Chapter 37 Kess
Kess
The curse settles into my bones like molten iron.
We're still kneeling in the ruins of the throne room, forehead to forehead, his blood-slicked hands cupping my scaled face.
The transformation isn't done—I can feel it continuing, slower now, scales spreading across my collarbone, down my spine.
My body remaking itself around three centuries of divine rage.
But the worst is over. The transfer is complete. The agony has faded to a deep, cellular ache that I suspect will be with me for the rest of my life.
I'm alive.
My children are alive.
Rhystan just killed his father for me, and I watched him do it, and somehow that's the thing that finally cracks something open inside my chest.
"Rhystan." His name comes out rough, strange in my transformed throat. "I need—"
The heat hits before I can finish.
It slams into me without warning—a wave of need so overwhelming that my vision whites out. Not like my normal heats, those rage-filled blackouts that left me covered in animal blood. This is different. Sharper. Focused entirely on the man kneeling in front of me.
"Flash heat." His voice has gone dark. Rough. "The transformation triggered it. Your body's trying to stabilize."
I can smell myself. Slick soaking through what's left of my dress, the scent of arousal mixing with blood and smoke until the air is thick with it. My thighs are wet. My core is clenching around nothing and it hurts, the emptiness unbearable.
"I need you inside me." The words come out raw. Shameless. "Now. Right now. I can't—"
He kisses me before I finish.
Not gentle. Not careful. His mouth crashes into mine with three hundred years of desperate hunger, his hands fisting in my hair, his body pressing me back against the stone floor.
The silver dust of the broken ritual circle smears beneath us.
I don't care. Can't care about anything except the inferno building between us.
His claws shred my dress. I hear fabric tearing, feel cool air on skin that's half-scale now, on the heavy swell of my pregnant belly where our children shift and dream.
He pulls back just long enough to look at me—scales and claws and gold eyes and the five-month curve of our twins—and his pupils blow wide.
"Beautiful." He breathes it like a prayer. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Less talking." I drag my new claws down his chest, leaving red lines on skin already marked with battle wounds. "More fucking."
His mouth finds my throat, the swell of my breasts, traces the curve where our children grow before his hands turn demanding. When his fingers push inside me I keen—a sound that's not entirely human anymore, echoing off broken walls. Pleasure spikes through me sharp enough to steal my breath.
"So wet." He pumps deeper, curling against the spot that makes stars explode. "So ready. Fuck, Kess, you're dripping."
"Need your cock." I'm writhing against his hand, chasing the pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine. "Need your knot. Please—"
He withdraws his fingers and I sob at the loss.
Then he's positioning himself between my thighs, careful of my belly even now, the blunt head pressing against my entrance. He feels enormous. Impossible. It's been weeks and my body has changed and—
"Now."
He drives into me in one brutal thrust.
The stretch is catastrophic. Even slick-wet and desperate, the fullness borders on pain. He's so deep I feel him in my throat. So thick I don't know where I end and he begins. My claws sink into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.
But god, it feels good. The stretch, the fullness, the way he fills every empty aching part of me. My cunt clenches around him and pleasure ripples outward, making my toes curl.
"Move." I gasp it against his shoulder. "Rhystan, move."
He moves.
Not gentle. Not careful. He fucks me like he's been starving for it—because he has, we both have. Each thrust drives the air from my lungs. The stone floor is cold beneath my back and he's burning hot above me, braced on his arms to protect my belly, but his hips are merciless.
I'm moaning with every stroke. Can't help it. Can't stop the sounds spilling out as pleasure builds and builds. My pregnancy has made everything more sensitive—nipples aching, clit throbbing, inner walls swollen and desperate. Every time he bottoms out I see stars.
"Fuck—yes—right there—" The words tumble out broken. "Don't stop—"
I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him deeper. Bite his shoulder the way I did during our first claiming, fangs that are sharper now sinking in until blood floods my mouth. He shudders and his rhythm falters.
The knot.
I feel it swelling at the base of his cock—subtle at first, then more pronounced with every thrust. Catching on my entrance. Getting bigger.
"Yes." I clench around him, dragging a groan from deep in his chest. "Knot me. Fill me up."
"Kess—" My name breaks apart in his mouth.
He drives forward and the knot catches. Too big. Getting bigger. Each thrust pops it in and out, the stretch bordering on unbearable, the pleasure so intense it circles back to pain.
Then he slams home and the knot locks into place.
I scream.
The stretch is impossible—I'm being split apart, filled past capacity. My inner walls clamp around the knot so tight I feel my own pulse pounding against it. Too much. I can't take it.
The orgasm detonates without warning.
White-hot. All-consuming. My back arches off the stone, my claws tear bloody furrows down his back, my transformed throat produces sounds that aren't human anymore. My cunt convulses around his knot—clenching, milking—and I feel him break.
He roars. Dragon, not human. The sound reverberates through the ruined throne room as he spills inside me. I feel every pulse. Every hot flood pumping deep while the knot keeps everything sealed. My belly distends with how much there is.
We collapse together.
Both gasping. Both trembling. The knot locked solid inside me, his cock still twitching, my walls still rippling in diminishing waves.
His forehead presses against mine.
"Did we just—" He's dazed, disbelieving. "On the floor of the throne room. In the ritual circle. While the castle is literally burning."
"Your father's body is in the courtyard."
"Probably."
"We're terrible people."
"We're alive people." I touch his jaw with claws I'm learning to control. "Everything else is negotiable."
He laughs—broken and wet, too close to a sob. But real.
The knot throbs inside me. We're locked together for at least twenty minutes. My body is still transforming—scales spreading across my shoulders, my eyes fully gold now, my teeth too sharp.
I should be terrified.
Instead I feel powerful. Complete.
"I love you." He says it against my lips. "I know we still have things to work through. The lies. The trust I broke. But I love you, Kess."
"I love you too." The words come easier than I expected. "I hate that I do, sometimes. But I do."
"Is that forgiveness?"
I consider it. The heat has faded enough to think.
"It's the start." I pull him down for a softer kiss. "You killed your father for me. Told me the truth instead of hiding it. That matters."
"I'd kill anyone for you."
"Slightly concerning."
He laughs again. Softer.
The knot pulses. His hips shift and we both hiss—too sensitive, pleasure edged with overstimulation.
"We should deal with the castle," I say eventually.
"Probably."
"The fires. The bodies."
"Yes."
Neither of us moves.
"Five more minutes."
We take twenty.