POV Blake
The pack house buzzed with nervous anticipation, like a kingdom awaiting the end of a long war. The looming merger talks had everyone on edge—this could finally end the generations-long conflict between packs.
Warriors checked perimeters with heightened urgency, others meticulously prepared the guest quarters, and beneath the surface of forced smiles and polished manners, the entire pack held its breath for peace disguised as protocol.
I watched it all from the kitchen window, mechanically stirring my coffee until it was probably ninety percent sugar.
"How are you, my dear?"
Sage Helen's voice made me jump, sending coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Former Luna and pack healer had this annoying habit of appearing like some benevolent ghost whenever emotional turmoil reached critical mass.
"Fantastic," I said, flashing her a smile that would've fooled exactly no one. "Can't wait for the family reunion. Maybe we'll braid each other's hair and share childhood trauma stories."
Her knowing gaze could've stripped paint. "Blake…"
"I'm fine." The words came out sharper than intended. "Sorry. I'm... handling it."
She studied me with those ancient eyes that had probably seen every flavor of bullshit the werewolf world could offer.
"You don't have to be fine, you know."
"Actually, I do." I set the mug down before my shaking hands betrayed me further. "Being anything other than fine isn't really an option right now."
Helen didn't press, which I appreciated. She just squeezed my shoulder gently before gliding away to terrorize some other emotionally constipated pack member.
The day crawled by like it was personally offended by the concept of time. Every minute felt weighted, pregnant with the promise of the day after tomorrow's disaster.
By evening, I'd stress-cleaned our bedroom twice and reorganized Matthias's sock drawer by color gradient—a new low, even for me.
"Ready for dinner?"
I spun around to find Matthias leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly attractive in dark jeans and a henley that did criminal things to his shoulders.
"Dinner?" I blinked. "Did I miss a pack meeting? Please tell me I missed a pack meeting. I've perfected my attentive-yet-vacant expression."
"Private dinner," he clarified, offering his hand. "Just us."
"Oh." The word came out smaller than intended. "That's... worse, actually."
His laugh was soft, understanding. "Come on. Trust me."
Famous last words, but I took his hand anyway.
He led me to the pond not so far from the main pack house—because of course he did. The same spot where he'd watched me chase frogs like some discount Disney princess while his brain probably screamed 'IMPOSTER' in neon letters.
The sun was showing off, painting everything in those obnoxious shades of gold and crimson that romance novels always bang on about.
"Subtle," I said as he spread out a blanket. "Taking me to the scene of the crime."
"Thought it was fitting." He unpacked what looked like half the pack kitchen. "This is where I first really saw you."
"You mean where you realized I wasn't your actual fiancée?" I grabbed a sandwich, needing something to do with my hands. "Real romantic, watching me fondle amphibians while having an identity crisis."
"Where I realized you were mine," he corrected, and damn if that didn't hit differently.
We ate in comfortable silence, the kind that used to make me twitchy but now felt like breathing. I memorized everything—the way the dying light turned his eyes into liquid amber, how his thumb traced absent patterns on my knee, the slight smile that played at his lips when he caught me staring.
"I want to mark you tonight."
I choked on my wine. Smooth. "That's— What?"
"We're mated, Blake. Have been since our wedding night." His voice was steady, certain. "But I want it official. Permanent. Before..."
"Before my parents arrive and everything goes to hell?" The words tasted bitter.
"Before anything." He cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Because you're mine, and I'm yours, and I want the whole world to know it."
My throat felt suspiciously tight. "That's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"Is that a ‘yes’?"
"Like you even have to ask." I leaned into his touch. "Yes, you possessive wolf. ‘Yes’ to all of it."
The way back to our bedroom was charged with anticipation, neither of us speaking but both very aware of what came next.
Marking wasn't just some werewolf hickey—it was permanent, sacred, a claim before the Moon Goddess herself that said 'this person is mine until death.'
Which, considering the day after tomorrow's agenda, might be sooner than expected.
But hey, at least I'd die with excellent taste in mates.
The air in our bedroom was thick with lust, sweat, and the primal musk of wolves. It wasn’t just desire—it was fucking need. Raw and unrelenting, clawing at our skins like a beast desperate to be unleashed.
Matthias stood before me, his chest heaving, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, his eyes dark with hunger. Every inch of him radiated power, dominance, and a ferocity that made my knees weak.
His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew, sculpted by the Goddess herself, and I wanted to worship every goddamn inch of it.
“You sure?” he growled, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.
His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing over my lips, forcing me to look into those eyes that burned with passion and possession.
“This isn’t just some bite. This is forever. You’ll carry my mark, my scent, my claim. Every fucking wolf will know you’re mine.”
I grabbed him by the collar, yanking him down to my level, my breath hot against his lips.
“Matthias,” I snarled, my voice dripping with desperation and desire. “I’ve never been sure of anything in my life except this. Mark me. Fucking claim me. Make me yours in every goddamn way that matters.”
His lips crashed against mine in a kiss that was savage, consuming, and divine. His tongue plunged into my mouth, claiming me, tasting me, fucking me with his mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
His hands roamed my body, squeezing, grasping, leaving bruises in their wake as he stripped me bare, his fingers dipping between my legs to find me wet for him.
“Goddess,” he growled against my lips, his fingers sliding through my slick folds, teasing my clit until I was shuddering with need. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I moaned, arching into his touch, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Matthias, I need you. Please—”
And he didn’t make me beg twice.