The cave still hummed with the echo of the waterfall, its misty air wrapping Sena in a strange cocoon of safety and danger. Her body ached, her mind still trembling from the brush with death, yet every nerve was alive—because of him.
Deacon.
He crouched in front of her, damp strands of his dark hair plastered to his temple, eyes burning as if the moon itself poured fire into them. She could feel his wolf straining just beneath his skin, clawing to claim her, to brand her as his.
"You're mine," he growled, voice low and rough, his hand tracing the ruined slip clinging to her damp skin. The fabric snagged where it was torn, baring more than it covered. He didn't ask—he never asked—but his dominance carried a raw promise that terrified and thrilled her.
Her heart hammered. She should have been ashamed, afraid, but instead her lips parted in a whisper she couldn't take back. "Then take it off."
The sharp intake of his breath was followed by the sound of fabric tearing. The slip slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her bare in front of him. His gaze devoured her, worship and hunger battling in his expression. His knuckles brushed the soft swell of her hip, then higher, lingering at her waist, before he forced himself to still. His wolf wanted everything—but the man was fighting to hold the line.
"Don't be scared of me, little one," he murmured, voice thick with restraint. "I'll never hurt you. But I will have you. Again and again. You are mine."
Her cheeks flamed, yet her chin tilted up, boldness sparked by the heat in his eyes. "Then don't stop."
For a moment, the world ceased to exist. His lips descended, scorching her neck, grazing the curve of her collarbone before he caught himself, jaw clenched, breath ragged. With a groan that shook his whole body, he tore his own shirt off and draped it over her, claiming and protecting all at once.
The shirt swallowed her frame, his scent wrapping around her like chains she had no desire to break. When her trembling fingers brushed his chest, testing, tracing the hard ridges of muscle, his eyes snapped to hers. His arousal pressed against the fabric between them, and the raw need in his gaze nearly undid her.
I did that, she thought, dizzy. Me. I made him feel like this.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, his breath searing her lips. "The goddess damned me once," he whispered, cryptic, half to himself. "But she will not take you from me. Not again." His lips grazed her temple, his restraint trembling on the edge of ruin.
Before he could lose the battle, movement outside the cave snapped the moment in two.
The other alphas had returned.
But not all of them.
Two stood waiting in the moonlight, shoulders taut, eyes glowing too bright. The air was thick with pheromones and the metallic taste of blood moon energy. One of them—Kael, the second most intense of the brothers—looked half-feral, chest heaving as he struggled to control his wolf. His gaze flicked to Sena once, and the growl that tore from his throat rattled the stones.
"I can't—" he bit out before his body twisted violently, bones snapping, fur bursting through skin. In seconds his wolf towered before them, massive and trembling with the need to claim.
"Kael!" one brother barked, trying to ground him. But it was no use. With a tortured howl, Kael bolted into the forest, his paws tearing earth from stone. Another shifted instantly and leapt after him, vanishing into the trees.
Sena's stomach dropped. The emptiness was sharp, unexpected. Why does it hurt? Why do I feel like I've lost something already? Did they leave because of me? Am I… too much of a problem?
The two remaining brothers turned to her, their expressions softer but still strained by the blood moon's grip. They closed in, not with Deacon's wild hunger, but with grounding touches—one brushing a thumb across her knuckles, the other tucking damp strands of hair behind her ear. Their closeness was intoxicating, every inhalation of her scent pulling them nearer, every stolen brush of lips against her temple or shoulder making her breath hitch.
"You think they left you," one murmured, reading the fear she hadn't spoken aloud.
Her throat bobbed, shame heating her cheeks.
"They didn't leave, little mate," the other promised, his hand pressing gently to her back. "They ran because their wolves were losing the battle. You… you are fire in our blood. It's hard not to burn."
Their words should have soothed her, but her body still trembled, torn between yearning and doubt. She felt their noses skim her hair, her neck, their hands grazing her skin as they tried to scent and calm themselves. The blood moon made it impossible to hide what they wanted, and though their touches were reverent, every stolen inhale and subtle press of lips carried a hunger just shy of breaking.
Deacon slid behind her, wrapping her in the circle of his arms, his chest a wall of heat at her back. His voice was a command and a vow against her ear.
"You are ours, Sena. No one will ever touch you again. No one will ever harm what belongs to us. And when the time comes…" His lips brushed her neck, lingering with dangerous restraint. "We will all claim you. Every. Last. One."
Her wolf stirred again, stronger this time, a pulse of something ancient answering the blood moon overhead. She shivered, caught between fear and a hunger she'd never imagined.
The brothers held her close, grounding her trembling body, breathing her in like salvation. And as they stepped from the cave, ready to continue toward the unknown safety of their new home, Sena knew something had changed inside her.
The blood moon had marked her.
And nothing would ever be the same.