Chapter 32 Miranda
MIRANDA
The boundary line is no longer a scar on the earth. It is a seam where two fabrics have been stitched together.
The moon hangs heavy and full over the bayou, casting a silver path across the water that meets the manicured lawn of Belle Rêve.
We stand right on the line. To my left, the cypress trees rise from the mud, their knees gnarled and ancient.
To my right, the white columns of the plantation house glow in the dark, scrubbed clean of the moss and the rot.
The air smells of night-blooming jasmine and wet earth.
I look out at the crowd. It is a statistical impossibility made flesh.
On one side, the Pack stands in their human forms, dressed in their Sunday best, though most of the men look uncomfortable in collars.
On the other, the remaining Duval vampires stand still as statues, their pale skin glowing in the moonlight, dressed in black silk and velvet.
They aren't fighting. They are witnessing.
Jax stands before me.
He is wearing a black suit that fits his massive frame perfectly, though he’s foregone the tie, leaving the top button of his white shirt open.
The jagged silver scar on his neck is visible, a testament to the history we survived.
His hair is tamed—barely—and his amber eyes are burning with a quiet, intense heat that makes my knees weak.
"I didn't write vows," he says, his voice a low rumble that carries over the quiet croak of the bullfrogs. "I ain't good with words."
"You're good with the important ones," I whisper, my hands trembling in his.
He squeezes my fingers. His palms are warm, calloused, and solid.
"I claim you," he says, staring straight into my soul. "In this life and the next. I claim your heart, your breath, and your fight. You are my Alpha. You are my blood."
"And I claim you," I answer, my voice steady. "I claim your silence and your noise. I claim the Wolf and the Man. I will be the anchor when the world gets too heavy."
He leans down. He kisses me.
It isn't a polite wedding kiss. It is deep, possessive, and tastes of bourbon and forever.
The Pack howls. A long, synchronized song that rises to the stars. And for the first time in three hundred years, the Vampires don't hiss in response. They bow their heads.
The master bedroom of Belle Rêve has been purged.
The heavy, suffocating velvet curtains are gone, replaced by sheer linen that lets the moonlight filter in. The scent of dried roses and formaldehyde has been scrubbed away, replaced by the smell of cedar, beeswax, and us.
In the corner, the grandfather clock Jax gave me ticks steadily. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A perfect, regulated heartbeat for the room.
Jax locks the door. The sound of the bolt sliding home is the only barrier we need tonight.
He turns to me.
I am standing by the massive four-poster bed, still wearing the simple white silk slip dress I chose for the ceremony. It ripples around my legs like water.
"Come here, Mrs. Roux," he growls.
I walk to him. I don't stop until my chest brushes his.
"Take it off," I whisper.
He reaches for the straps of my dress. His fingers are large, capable of snapping bone, but he slides the silk down my shoulders with the delicacy of a clockmaker handling a balance spring. The dress pools at my feet.
I step out of it. I am naked underneath.
Jax stops breathing. His gaze travels over me, mapping every inch of skin, lingering on the birthmark at my throat, the curve of my breasts, the flare of my hips.
"Magnificent," he breathes.
He sheds his jacket. He rips the buttons of his shirt open, buttons popping onto the floor, and shrugs it off. His chest is broad, scarred, and moving with the heavy rhythm of his breathing.
He pulls me against him. Skin to skin. The heat is instantaneous. It fuses us.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down on the cool, fresh sheets.
He crawls over me. He doesn't rush. There is no desperation tonight, only celebration. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.
"I love you," he murmurs against my jaw. "God, Miranda, I love you."
"I love you," I breathe, arching into him. "Now stop talking and show me."
He kisses his way down my throat. He bites gently at the pulse point, scraping his teeth against the skin, making me shiver. His hands roam over my body, heavy and possessive, claiming territory he already owns.
He moves lower. He kisses the valley between my breasts, his tongue swirling over the nipples until they ache. He kisses the soft curve of my belly.
He parts my legs.
"Jax," I gasp as his breath hits the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
He looks up at me, his eyes glowing gold in the semi-darkness. "Open for me, chérie. Let me taste my wife."
I spread wider.
He buries his face in me.
His tongue is broad, rough, and relentless. He licks me with long, slow strokes, savoring the flavor of me. I thread my fingers into his hair, my hips lifting off the mattress.
"Jax... please..."
He hums against me, the vibration sending sparks through my nervous system. He uses his tongue to tease the bundle of nerves, circling, pressing, flicking. It’s maddening. It’s perfect.
"So sweet," he growls, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me steady. "You taste like home."
I am unraveling. The tension coils tight in my belly.
"Jax, I need you," I beg, tugging on his hair. "Please. I need you inside. Fill me up."
He lifts his head. His chin is slick. He crawls up my body, positioning himself between my legs.
"Tell me what you want," he rasps, the tip of him brushing against my entrance.
"I want you to fuck me," I whisper, looking into his wild eyes. "I want you to breed me, Jax. Make me carry your pups. Fill me until there’s no room for anything else."
The words snap the last of his restraint.
He growls, a low, animalistic sound. "You want my pups, mignonne? I’ll give you a whole pack."
He drives into me.
He doesn't rush. He enters slow, agonizingly slow, letting the broad head of his cock stretch me inch by inch. The sensation is blinding—a thick, relentless invasion that fills every hollow space, ironing out the ridges, pushing deep until he hits a wall inside me I didn't know existed.
He is thick, heavy, and scorching hot. I gasp, my head falling back into the pillows, my spine arching off the mattress as the sheer scale of him overwhelms me.
"Jax!" I moan his name, a ragged sound that scrapes my throat. My nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders, anchoring me as he buries himself to the hilt.
He holds himself there, deep inside, letting my body adjust to the intrusion. He pulses, a steady throb that echoes in my own veins.
"Right there," he grunts, his voice a rough vibration against my skin. He withdraws almost completely, the friction burning, then sinks back in with a long, smooth stroke. "You feel that? That’s where I belong. Buried in you."
He sets a rhythm. It is deep, rolling, and powerful.
He grinds his hips against mine, the bone pressing against my clit with every forward motion, wringing a cry from my lips.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room—wet, sharp, and erotic—mixing with our ragged breathing and the steady, rhythmic ticking of the clock.
The scent of arousal blooms in the air, heavy and intoxicating and the mating magic hums between us like a live wire.
"Look at you," he praises, leaning down to kiss the sweat from my upper lip while he thrusts. His eyes are locked on mine, burning with a terrifying amount of adoration. "So beautiful. Taking every inch of me. You were made for this, Miranda. Made to take your mate."
I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, my heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper. "More. Harder, Jax. Don't hold back."
He obeys. His pace increases, shifting from a glide to a pound. He snaps his hips forward, hitting that sweet, sensitive spot deep inside with ruthless precision. Sparks of white-hot pleasure explode behind my eyelids.
"Oh god," I sob, thrashing beneath him. "Jax, yes... just like that."
"You like that?" he growls, his hand sliding down to grip my throat lightly, tilting my head back. "You like having your husband inside you?"
"Yes... yes!"
He grinds against my clit with every thrust, sending waves of electricity through my body. I am drowning in him. I am lost in the friction, the heat, the sheer biological perfection of the fit. He feels massive, a steel rod wrapped in velvet heat, stretching me open, claiming me with every stroke.
"I’m gonna fill you," he promises, his voice rough, broken by the strain of holding his release. "I’m gonna knot you so deep you’ll feel me for a week. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you're mine. I’m gonna plant my seed right here."
He presses his thumb down on my clit, adding a sharp, blinding pressure to the heavy internal rhythm.
"Jax!" I cry out, my voice cracking. "Do it. Claim me. Breed me!"
The permission shatters him.
He pounds into me, his control snapping. He moves with a blur of speed, hitting a spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. The pleasure builds, a tidal wave rising, higher and higher, curling over my head.
"Jax! I’m close! I’m so close!"
"Let go," he commands, his hand working between us, rubbing fast and hard against my slick center. "Come for me, Miranda. Come for your Alpha. Give me everything."
I shatter.
My body clenches around him, milking him in violent, rhythmic spasms. I scream his name, the sound tearing from my throat as the orgasm rips through me, blinding and absolute.
Jax roars. He drives into me one last time, burying himself to the root, grinding his pelvis against mine.
I feel the change instantly.
The base of him swells. It expands rapidly, stretching me beyond the limit, locking him inside. The sensation of the knot engaging is a heavy, profound fullness that borders on pain but lands in pure ecstasy.
Locked.
He pours himself into me. It’s hot, heavy, and endless. I feel every pulse of his release, shooting deep into my womb, filling me with his heat, his life.
We collapse against each other, breathless, tangled in the sheets. The knot holds us fused, a physical anchor in the aftermath of the storm.
He kisses the sweat from my forehead. He holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the universe, his heavy breaths sawing against my ear.
"My mate," he whispers, kissing my temple, my cheek, my mouth. "My wife."
An hour later, the knot has released, but we are still tangled together.
The room is quiet again, save for the clock and the distant sounds of the celebration dying down outside. The moonlight paints stripes across the bed.
I am lying on my back, exhausted and boneless. Jax is lying beside me, propped up on one elbow, his other hand resting heavily on my stomach.
His thumb traces lazy circles on my skin.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask, my voice sleepy. "Regretting the 'no plumbing' clause of our contract?"
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my side. "I’m thinking about the nursery."
I blink, turning my head to look at him. "The nursery? That’s... projecting a bit far into the future, isn't it? We’ve been married for three hours."
"The east wing has good light," he muses, ignoring me. "Morning sun. Good for... growth."
"Jax," I smile, covering his hand with mine. "We have time. The clock is ticking, but it’s a long mainspring."
He goes still.
His hand stops moving on my stomach.
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, his ears twitching. He’s listening. Not to the swamp. Not to the clock.
He’s listening to me.
His expression shifts. The lazy contentment vanishes, replaced by a look of profound, awe-struck wonder. The gold in his eyes flares bright.
"Jax?" I ask, feeling a sudden flutter in my chest. "What is it? Is something wrong with the perimeter?"
He looks at me. He looks at my stomach. Then he looks back at my eyes.
A grin spreads across his face—wolfish, proud, and impossibly tender.
"No," he whispers. "The perimeter is secure."
He leans down, pressing a kiss to my navel.
"But the timeline might be faster than you calculated, chérie."
"What does that mean?"
He rests his large, warm hand flat against my lower belly.
"I hear two heartbeats," he says.