Chapter Seven #2
"All of it." He thrust deeper, harder, and she moaned despite herself.
"I'm sorry your brother died. I'm sorry you're here.
I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to let you go.
" His knot began to swell. "And I'm sorry that even knowing all of that, I still want you more than I've wanted anything in twelve years. "
The honesty in his voice broke something in her. She reached up, cupping his face, feeling the curse mark rough against her palm.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know."
"I hate that my body wants you."
"I know."
"I hate that I'm starting to—" She couldn't finish. Couldn't say the word that was forming in her mind.
His knot locked them together, and she came with a broken cry, her nails raking down his back. He followed her over, his seed flooding her again, and when they were both spent and gasping, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“You please me, omega.”
“You please me too, alpha.”
ANATOLE
THE NEXT WAVE CAME in the middle of the night.
Anatole woke to find Jeanne whimpering in her sleep, her body twisting against his, her scent thick with need. He'd been dozing with her in his arms, his cock still buried inside her from the last round, though his knot had softened enough to slip free.
"Jeanne." He stroked her hair. "Wake up."
Her eyes opened, glazed and feverish. "It hurts."
"I know." He could smell it on her, the way her heat was building again, more intense than before. The waves were getting closer together, the peaks higher. This was the dangerous part, when an omega's body could burn itself out seeking relief. "I've got you."
She grabbed at him, her movements frantic. "Now. Please. I can't wait."
"You don't have to wait." He rolled her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up. The position would let him go deeper, give her the pressure she needed. "Is this all right?"
"Yes." She pushed back against him, presenting. "Just do it. Fill me."
He positioned himself and thrust inside in one smooth stroke. The angle was different like this, tighter, and they both groaned at the sensation.
"Better?" He gripped her hips, holding her steady.
"Yes." Her fingers twisted in the ruined sheets. "More. Harder."
He gave her what she needed. Deep, driving thrusts that made the bed creak, that made her cry out with every impact. His hips slapped against her ass, the sound obscene in the quiet cabin.
"You look so good like this." He watched his cock disappear into her over and over, watched her body take him eagerly. "On your knees for your alpha. Taking everything I give you."
She moaned, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Never." His hand slid around to cup her breast, finding her nipple hard and sensitive. "I'll give you everything. As many times as you need."
Her inner walls were fluttering around him already, building toward release. He could feel it in the way she was clenching, in the increased slick coating his cock.
"Touch yourself." He released her breast, needing both hands to grip her hips. "Make yourself come on my cock."
She slid one hand between her legs, and he felt the brush of her fingers against the base of his cock as she found her clit. The sensation made him groan.
"That's it." His rhythm was getting erratic, his knot beginning to swell. "Come for me. Show me how good it feels."
She came with a wail, her whole body shaking, and the feeling of her inner walls clamping down on him pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep one last time, his knot swelling to lock them together as his release hit.
But this time, as his seed flooded her, as her orgasm rippled through her, something else happened.
The bond.
It wasn't formed—he hadn't bitten her mating gland—but he could feel the edges of it. The place where a bond would snap into place if he let it. Like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one step would send him plummeting.
His wolf lunged for it. Lunged for her throat, for the vulnerable gland that would make her his forever.
"No." Jeanne's voice cut through the haze. She twisted to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes clearer than they should have been in the grip of heat. "Anatole. No."
He wrenched his head to the side, his fangs grazing her shoulder instead, hard enough to leave marks but not to break skin. His whole body shook with the effort of resisting.
"I'm sorry." The words came out strangled. "My wolf—"
"I know, but you stopped. You're still stopping."
He buried his face against her back, breathing hard, fighting for control. The urge to bite was overwhelming, primal, the deepest instinct an alpha possessed. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.
If he bonded her, she would be more vulnerable to the curse.
"Talk to me." Her voice was soft. "Tell me something. Anything. Just talk to me until it passes."
He tried to think of something safe to say. Something that wouldn't reveal how much he wanted her, how his wolf was screaming that she was MATE, that she belonged to him.
"My ship." The words came out rough. "The Barbe-Bleue. Do you know what it means?"
"Bluebeard." She was breathing hard, her body still adjusting to his knot. "Your name."
"My curse." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, where his fangs had almost broke skin. "I earned my ship when I was twenty-two. Before the curse. Before everything went wrong. I captained her for three years before I met Marguerite."
"Tell me about her." Jeanne's voice was careful. "About Marguerite."
He shouldn't. He should keep his first love separate from whatever this was with Jeanne. But his knot was locked inside her, and knotting made wolves talk, made them share things they would otherwise keep hidden.
"She was beautiful." The memory rose up, sharp and painful.
"Dark hair, dark eyes. She laughed like bells ringing.
Her mother was Morvenna, the sea witch, but Marguerite didn't inherit the magic.
Just the wolf." He was quiet for a moment.
"We met at a port. She was selling fish with her mother's catch. I took one look at her and knew."
"Mate."
"Mate." The word tasted like ash. "We married in secret. Three months of stolen meetings, of sneaking away from her mother's island, of thinking we could outsmart fate." His hands tightened on Jeanne's hips. "We were wrong."
"The curse killed her."
"The curse killed her." He could still see it. Marguerite's skin turning gray, her breath coming in gasps, the light fading from her eyes as the magic ate through their bond.
Jeanne was quiet for a long time. Then: "Do you still love her?"
The question took him by surprise. "I—" He stopped. Did he? Did he still love the ghost of his first love? Or had the years of grief and guilt and watching other women die turned that love into something else?
"I loved who she was," he said finally. "I loved what we could have been. But I don't know if I love who she actually was. I barely knew her. We only had three months together and that isn't enough time to really know anyone."
"No," Jeanne agreed softly. "I suppose it isn't."
His knot was beginning to soften. In a few minutes it would release, and they would be separate again. The thought made his wolf whine.
"You asked me about the vineyard," Jeanne said. "About my home. Now I'm asking you. Tell me about yours. Before the curse. Before all of this."
So he did.
He told her about growing up in a coastal pack, the second son who was never meant to lead.
About running wild with his brother through the salt marshes, shifting for the first time under a full moon, the joy of discovering his wolf.
About taking to the sea at sixteen, working his way up from deck hand to captain through sheer determination.
About the man he'd been before Morvenna's curse had turned him into a monster.
And while he talked, Jeanne listened, her body relaxing against his, her breathing evening out. When his knot finally released and he slipped free, she turned in his arms, looking at him with eyes that had lost some of their wariness.
"You're not a monster," she said quietly.
"I've done monstrous things."
"Maybe." She traced the curse mark on his jaw. "But you're also the man who chained himself in a hold to protect me. Who bit a pillow instead of my throat. Who's telling me about his childhood while locked inside me." A ghost of a smile. "Monsters don't do that."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to list every terrible thing he'd done, every woman he'd failed to save, every cruel word he'd spoken in the name of self-preservation.
But she was looking at him like he was a man instead of a beast, and he couldn't bring himself to shatter that illusion.
Not yet.