Page 16 of Bound By the Beast Man
This time is different. The first time, in the cave, was a chaotic collision born of shock and desperation. This is a choice. It is a conscious, deliberate surrender to the bond that has been pulling us together since the moment I first saw her.
I kiss her, not with the frantic desperation of our earlier moments, but with a deep, consuming tenderness that lays bare every unspoken feeling in my heart. Her lips are soft, warm, yielding under mine, tasting faintly of the wild berries we shared by the fire. The kiss is a confession, a vow, each slow brush of my tongue against hers a testament to the depth of my love. She responds with a passion that mirrors my own, her arms wrapping around my neck, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. This is no longer the touch of a rescuer and a victim—it’s raw, real, the touch of a man and his mate, bound by something deeper than words.
Her body presses against mine, soft curves against hard muscle, and the heat of her seeps through the layers of our clothing, igniting a fire in my blood. I lift her into my arms, her weight a perfect fit against my chest, her breath catching as I carry her to the bed of furs in the corner of the hut. The storm rages outside, wind howling, but the fire’s warmth wraps us in a cocoon of flickering light and shadow. I lay her down on the soft furs, her hair spilling like a dark halo, her eyes locked on mine, burning with trust and desire. The sight of her—strong, resilient, open to me—stirs something primal, a need to claim her, to worship her, to make her mine in every way.
I kneel beside her, my hands trembling with reverence as I peel away her clothes, layer by layer. Her skin glows in the firelight, smooth and warm, a canvas of strength and softness. My lips find her throat, tracing the pulse that races beneath, then lower, kissing the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. She arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips, and the sound sends a jolt of hunger through me. Her hands tug at my shirt, impatient, and I help her, shedding my clothes until we’re bare to each other, the heat of our bodies a stark contrast to the storm’s chill beyond the walls.
My hands explore her, reverent but hungry, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the silky warmth between her thighs. She’s wet, ready, and the discovery draws a low groan from my throat. I kiss her again, harder, my tongue claiming her mouth as my fingers tease her, stroking until her breath comes in sharp gasps, her hips lifting to meet my touch. She’s fire and strength, and I’m in awe of her, of the trust she’s giving me, of the way she opens to me completely.
I settle between her thighs, her legs parting to welcome me, and when I enter her, it’s slow, deliberate, savoring the way her warmth envelops me, tight and perfect. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I pause, letting her adjust,letting the moment pulse between us. But the tenderness shifts, a spark catching into flame. Her hands clutch my back, urging me deeper, and I feel the hunger in her, a need that matches my own. I thrust harder, deeper, the rhythm building as her moans fill the hut, raw and unfiltered, drowning out the storm outside. Her legs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in her—the slick heat, the way she moves with me, the fierce connection that binds us.
The reverence gives way to something wilder, a fierce possession that consumes us both. I grip her hips, angling her to take me deeper, each thrust a claim, a vow, a fucking declaration of everything she means to me. She meets me with equal fire, her nails raking my back, her cries sharp and desperate, urging me on. “More,” she gasps, her voice raw, and I give it to her, pounding into her with a rhythm that’s relentless, primal, our bodies slamming together in a frantic, perfect dance. The furs shift beneath us, the firelight painting her skin with gold as sweat glistens, her body arching, taut and trembling under me.
She tightens around me, her breath hitching, and I feel her break, her cry wild and unrestrained as her body clenches, pulling me deeper into her release. It’s too much—the heat, the sound, the way she clings to me—and I follow, my own climax tearing through me, raw and blinding, as I spill into her with a groan that feels ripped from my soul. For a moment, there’s nothing but her—her warmth, her pulse, her trembling body beneath mine.
We collapse into the furs, panting, tangled together in the fire’s glow. Her head rests on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, and I hold her close, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The storm rages on outside, but here, in this moment, there’s only peace, only her. The sense of rightness, of completeness, is absolute. She is my mate, my heart, my home,and in the quiet, I whisper the truth that anchors me: I am hers, wholly and forever.
24
DIANA
Iwake to a profound and unfamiliar quiet. The storm that raged outside the small hunter’s hut has passed, leaving a deep, muffled silence in its wake. Through the single, grimy windowpane, I can see a world made new, covered in a thick, pristine blanket of fresh snow. The early morning light is soft and grey, filtering through the trees and into our small shelter. I am wrapped in Corvak’s arms, his heavy, sleeping form a warm, solid wall at my back. His breath is a steady, even rhythm against my hair, and his heartbeat, which I can feel through his chest, is a slow, powerful drumbeat that feels like the very rhythm of life itself.
A feeling of peace, so complete and so foreign it almost makes me weep, settles over me. The ever-present knot of fear and tension that has lived in my stomach for years has finally, miraculously, loosened its grip. In the safety of his embrace, something inside me that I thought had been burned to ashes with my village.
I no longer am alone. I study his face, the fierce, leonine lines of it softened in sleep. I marvel at the contrast between the rawpower he possesses and the incredible gentleness with which he holds me.
A new fear, sharp and piercing, cuts through the peace. It is not the fear of being captured, but the fear of losing this. Of losing him. He has a mission, a duty to his people that is far more important than one lost, half-breed human girl. Sooner or later, he will have to leave me to complete it. The thought is an icy shard in my heart, and I press myself closer to him, trying to absorb enough of his warmth and strength to last a lifetime. For now, in this quiet moment, he is mine, and I am his. It is a fragile, impossible gift, and I am terrified of it being taken away.
The warmth of his body and the deep, hypnotic rhythm of his breathing lull me back toward the edge of sleep. I do not fight it. As I drift, my mind does not descend into the familiar, blessedly empty void. A dream takes hold, but it is not the fiery, traumatic memory of my village. This is something new. I am standing on the deck of a ship I have never seen before, its sails emblazoned with the emblem of a horned beast. The deck pitches violently beneath my feet, and the air is filled with the roar of a furious, unnatural sea.
I am an invisible observer, a ghost floating above the chaos. I see Corvak, his face grim, his body braced against the assault of the waves. He is not alone. There are five other manticores with him, all of them fighting with a desperate courage against the storm’s fury. The sky above is a boiling cauldron of black and green clouds, and the lightning that rips through them.
I am witnessing the storm that shipwrecked him, the event that brought him to me.
My dream-gaze is pulled upward, toward the engulfing storm. And I see it. It is the same entity from my village nightmare, a colossal form made of living shadow and roiling storm clouds, its eyes twin voids of cold, ancient starlight. I feel its ancient, malevolent intelligence, its specific, focused intenton the ship. I watch in silent horror as it commands the waves, raising an impossible wall of water to smash the vessel, an act of deliberate, calculated execution.
I wake with a sharp, strangled gasp, the terrifying images from the dream vivid and burning in my mind. The ship splintering apart, the manticores thrown into the churning sea, the cold, triumphant presence of the shadow watching it all. Corvak is awake instantly, his body tensing, his arms tightening around me in a protective reflex.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
I pull away from him, sitting up and pushing the tangled hair from my face. My heart is pounding, but it is not with the helpless terror of my previous nightmares. This is different. This is a crucial piece of the puzzle. I turn to face him in the dim morning light.
“I had a dream,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “I was on your ship. I saw the storm. And I saw the shadow in the clouds. It was the same one, Corvak. It was the same shadow I saw in my village the day the Purna attacked.”
He listens intently, his expression growing grim, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“The old legends on Osiris called it the Devourer of Skies,” he said.
“The Purna had a name for it too,” I whispered, a cold memory surfacing. “I heard them speak of it in my stasis. They called it their Patron of Shadows.”
We look at each other, the chilling truth settling between us. Our enemies are not separate. They are all connected, all serving this one, ancient entity.
“It is not just a storm, and not just a shadow,” I said.
“No,” he agrees, his gaze as hard as flint. “It is the Storm Shadow.”
Our enemy has a name. And it is a force far greater than a coven of witches. Our personal fight for survival has just become part of a much older, and much darker, war.
