Page 18 of Shadowlands Omega

She’s issued an edict, a challenge, and while I cannot believe the insanity of what I’m about to do — me, Lord of the Shadowlands — I can see no other choice. There is no other choice.

I fall to the ground on my knees like a worshipper at the altar.

6 | Kiandah

Heart Forest

“Crawl, Yaron,” I say to the Lord of the Shadowlands, my idol, my personal, untouchable god, the male of my dreams, the beast of my nightmares, the one who my entire sketchbook is filled with likenesses of.

I watch the surprise and the rage flare behind his eyes and the moment hangs suspended in time. I’m so aware of everything. And nothing. I can’t explain it. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt and it’s nauseating and sickening and I never want to stop feeling it.

My feet throb painfully and I flex my toes while the arches lock. My face screams, so do my nipples, so does my swollen core. Everything feels wrong, and beautiful. So swollen and aggravated and needy, the brush of my fingers causes immeasurable pain, but I know that the brush of his fingers would not.

The mud that slicks my skin doesn't matter. Neither does the rain threatening to bring down the roof of this small house. I’m cold, yes, my nipples hard enough to cut glass even without my heat and Lord Yaron’s presence, but it’s his presence that makes it possible to overcome the pain. It’s his presence and the sight of his naked flesh, broad and massive and shattered and unsure, that makes it impossible for me to remember that he’s the bad guy hunting for my family through the wind and the rain. I can’t focus on any of it beneath his slate-grey stare. Because for the first time since I saw him — met him up close, I mean — he’s not looking at me like a stern, all-knowing Lord. He’s looking at me like he no longer knows anything.

And then, Lord Yaron falls.

The sound of his knees hitting the ground jolts my whole body. A moan rushes out of my mouth and I stroke my clit faster. His fist is around his cock, blocking the sight of his knot from my view. From what I’ve heard, every Alpha has a slightly differently shaped knot, and I’ve never seen a knot before in my life, not in person. I want to see Yaron’s, memorize it so I can draw it again later. If this haze ever clears. But right now, he’s still covering it with one hand as he collapses onto the floor, his other hand holding him upright as his legs lose their thick black fur and morph back into those of a man.

He groans deeply within his chest, his eyes slashing all over my body as if he doesn’t know where to look — my clit, my fingers spreading myself wide for his perusal, my stomach and the padding of flesh beneath my belly button, my thighs and their cellulite, my breasts and chest and throat and face. It’s the fact that his gaze lingers on my face the longest of anything that paints my insides in warmth. Not heat, but warmth.

“Ki…andah,” he says, voice a whisper as he claws his way forward. I inhale and dip my fingers inside my body. A look of fury crosses his face which forms a snout full of angry, dagger-like teeth before reverting. “That’smine,” he hisses.

I gasp as a horrible pain twists in my lower abdomen. He says my name again, forcing my attention to his face. His full lips are bright red, brighter than before, as he flips his face up to look at me. He releases his erection and it swings down, heavy and weighted and so deliriously thick. It pulses red and blue-green veins stand out all over it, reminding me of his strong, thick and veined forearms as he prowls closer and closer and closer…

That streak of grey hair at the front of his hairline hangs down now, wet, into his eyes. He bares his teeth at me, looking more animal than man — I think heismore animal than man — but I’m not afraid. Not here, injured and naked with my legs spread, in the most vulnerable position one could think of, where my hidden confidence shines.

Closer and closer he comes. The rains beat against the side of the cabin harder and harder, thrashing like their intent is to tear this place down around us. Let them. I don’t care about anything except for the twisted pleasure-pain coursing through me, and the wild and manic look in his perfect sword-colored eyes.

His scent envelops me as he reaches the edge of the blanket. His right hand snakes out to grab my ankle, but I snatch my foot away and place it firmly on his shoulder, holding him at bay but only because he lets me. Most men lack the self-confidence to let themselves be dominated like this. But I knew Yaron wouldn’t. I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why half the pictures I’ve drawn of him have been images of him at my feet just like this. Every fantasy I’ve ever had since I first discovered my own sexuality comes to life, rising around me like a swell of clouds that carry me up into the sky.

“Ah ah,” I say, voice not like my own. This is the voice of a vengeful angel, not a peasant born on the edge of Paradise Hole.

His rage flares again, but he stills. I can see the violent tremors happening underneath his skin, in his heavy, beautiful muscles. He’s built like a statue. He’s built like a god, a private god, one created just for me.

“Would you like to taste me, Yaron?” My words wrench a sound from him that can only be described as an animal’s whimper.

Lord Yaron clenches his teeth and grunts through them, “Yes.”

“Then you’ll need to ask…nicely.” Pain flowers through me, greedy and demanding but quieter than before, almost as if my body senses it’s about to get what it wants and is happy to wait seconds. Not more.

His eyelashes reach for his heavy brows and he chokes out words I know he never thought he’d say. “Let me taste you, Omega.” He surges forward. I press my foot harder into his shoulder and he flashes me his fangs. The canines are coated in silver, like he’s just finished sucking the blood of some mythical creature.

“That’s not what I asked for, Yaron…”

“Stop this. Let me fucking taste…”

My big toe strokes the side of his neck and then slides up the column of his throat to the underside of his jaw. I tip his head up a little further, past the point of comfort. All because he lets me. Because he’s such a good fucking boy. “You’re being a bad, bad boy, Berserker. If you want a taste now, you’ll need tobeg.”

“Fuck you…” He roars, his eyes rolling back as he reaches down and grabs his length. He collapses onto his other forearm and roughly tugs at his hair before wrenching back up and grabbing my ankle. He bites the arch of my foot before letting it fall back to his shoulder. He looks up at me. His eyes are glowing, like starlight. “Let me taste you, Omega…please. Kiandah, please…”Kiandah… It comes as a shock, hearing my name in his voice. I didn’t…even know he knew it.

“Such a good boy.” My heart is pounding. Can he hear it? “Come, collect your treat.”

He launches himself forward, the bands holding him back snapping all at once. His jaw unhinges as he slaps my hands violently away from my thighs and latches himself to my core, as if his intent is to swallow all of me, all at once.

Pleasure stabs me in the chest, in the stomach, in the brain, and I collapse back onto the dirty, scratchy blanket underneath me as his tongue strokes me from the inside, hot and strong. It swirls and tugs, way, way longer than the tongue of a normal man, while his soft human lips suck and pull. His fingers dig into the outside of my hips and I distantly register pain as he punctures me with just the tips of his claws. I don’t care, anyway. He can shred me to pieces so long as he doesn’t stop.

“Yaron,” I howl, reaching between my legs and grabbing him by the hair. I tug him where I want him and he responds to every stroke, moving down from my entrance to my ass and eating that, too, before moving back up to my clit. It takes no time at all for me to climb to that first peak. His hot mouth is all over me, tasting everything with the ravenousness of a starving man, a dying man, a wild thing, utterly lost.

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