"In mating, there is no hierarchy, only fire, only equals, only forever."
An hour later, we left the Royal Library in fits of laughter and moved to Marcus' chambers. The firelight painted Marcus's chambers in shadows and gold. The walls were lined with old tomes and maps, the heavy oak table littered with parchment, a candle guttering low beside an untouched glass of wine. But I barely noticed any of it. My wolf prowled at the surface, claws scraping against my skin, fangs aching to sink, to claim.
And Marcus was standing there, his own wolf leaking out in growls that rolled through the chamber like thunder. His storm-gray eyes fixed on me, sharp and unyielding, but beneath the steel was heating. Pure, burning, feral heat. We were both Betas. Equals. Neither one meant to submit, and yet, my wolf demanded I tear into him, mark him, devour him.
"Still brooding, Advisor?" I drew, though my voice was rougher than I intended. My throat burned with want, my chest heaving.
