Chapter 19
CLARA
The scent of pine and burnt magic still clings to the air, mixing with the damp chill of the underground shelter.
My ribs ache from the fight earlier, and exhaustion hums under my skin.
But none of that matters when Gideon’s standing there, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself back from something he can’t afford to want.
I don’t let him retreat this time. My hands plant flat against the rough wood on either side of him, caging him in. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t move. Just watches me with those silver-bright eyes, the wolf so close to the surface my own magic stirs in answer.
"You’ve been dodging this since the damn woods," I hiss. My pulse hammers against my ribs, angry and loud. "I’m not some fragile thing that’ll break if you touch me. Not after everything."
He exhales slow, measured. Like he’s counting breaths to keep control. "I know what you are." His voice is rough, deeper than usual, edged with the wolf’s growl. "That’s the problem."
The admission knocks the air from my lungs. That’s it. No excuses, no deflection. Just raw, brutal truth.
His control is fraying. I can see it.
So I push.
My hands fist in his shirt and yank him down.
His body slams into mine, heat and hard muscle and the electric crackle of his wolf surging forward.
The kiss isn’t careful. Isn’t gentle. It’s teeth and desperate pressure, his hands gripping my waist almost hard enough to bruise.
The dam breaks between us, weeks of tension flooding out in the scrape of his stubble against my jaw, the way his chest rumbles under my palms.
I bite his lower lip, tasting copper. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him—
Then he tears himself away, breathing ragged. "Clara."
I know what he’s going to say before he says it. The same argument, the same damn denial.
I press my forehead to his collarbone, refusing to let go. "You don’t get to decide what I want.” My voice wavers, but the words land like stones. “Not this."
His heartbeat jackhammers against my palms where they’re still fisted in his shirt. I can feel the war inside him. Alpha instincts, duty, the weight of every life tied to his choices. And underneath it, the sheer, undeniable pull between us.
His fingers skim the back of my neck, hesitant. Like I might shatter.
I tilt my head up, refusing to blink. "Stop treating me like glass."
Something snaps in his gaze.
Then his mouth crashes into mine again, this time with no hesitation. No restraint. Just heat and hunger and the growl that vibrates through his chest when my nails dig into his shoulders.
The lantern flickers.
And for the first time since the warlock’s spell shattered under my hands, I don’t feel like a weapon.
I feel like his.
The first swipe of Gideon’s tongue wrenches a ragged gasp from my throat.
His hands grip my thighs like iron bands, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, keeping me spread wide as his mouth works me with a hunger bordering on starving.
Every sharp lap of his tongue sends fresh lightning up my spine, my back arching off the cot as he drives two thick fingers deep, curling hard—
Oh god.
I choke on air, my hips jerking against his mouth.
He growls against me, the vibration lighting up every last nerve ending.
His free hand on the blanket beside my hip, claws shredding the fabric like tissue paper.
His restraint is paper-thin, the weight of it pressing against me like a storm about to break.
"You taste like fucking sin," he snarls between laves of his tongue. His fingers retreat only to thrust back in, rough and merciless, nailing that sweet spot inside me with brutal precision. "Going to ruin you for anyone else."
My nails score down his shoulders, drawing blood.
His muscles flex under my touch, a fever-hot contrast to the chill of the safehouse air.
Golden sigils flare brighter across my skin, magic spiking with every drag of his fingers, every slick stroke of his tongue.
Energy crackles between us, the air thickening with ozone and the salt-tang of my arousal.
I’m burning alive.
His teeth graze my clit. Gentle, teasing. My entire body locks. His growl vibrates against me, possessive satisfaction rolling off him in waves. He does it again, this time with just enough pressure to skirt the edge of pain, and my vision whites out.
"Fuck— Gideon!"
I come so hard my magic detonates. The lantern shatters, glass raining down in glittering shards as golden energy rips through the room.
My thighs clamp around his head, writhing as the aftershocks roll through me.
He doesn’t stop. Just licks me through it, tongue relentless, fingers pumping slow now, milking every last pulse from my spent body.
His scent thickens. Dark, musky, predatory. And my gaze drops to where his cock juts between his thighs, flushed and glistening at the tip. Thick veins stand out along the length, the sheer size of him making my skin prickle with anticipation.
"Your turn," I pant, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
His nostrils flare at the challenge. One hard yank, and I’m beneath him, the full weight of his body pinning me to the cot. He cages my face between his arms, his breath hot against my lips.
"You sure?" The words are a graveled growl, his control teetering.
I bite his bottom lip. Hard.
A snarl tears from his throat, and then there’s no space left between us. His hips notch against mine, the blunt head of his cock notching at my entrance.
The first thrust punches the air from my lungs. "Christ—"
Too much. Too thick. I gasp, my nails raking down his back as he bottoms out. He freezes above me, veins standing out in his neck as he fights for control.
"Move." My voice is raw.
His restraint snaps.
He fucks me like the wild thing he is. Deep, punishing strokes that make the cot slam against the stone wall, the rhythmic thud, thud of wood on rock drowning under my moans. His teeth find my shoulder, though he doesn’t break skin, his wolf too close to the surface to risk it.
Magic sparks where our bodies meet, gold bleeding into silver as power leaps between us. His thrusts grow erratic, dragging a broken cry from my lips as another orgasm slams into me.
He doesn't stop.
The moment I recover, gasping, his hips shift, and he drags his cock out nearly to the tip before slamming back in, so deep my breath stutters.
My hands scramble against the rough blanket beneath me, fingers twisting into the fabric as his lips find my throat, teeth scraping.
The mate bond sings between us, foreign and electric, like my magic recognizes his wolf on some primal level, curling around him in gold-flecked threads.
"More," I choke out, arching against him.
A growl rips from his throat, the sound vibrating through my ribs.
His fingers dig bruises into my thighs as he hooks my knees over his elbows, spreading me wider, fucking into me with slow, methodical rolls of his hips.
Each thrust drags his cock against that aching spot inside me, sparking fresh heat.
His thumb presses against my clit, circling in tight, unrelenting strokes.
My body clenching around him as the pressure builds to something unbearable. I put a hand in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and his hips jerk in response, fucking into me harder.
"Fucking perfect," he snarls.
Still, he doesn't stop.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, a third climax hits me.
Wringing a broken scream from my throat.
My fingers scrabble at his shoulders as my inner muscles flutter around him, milking his cock in desperate little spasms. His rhythm fractures, his control snapping as he drives into me one last time, burying himself deep with a growl that shakes my bones.
Hot pulses of cum flood me, his hips jerking through his release as his teeth clamp down on my shoulder.
Not enough to break skin, but close, so fucking close.
When his weight finally collapses onto me, his breath is ragged against my neck, his body still trembling with aftershocks.
My fingers drift weakly down his spine, tracing the sweat-dampened muscle there.
For a long moment, neither of us moves, lost in the haze of the bond humming between us, my magic and his wolf tangled in something deeper than either of us anticipated.
I don’t have words for this.
And maybe neither does he.
His thumb brushes my hip in a slow, absent stroke. Then stills. A sharp exhale leaves his nose, tension flickering back into his shoulders.
Because outside, beyond the walls of the safehouse, the night is silent.
Too silent.