Chapter 16
JAX
"Yes, I'm sure."
The word is a whisper, barely audible over the hiss of the shower steam, but it hits me like a kinetic round to the chest.
"I want you," she breathes, her violet eyes locked on mine, wide and unblinking. "I’ve never wanted anything... the way I want this. The logic fails, Jax. The schematic is broken. I just want you."
That snaps the last tether.
The Wolf roars, a sound of pure, triumphant violence that echoes in the base of my skull. I don't think. I don't plan. I move.
I scoop her up into my arms, her wet skin slick against mine. She wraps her legs around my waist, burying her face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply.
I kick the bathroom door open and stride into the main room.
I don't take her to the mattress. I carry her to the corner. To the nest.
It’s a pile of bear furs, heavy wool blankets, and old down sleeping bags I’ve scavenged over the years. It smells like cedar, smoke, and me. It’s the heart of the den.
I lower her onto the furs. The dark, coarse hair of the bear hide contrasts starkly with her pale, translucent skin. She looks like a sacrifice. She looks like a goddess.
"Jax," she whimpers, reaching for me.
I crawl over her, bracing my weight on my forearms. I’m looming, blocking out the dim light of the cabin. The storm outside is still hammering the roof, but the blood rushing in my ears is louder.
"You're so beautiful," I growl, my voice a wrecked ruin. "Perfect. Every inch of you."
I start at her throat. I lick the water droplets from her skin, tasting the salt and the lingering rain. My tongue is rough, broad, and I use it to paint a stripe down her sternum.
"You taste like trouble, mignonne," I murmur against her breast. I take the nipple into my mouth, suckling hard, biting lightly.
She arches off the furs, a jagged cry tearing from her throat. "Jax, please. The friction... it’s too much."
"It ain't enough," I rasp. "It won't ever be enough."
I move lower. I kiss the curve of her ribs, the soft dip of her waist. I spread her legs, kneeling between them.
The scent is overwhelming here. It’s wall of burnt sugar, copper, and heat. It makes my mouth water. It makes my cock throb so hard it hurts, a steel rod demanding release.
But I need to taste her. I need to own her flavor.
I hook my arms under her knees and pull her hips up.
"Sit up," I command.
She scrambles to obey, her movements frantic. I lie back against the furs, pulling her over me. I guide her legs over my shoulders so she’s straddling my face, her center hovering right above my mouth.
She looks down at me, her hair a wet, chaotic curtain around her face. Her gaze drops to my erection, standing straight up against my stomach, thick and angry.
"It’s... the dimensions are illogical," she whispers, reaching out to touch the head. “You’re monstrous.”
"Taste it," I groan, bucking my hips up. "Put it in your mouth, Miranda."
She lowers herself.
Her mouth closes over me. It’s hot. Tight. Wet.
I curse, a string of filth in Cajun French. “Putain de merde, tu es si serrée.”
At the same time, I lift my head and bury my entire face in her.
I don't start gentle. The Wolf is driving. I spread her folds with my thumbs, exposing the pink, swollen heart of her. I press my tongue flat against her clit and push.
She screams around my cock, her thighs clamping down on my ears.
"Yes," I growl against her slick flesh. "Feed me."
I find her rhythm instantly. I lap at her, broad, heavy strokes that mimic the way I want to fuck her. She tastes sweet—impossibly sweet—mixed with the tang of her own arousal. It’s addictive. It’s a drug I’ll never get clean from.
Above me, she’s working. Her head bobs up and down, taking more of me than I thought possible. She sucks hard, the suction pulling at my soul. I can feel her tongue swirling around the ridge, treating me like a puzzle she’s trying to solve with her mouth.
"So wet, feels like heaven," I praise, sliding two fingers inside her while my tongue works her clit. She’s tight, gripping my fingers like a vice. "You're so wet for me, chérie. You feel so good."
"Jax... Jax, I can't... the pressure..." Her voice is muffled, frantic. She’s losing the rhythm, her hips grinding into my face.
"Don't run from it," I command, curling my fingers inside her, hitting that rough spot on the front wall. "Take it. Take all of it."
I pick up the pace. My tongue flicks faster, harder, vibrating against the nerve bundle. My fingers piston in and out, stretching her, prepping her, claiming her.
She’s unraveling. I can feel her muscles spasming around my fingers. I can hear the little broken noises she’s making, the way her breath is hitching in short, sharp gasps.
"I’m going to... Oh God, I’m is crashing..." she chokes out, lifting her head off my cock to gasp for air.
"Crash for me," I snarl. I grab her hips, holding her in place, and suck hard on her clit.
She breaks.
Her body goes rigid. She screams my name, a high, keening wail that cuts through the thunder. Her inner muscles clamp down on my fingers, milking them in a violent, rhythmic pulse.
And then it hits me.
The scent.
It explodes out of her with the orgasm.
The burnt sugar is gone. The brass is gone. In its place is something raw. Something wild.
Musk. Pine. Iron. Heat.
It smells like a female wolf in estrus. It smells like Pack.
The shock of it—the sheer, biological wrongness and rightness of it—hits my brain like a sledgehammer. It bypasses every safeguard I have.
I roar, my hips snapping up. I drive into her mouth, burying myself to the hilt. I come hard, my release violent and immediate, emptying myself into her throat while I drink her juices. The pleasure is blinding, white-hot, searing every nerve ending.
We stay like that for a long minute, panting, twitching, the only sound the rain and our ragged breathing.
Slowly, the haze clears.
But the scent remains.
It’s not fading. It’s stronger.
I gently lift her hips, easing my fingers out of her. I pull out of her mouth.
She collapses onto the furs beside me, her chest heaving, her skin flushed a deep, blotchy pink. She looks wrecked. Beautiful.
I scramble backward, pushing myself up until my back hits the log wall. I’m breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants out.
I stare at her.
"Miranda," I rasp.
She blinks, turning her head lazily toward me. She looks drunk on endorphins. “It’s hard to process but the outcome... optimal."
She opens her eyes fully.
I freeze.
The violet is there. The unnatural Duval purple. But it’s fractured.
Swimming in the iris, fracturing the purple like cracks in a gemstone, are flecks of gold. Amber. My color. The color of the Wolf.
My nostrils flare. I inhale deeply.
The vampire rot is gone. Completely gone as if truly erased from her system. All I smell is Wolf. Powerful, dormant, waking up.
The pieces slam together in my mind. The way her body didn't heal but her blood smelled right. The way the mating bond snapped into place despite her bloodline.
She ain't a Vampire. She ain't a Human.
"Jax?" She pushes herself up on her elbows, sensing the shift in the air. Her brows knit together. "What is it? Why are you staring at me like I’m a bomb?"
"Because you are," I whisper, horror and awe warring in my gut.
"What?"
I crawl back toward her, stopping inches away. I grab her chin, tilting her face to the light, staring into those impossible, shifting eyes.
"You ain't just a Duval," I say shakily. "You're a Chimera."
"A what?" She shakes her head, confused.
"Who were your parents, Miranda?" I demand, my grip tightening.
"I told you, I don't know!" She pulls back, scared now. "I’m an orphan. I was left at a fire station. Why does it matter?"
"Because," I breathe, looking at the gold bleeding into the violet, "someone broke the fundamental law of nature to make you."