Chapter 10 Aratus #2
The word hangs between us, loaded with promise and threat. I can feel her hovering on the edge of surrender, her body screaming for what her mind is afraid to ask for.
"To touch me." The words come out in a rush, like she's afraid to hold them in her mouth too long. "Please touch me."
Victory surges through me, but I don't let it show. This is progress, but it's not enough. She needs to understand exactly what this is, what she is, what we're becoming.
"Not good enough." I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, to let her see the hunger in mine. "Tell me who I am."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war raging behind her brown eyes. The last of her resistance crumbling under the weight of needs she can't deny anymore. Her omega nature rising to the surface despite every attempt to suppress it.
"Alpha," she whispers, and the word is like a prayer. "Please touch me, Alpha."
The moment the word leaves her lips, the palace explodes with sound. Every piece of ice in the building rings like a bell, a crystalline symphony celebrating her first real surrender. The magic recognizes the significance of the moment, of an omega acknowledging her alpha for the first time.
The prophecy responds too. I can feel ancient magic stirring deep in the foundations of the palace, recognizing the bond beginning to form between us. Power that's been dormant for centuries suddenly crackling to life, fed by the omega's submission.
And my own preservation magic thrums with want—desperate to capture this moment, to burn it into both our memories forever. The urge to use it is almost overwhelming, to lock this feeling of her surrender into crystal perfection.
Soon, I think. Soon I'll use it properly. When she comes to me willingly, when she's ready for the claiming that will bind us permanently. When her heat makes the choice for her and strips away the last pretense of resistance.
But she's not ready yet. Not for what comes next. This surrender is born of desperation and need, not true acceptance. She needs to earn this touch, not have it given to her in a moment of weakness.
I release her wrists and step back, watching her sag against the wall. Without my body supporting her, she nearly collapses, her legs shaky with arousal and adrenaline. The loss of contact makes her whimper—a small, broken sound that goes straight to my cocks.
"Earn it," I tell her, my voice rougher than I intended.
"What?" She looks at me with dazed confusion, her pupils still blown wide with need.
"You want my touch? Earn it." I force myself to walk toward the door, even though every instinct screams at me to claim her right here against the wall. To sink my fangs into her throat and my cocks into her pussy until she's screaming my name. "Show me you're ready to be what you were born to be."
"I don't understand—"
"You will." I pause at the threshold, looking back at her flushed face and swollen lips.
She looks thoroughly debauched already, and I haven't even properly touched her yet.
"When you're ready to stop fighting what you are, come find me.
When you're ready to kneel and ask properly for what you need. "
I leave her there, desperate and confused, the ice-flowers slowly melting as her arousal fades to frustrated fury. I can hear her slide down the wall, hear the soft sounds of her trying to catch her breath.
But the damage is done. She's called me Alpha. Admitted she wants my touch. Acknowledged the dynamic that's been building between us for weeks.
Now it's just a matter of time before she comes to me willingly. Before she stops fighting her omega nature and embraces what she's becoming.
Before she kneels at my feet and begs me to claim her properly.
The prophecy is stirring. Ancient magic responding to the first real bond I've felt in centuries. She's the one—I can feel it in my bones, in the way the palace itself celebrates her submission. In the way my magic recognizes hers, omega power calling to alpha dominance across the species barrier.
In the distance, I sense approval from an even older power. Lord Oberon, the ancient mentor who first guided me toward understanding the true nature of omega claiming. His satisfaction whispers through the magical currents—Well done. The prophecy progresses as it should.
Soon, she'll feel it too.
Soon, there will be no more pretending. No more fighting. No more denial.
Just an alpha and his omega, finally accepting what they were always meant to be.
I return to my chambers and lock the door behind me, my hands shaking with the effort of walking away from her.
Both my cocks are still hard, throbbing with the need to claim what's mine.
The scent of her arousal clings to my clothes, my skin, making it impossible to forget the way she felt pressed against me.
I grip myself through my trousers, remembering the way she felt pressed against me. The way she smelled when she was aroused—like honey and musk and desperation. The way her voice broke when she called me Alpha, like the word was torn from somewhere deep inside her.
The sound she made when I stepped away—pure need and frustration wrapped up in a whimper that went straight to my hindbrain. The alpha in me wants to go back, to take what she's offering, to pin her down and claim her until she forgets everything but my name.
But patience will serve me better. Let her stew in her need. Let her body demand what her mind still wants to deny. When she comes to me—and she will come to me—it will be because she can't survive without it anymore.
Three more days, maybe four, before her heat hits in earnest. Before biology makes the choice for her and strips away the last of her resistance.
I can wait. I've waited six centuries already.
But when she comes to me—when she finally kneels and begs for what we both know she needs—I'll make sure she never wants to leave again.