15. Declan
DECLAN
After the dust settles and the kitchen clears, I lead Iris back toward the stairs.
She doesn’t say much, but she stays close enough that the backs of our hands keep brushing as we climb.
At the landing, she glances back. The kitchen light catches every face still turned toward her, some curious, some exhausted, and something close to respect rests on a few.
There’s not a single one of them looking at her as if she’s a problem that needs to be solved.
Once at the top, we start making our way down the hallway, but as we approach her room, she doesn’t stop as expected. No. She keeps going, her steps quiet but certain, heading straight for the end of the hall. My bedroom.
It’s a mess.
I left the window open when we ran out to deal with the incursion.
And at some point, the wind knocked a glass of water off the dresser, leaving it to dry into a ring across the wood.
Blankets are hanging half on the bed, half on the floor.
My boots are where I left them when I took them off in the dark.
It’s definitely not somewhere you’d bring a guest to on purpose.
But I’ve never been one to do that kind of thing anyway. I don’t like sharing my space.
She shuts the door behind her and leans against it. Her arms folded over her chest, barely holding it together. The soft glow of light coming from the window illuminates her blonde hair.
I stand in the middle of the room, unable to sit, unable to breathe. Everything in me screams relief and terror all at the same time.
“Do you really want this?” she finally asks.
Five words. One question.
It’s not only about us, but everything. Whatever we are now, what this bond means, what permanence feels like from the inside.
It’s all I see when I look into her eyes: they’re clear but bloodshot around the edges.
The way her hands are clenched tight against old wounds that haven’t even begun to heal.
I sit on the foot of the bed, and the springs shriek, the way beds in this house have always done.
“I don’t want anything else,” I say.
She holds my gaze, searching for the truth or even the slightest bit of deception. Iris was raised in a world where people said beautiful things while doing ugly deeds. I wouldn’t blame her if she needed to hear it a hundred times.
I clear my throat. “I meant every word I said in the kitchen, even the times I didn’t say it, when the only thing running through my mind was wanting to protect you.
Not for the pack. Not for any reason than I can’t see a world without you in it now.
I know… it sounds cliché, but I promise I’ve never said anything less about anything in my life. ”
She doesn’t respond, just slides down until she’s sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up and her arms hugging them. For a second, I think she might cry, but instead laughs.
“I didn’t think I’d ever have a say,” she says, propping her chin on her knees. “Not with the bond, or with you. I always thought it was inevitable, not something I had a choice in.”
The silence that follows is the first real peace in days. Or ever. She’s still on the floor, and that doesn’t feel right, so I join her.
There’s hesitation, but only from me. She looks up at me and smiles. Not the cold one she perfected when dealing with her father or the intellectuals in his circle. It’s not the brave and desperate one she used to ask me for mercy. But rather small and honest.
“Come here,” she says, and grabs my shirt to pull me closer.
She kisses me like she’s finally deciding who she wants to be for the first time in her life.
It doesn’t feel like possession, or fate, or that she’s taking orders from someone.
I taste resolve and the weight of everything she lost, the fear that she’s still scared when it comes to going after what she wants.
She takes my hand, resting it flat against her chest. Her heart is thumping wildly against her ribs. She is the only heartbeat left in the universe that could make mine beat along to the same rhythm.
“We make our own rules now,” I say, and I feel it being echoed back through the bond. It’s easier to breathe, even with our noses smashed clumsily and close together.
She unbuttons my shirt with trembling fingers, slowly.
I let her set the pace, even though my claws could do it faster.
But she’d probably not appreciate that right now.
Eventually, we’re both exposed, nothing left between us; old scars and new ones.
Her body is just as marked up as mine. I can’t help running my thumb over the places needles have left tiny, permanent indents on the inside of her arm, the half-healed scab from a recent IV, all of it.
She doesn’t try to shy away or hide. If anything, she seems proud.
There’s no script for what’s supposed to happen next, so we make our own. She climbs into my lap, straddling me, her arms around my neck.
“I want you,” she says.
It’s not a dare, but a challenge for me to understand the words left unsaid. That she’s not a victim, she never was, that nothing in her is fragile or dependent, and whatever comes next is hers to choose.
All I can say is, “Okay,” because I’m better at showing than putting it into words.
I close the distance and kiss her. Right now, it’s just the two of us, no one watching, and no one waiting to take it away. Just ours.
We fall back on the bed. She fumbles for the blanket but gives up, fisting both hands in my hair.
I roll over until she’s beneath me, settling my weight between her thighs.
“You’re so fucking wet, Iris,” I state, dragging my cock through her slick heat, teasing until she’s arching, trying to take me in.
“Declan,” she breathes, loving how desperate she sounds; how she needs this as much as I do.
“Tell me,” I say against her mouth, grinding my hips down just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. Inside me. Now.” She bites down on my lower lip, not too hard, but enough to sting. “Stop making me wait.”
I slowly start to push my way into her, allowing myself to feel every tight inch of her wrapping around me, searching her face for any indication of pain or hesitation. Instead, her eyes start to roll back, and her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving marks that I will proudly wear for days.
She lifts her hips, taking me deeper.
“Fuck,” I groan, stilling for a moment to feel her pulsing, adjusting around me. She’s so tight I swear I can feel her heartbeat, or maybe it’s mine, thundering through both of us.
I start slowly, finding my rhythm, teasing her a little by pulling back until only the tip remains inside her before driving back in, to the hilt.
She moans loudly, and it’s a broken sound that tears something open in my chest. I do it again, and again, setting a pace that has her clawing at my back, my arms, anywhere she can reach.
“Harder,” she demands, and I give it to her, fucking her with everything I have, while the bed slams against the wall and the whole house probably hears us. But I don’t care. I can’t care, not when she’s meeting me thrust for thrust, her heels digging into my ass to pull me deeper.
I shift my angle, and she cries out even louder this time, her whole body rigid. “There,” she gasps, “right there, don’t stop…”
I don’t.
I keep that same angle, grinding against her with every stroke, feeling her tightening around me, fluttering. She’s close. I reach between us and press my thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles that have her thrashing, begging, throwing her head back against the pillow.
“Come for me!” I growl, the words not even sounding human. “Iris, come…”
On command, she shatters, letting her orgasm rip through her, while her body clamps down on mine so hard I see stars.
I fuck her through it, chasing my own release, and when she whispers my name one more time, her voice wrecked and raw, I follow her over the edge, spilling my seed into her with a feral sound that tears from my throat.
I don’t know how many minutes have passed.
Time means nothing at this point, only the sound of our breathing slowing, her hand tracing patterns on my sweat-slicked chest, my fingers tangled in her hair.
I don’t want to move or break the connection.
But eventually, I shift, pulling her against me, with her back to my front, and my arm wrapped around her waist. Thinking, I can keep her forever if I just hold on tight enough.
Later, I wake up with Iris crushed against my chest. I trace her jaw with my finger, causing her to stir. “Never sleeping alone again,” she mumbles, burrowing further beneath the covers.
The next morning, we find that Zeke made double-chocolate pancakes. He left a note stuck to the counter: DO NOT STARVE THE SCIENCE MUTANT OR I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF – Z.
Iris reads it, giving a half-hearted laugh, before pouring herself a cup of coffee, then adding half a cup of maple syrup to her pancakes, drowning them.
“You know this means you’re part of the pack now,” I say.
She looks at me with clear eyes.
“Good,” she says with a smile. “It’s where I belong.”