Chapter 14-Rosalind
I should’ve known.
The second Honor pushed that enormous cock of his inside my body, I felt it—that shift.
Not just in me. But in everything.
Every molecule.
Every nerve ending.
Every soul-deep instinct screaming that this man, this human man, was becoming mine.
And now? Now, my Bear is pacing, snarling, thrashing beneath the surface like a caged animal who’s just realized the cage is open.
Because Honor isn’t moving slow anymore.
No, he’s scratching—fingers gripping my hips, nails digging in, marking me like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.
Like his instincts are just as out of control as mine.
That’s a mating sign, my Sow growls.
But he doesn’t know. I try to reason.
Because it’s true. He doesn’t know what he’s triggering.
Doesn’t know what this means.
Doesn’t know that we’ve crossed a line most Shifters can’t walk back from.
My Bear is frothing at the mouth.
Mine. Bite him. Claim him. Make him understand.
No. No.
I try to breathe, but I’m too full of him. Of this feeling. Of this moment.
His hand shifts, rakes down my thigh, and the second I feel another one of those deep, possessive scratches, something snaps.
That’s it.
I flip us.
One second, I’m beneath him—gasping, overwhelmed—and the next, I’m straddling him, pinning him with every ounce of strength I have, growling low in my throat like some kind of wild thing.
My nails scrape his shoulders.
His eyes go wide.
“Honor,” I whisper, shaking.
And then I bite him.
Right over his pulse.
Not hard. Not just to bleed him.
But firm enough to draw blood. For him to feel it.
To mark.
To claim.
To do what no rational part of me would ever do—because the part of me guiding this moment?
It isn’t rational.
It’s instinct.
Need.
Fate.
And for a second—just one suspended, breathless second—I feel it settle into place.
Like the final piece of some cosmic puzzle just clicked in.
And everything else—my fears, my secrets, the truth I’ve been burying—all of it disappears beneath the roaring certainty that he’s mine.
His body jerks under mine, shocked.
But then—God help me—he moans.
Low. Guttural. Wrecked.
The sound isn’t pain.
It’s possession.
Surrender.
That one, feral, vibrating sound tears through me like a mating call—echoing in my chest, in my blood, in my bones.
I feel it everywhere.
My Bear feels it.
We both start to come. And it’s simply incredible.
I feel his seed fill me—hot, thick, perfect. And for one crazy moment I wish I was in my fertile period so he could give me a cub.
Yes. Want.
Then the realization of what just happened hits me.
It’s done.
It’s happening.
There’s no going back now.
And for one terrifying, perfect moment—I let it be real.
I let him be mine.
But then—the moment shifts.
Reality rushes in, cold and sharp around the edges.
What the hell did I just do?
My mouth hovers above the mark. His skin is red. Broken, bloody.
My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic tattoo of regret and revelation.
I can still taste him on my tongue—blood and skin and Honor.
And all I can think is.
I went too far.
Too much. Too fast.
Too primal.
He doesn’t know what I am.
Who I am.
But even as the panic builds, even as the fear claws at me, another truth rises—calm, quiet, absolute.
That was no mistake.
I didn’t bite him because I lost control. I bit him because, for one glorious moment, I was more myself than I’ve ever been.
And no matter what comes next, I’ll never forget the sound he made when I claimed him.
Like he’d been waiting for it.
For me.
My Bear purrs. Satisfied.
But my human side?
She’s trembling, whispering prayers I haven’t said since I was a cub, because if this goes sideways, if he panics or pulls away or tells me this was a mistake—I won’t survive it.
Not now.
Not after giving him everything.