—the delicious fullness, the slight burn of the stretch, the pressure against spots that make her breath catch.
When she begins to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, I nearly lose my mind. My angel heritage amplifies everything, making the bond between us sing with divine resonance.
“You’re fucking perfect,” I rasp, mesmerized by the sight of her—fae royalty, choosing me. Her hair falls around us like a curtain of sunlight, her skin glowing with that subtle luminescence that intensifies with her pleasure.
She leans forward, shifting so her sensitive bundle of nerves rubs directly against my pelvis with each movement. The new angle drags me against her deepest spot while grinding her clit against my body—dual pressure that sends shockwaves through us both.
“I want to see you when you mark me, my love,” she whispers.
My wolf explodes forward so suddenly that I nearly shift right there.
The animal inside me claws beneath my skin, demanding I complete the claiming—mark her, bite her, make her irrevocably mine.
I grip her hips harder, barely maintaining control as my eyes blaze with amber fire.
Each circle of her hips brings her closer to the edge, my restraint fraying thread by thread.
Her movements grow faster, more urgent. She senses my desperation, my wolf’s demand to mark her, and the knowledge only heightens her arousal.
She rises and falls above me, each movement more urgent, more demanding. Her eyes lock with mine, pupils blown wide with desire.
“Ath’liel vorn—“ The ancient Fae curse tears from her throat, guttural and desperate. “Take me, take me now!” Her voice breaks with need, all courtly composure shattered.
The command triggers something primal in me. My canines expand, lengthening as my wolf surges forward. My hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she rides me harder, faster. Every muscle in my body tightens, coiling like a spring ready to snap.
The pleasure builds to an impossible peak, her wetness enveloping me as our bond amplifies every sensation beyond bearing.
My canines punch down, lengthening fully as my wolf surges to the surface. “Mine,” I growl, the word distorted around my fangs as my release begins.
I pull her down to me in one fluid motion. My teeth find the perfect spot where her neck meets her shoulder, just above her collarbone. As my orgasm tears through me—harder and more intense than I’ve ever experienced—my canines sink into her flesh.
The taste of her blood floods my mouth, copper and honey and wildflowers. The bond between us explodes with light, her pleasure and pain mingling with my own in an overwhelming symphony of sensation.
Her hand presses against my chest, directly over my heart. Heat spreads from her palm—not burning but transforming. Her fae magic flows into me as she reaches her own climax, her inner walls pulsing around my still-throbbing cock.
A golden handprint sears into my skin, not with pain but blinding pleasure. Her mark on me, as permanent as my bite on her.
My angel heritage responds instinctively; white light erupts from my skin, wrapping around her in protective wings of magic that aren’t quite corporeal but entirely real.
Her fae magic answers in kind, emerald tendrils intertwining with my white angel light, creating a cocoon around us both. Where our magics meet, they spark and dance, neither dominating, both enhancing.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp against her neck, licking the wound closed as our magics continue to merge around us.
“Holy fuck,” she echoes, breathlessly.
The sensation of being inside her while our magic and bodies merge completely overwhelms my senses. I can feel everything—her heart racing in time with mine, her breath catching in her throat, the way her muscles clench around me as aftershocks pulse through her.
Through it all, one truth blazes between us, bright as a supernova:
Mine. Hers. Ours.
I trail my fingers over her shoulder where my mark has claimed her, the raised edges silver from my angelic heritage. My wolf is sated and calm in a way I’ve never experienced—no more desperate clawing, no more pulling sensation.
“I can’t believe we made it,” I murmur, voice still rough from earlier. “There were moments I was certain we’d lose.”
Lyanna’s fingertips trace the golden handprint she’s seared into my chest. She tilts her head back to look at me, and the wonder in her forest-green eyes mirrors what I’m feeling. Contentment mixed with disbelief—we’re actually here, together, safe.
“I’ve been terrified of losing you since that first kiss,” she admits, her voice quiet in the darkness of our cabin. “Even before the summons. I kept waiting for someone to tear us apart.”
I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and honey that’s now permanently intertwined with my cedar and leather. There’s no more desperate ache, no more incomplete yearning.
“When they took you through that portal …” My jaw tightens at the memory. “I thought I was dying. Like being torn apart from the inside.”
Her fingers thread through my hair, nails gently scratching my scalp in a way that makes my wolf rumble with pleasure.
“We faced down two courts, survived assassination plots, and rewrote diplomatic history,” she says with quiet amazement. “All because we refused to give up.”
“I never thought my angel blood would matter to anyone but me,” I confess, tracing the curve of her spine. “Funny how that heritage—the thing I’ve been hiding—ended up being part of the evidence that saved us.”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. “My revolutionary healer and your guardian protector. We’re quite the pair.”
The moonlight spills through our window, painting her luminescent skin with silver. Outside, the territory is quiet—our pack giving us this night of privacy after everything we’ve survived.
“Do you realize,” she whispers, lips brushing against my collarbone, “that for the first time, we have no deadline hanging over us? No courts watching, no threats looming.”
The thought settles into me, foreign but exquisite. My hand slides up her back, drawing her closer as our lips meet—slower this time, gentler. There’s no desperation, just the luxury of time and certainty.
Her body melts against mine, warmth and contentment radiating between us as we reach for each other again under the deepening night.
I wake from dreamless sleep to the whisper of skin against skin. My hands are already roaming over Lyanna’s curves, drawn by an invisible pull. I don’t remember deciding to touch her—my body sought hers instinctively, as natural as breathing.
The cabin is silent except for our mingled breaths. In the hearth, the fire has burned down to embers that cast a honeyed glow across her skin. She stirs against me, her body shifting to accommodate mine without a word passing between us.
“You’re here,” I murmur against her neck, marveling again at the raised silver edges of my mark on her shoulder. My wolf rumbles with deep satisfaction, vibrating through my chest. Unhurried. Inevitable.
Her legs tangle with mine as she turns in my arms. No urgency drives us now, just the gentle gravity of belonging. When our bodies join, it’s with sleepy intimacy, a slow rolling of hips and whispered endearments that feel foreign on my tongue but right in this moment.
“Mine,” she breathes against my mouth, and the word triggers a possessive surge that has me holding her closer, moving deeper.
“Yours,” I agree, surprising myself with the surrender in my voice. “Always yours.”
I feel her healing magic flowing through our connection without conscious thought—soothing the marks we’ve left on each other, easing the pleasant soreness from our earlier claiming. The gentle current of her power feels like warm sunshine against my skin.
My fingers trace the curve of her spine, memorizing every inch. Her forehead presses against mine as we move together in the darkness, our bodies speaking a language older than words. The complete bond hums between us, a perfect harmony of fae magic and angel heritage singing through our veins.
“I never thought ...” I start, then trail off as she shifts against me, tightening around me in a way that steals my breath.
“I know,” she whispers, pressing soft kisses to my jaw, my throat, the corner of my mouth. “We defied everything.”
When release finds us, it’s gentle as a sigh—waves of pleasure washing through the bond rather than crashing over us. Her eyes flutter closed as she settles against my chest, her breathing slowly evening out.
I pull the blanket higher around us, cocooning her warmth against mine. The bond pulses steadily between us, contentment flowing in both directions without effort.
Sleep claims us again, pulling us under together. For the second time since the tribunal summons arrived, I drift off without fear, without calculation, without preparation for what comes next.
Golden light filters through the cabin windows when my eyes finally open for good.
Spring birds call outside, their songs mingling with the distant rustle of leaves.
Unlike the hazy half-waking moments before, my mind sharpens immediately—because Lyanna’s head rests on my chest, her honey-blonde hair spilling across my skin, her breathing slow and even.
Fuck. We actually did it.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs without opening her eyes, a smile in her voice.
“Hard not to,” I admit, my fingers finding the silver mark on her shoulder where I claimed her last night. The raised edges shimmer slightly in the morning light. Mine. The wolf in me rumbles with deep satisfaction.
“What time are you usually on patrol?” she asks, her forest-green eyes finally opening to meet mine.
“Six, usually. But Dane’s got Ben covering me today.” My hand traces the curve of her spine. “What about you? Clinic hours?”
“Not until ten,” she says, stretching languidly against me. “Nyxiana insisted I take the late shift today.”
“So we’ve got time for breakfast,” I say, my thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip.
Her fingertips trace the golden handprint she left on my chest, her healing senses exploring our bond. “It sealed perfectly,” she whispers, wonder in her voice.
“You sound surprised.”
She laughs softly. “I’m grateful Dane broke your ‘no mates’ pact first. Without that opening, you might never have listened to what was growing between us.”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyebrow arches. “You resisted pretty hard at first. Even after you pushed so hard to bring me in as the pack healer.”
“You knew about that?” Heat creeps up my neck—an unfamiliar sensation. I never get embarrassed.
“Of course I knew.” She traces a finger along my jaw, her smile knowing.
“Dane told Nova, and she told me how you and he would go round and round until you eventually wore him down. How you kept pushing until he finally approached me about coming here permanently.” She kisses my cheek softly.
“I felt something between us even back then.”
The admission makes my chest tight. “You did?”
“Mmm. Even when you were being stubborn about it.” Her laughter warms something deep inside me.
Eventually, we rise together, moving through the cabin in a dance that feels practiced despite its newness.
In the shower, steam curls around us as I work shampoo through her hair—my fingers gentle against her scalp in a way that feels foreign to hands trained for violence.
She hums with pleasure, leaning into my touch.
“Turn around,” she murmurs, and then her small hands are on my shoulders, working soap across my back. Her fingers trace the raised edges of old scars with a healer’s knowing touch—not pity, just acknowledgment. Acceptance.
I’ve never let anyone this close. Never wanted to. Now I can’t imagine washing alone again, can’t imagine starting a day without her hands on my skin, her scent mingling with mine in the steam.
Afterward, I watch her get dressed, struck by how natural it feels—her clothes hanging beside mine where Harper and Evie must have arranged them while we were gone, her toothbrush in my bathroom, her scent mingling with mine in every corner of the cabin.
When we’re dressed, I take her hand.
“Ready?” I ask, my thumb brushing over her knuckles.
She nods, a quiet smile lighting her eyes. “Ready.”