Blaidd
Everything was dull. No amount of money or sadistic indulgence could drag the boredom away. I’d tried.
My home felt empty—carved out, a hollow shell filled with modern amenities that meant nothing.
Again and again, Lielit’s memory corrupted me.
I knew it was time to go back when I realised I was parking outside her parents’ house every night after work.
Fenrir remained distant. I was lucky to get a grunt from him now and then.
The guards stayed on the mainland. I took only the housekeeper and the cook.
More importantly, they were women.
As soon as the helicopter touched down on the pad, I jumped out, staring over my dominion.
Lielit’s prison.
I ignored the heat coiling in my belly and Fenrir stirring in my chest. By the time I reached the house, the helicopter was already lifting off—banking away, flying back to base.
I tried the front door, but it was locked.
Did she think she could lock me out?
I shoved my hand into my pocket and grabbed the keys. When I tried to turn the lock, it wouldn’t budge.
I sighed. She must have left the key in the door.
I dragged my case around to the back of the house. The back door opened without issue.
I stepped inside and paused in the kitchen.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
The entire kitchen was filthy. Mould-covered dishes. Sour milk left out on the counter. Pots and pans scattered everywhere.
And yet—beneath the stench—I could still smell her.
I shook my head and moved quickly out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
I glanced around.
A canvas hung crooked on the wall. The black-and-gold ceramic sculpture lay on its side. I bent to right it—and noticed the clock.
I checked my watch and pressed my lips together.
It seemed my little prisoner had been busy.
I collapsed the handle of my suitcase and took the stairs two at a time, scenting the air.
Where was she?
I checked her room first. Empty. The bathroom door stood open.
My bedroom was next. I left the case by the door.
The bed was rumpled. The curtains hung half-torn from the rod.
“Lielit,” I called.
Nothing.
I turned back into the hallway, drawing in a deeper breath.
Upstairs, Fenrir said.
The moment I reached the staircase, her scent hit me.
I inhaled.
It was powerful. Dense.
And it felt like home.
I followed the scent to the main bedroom on the floor, frowning when I found it sparsely furnished despite the sweeping ocean view. I wrapped my hand around the knob and twisted it open. I didn’t see her straight away—but her scent hit me like a punch to the gut.
Potent.
More concentrated than ever.
A small lump lay motionless on the bed.
“Lielit.”
She didn’t respond. I strode closer.
That’s when I saw her—brows drawn tight, sweat beading across her forehead. I placed my hand against her skin, forgetting my gloves entirely.
A raging fever.
She was burning up.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, already moving to call the doctor.
She could have been like this for days. Why hadn’t her animal kept her healthy?
She isn’t ill, Fenrir said stiffly.
What?
She is in heat.
“Okay,” I said, confused—until I glanced down.
My knot was already swelling. My cock pressed thick and insistent against my trousers.
My gaze snapped back to Lielit.
“What do you mean by heat?” I asked. “Like cats? Dogs?”
A soft growl slipped from her throat.
She’d heard me.
Her hand wormed its way out from beneath the covers. I stared at it for a moment.
You fucking idiot. She’s inviting you in, Fenrir snarled.
Oh yes.
I shrugged out of my suit jacket, uncaring as it hit the floor. I kicked off my shoes and unbuckled my belt.
No. Get her fresh water. Cold. Ice-cold. Something sweet as well, Fenrir snapped.
What?
Just do it.
I don’t think I’d ever moved so fast in my life. Within minutes, I was back in her room. I laid everything out beside the bed—fresh linen, towels, wet wipes. I couldn’t find my gloves anywhere, which was most likely Lielit’s doing.
I stripped naked and carefully slid into the bed beside her, shocked by the amount of heat radiating from her. It tugged at something deep inside me.
You bit her, I said to Fenrir. For this?
He didn’t reply.
She turned onto her side and sighed, her eyes still closed.
Those eyes that had haunted me—once full of fear, defiance, anger.
Her long black lashes fluttered.
“Prick,” she muttered, before they slid shut again.
Then her hands moved.
Down my stomach.
Reaching for my cock.
One hand closed around me at the base.
The other curled deliberately around my knot.
Holy shit.
Can she take my knot? I asked Fenrir.
Silence.
Can she?
Yes.
A smile broke across my face.
For years, I’d tried and always failed.
I reached out to touch her cheek—hissing when her teeth clamped down on my hand.
A growl rumbled in her chest even as her mouth closed around me.
“Goddamn it,” I snapped, trying to shove her head back and wrench my hand free.
She didn’t release my hand. I stopped trying when she fisted my cock instead, pumping hard and relentless until a groan tore out of me.
Bipolar bitch.
Her teeth bore down to the bone.
“Are you trying to fuck me or kill me?” I hissed.
Her eyes snapped open and she released my hand. I stretched it out, checking the teeth marks. At least she hadn’t broken the skin.
“Ideally fuck first,” she growled, “and kill after.”
We glared at each other.
Then I felt myself ooze.
The trickle slid down to her hand.
Her scent rose—and I snapped.