My teeth gnashed toward his mark, and he scrambled free, but he didn’t run; instead, he went facedown on the bed, ass in the air, in the same position as all the omegas had been at the club that night.
“Come, my alpha,” he whispered raggedly. “Show me your power.”
I was the nightmare that only alphas became—head of a wolf, claws where hands should have been, the penultimate moment before all that was left of me was the animal.
My jaws closed around the back of his neck, holding him down, still, as I shoved my length inside of him, plunging home, needing him stretched and filled, writhing on the end of my cock. My teeth ground down, tasted blood, and then I lifted up, claws buried in his hips as I rammed into him, making him buck forward with the rutting.
Grabbing the back of his head, seeing my claws in his hair, I lifted him to his hands and knees and then bit down into this warm, sleek skin, chasing the red rivulets with my tongue, licking them roughly even as I drove deep, needing more of his submission, his delicious scent, and his blood.
When he turned his head, looking over his shoulder, and I heard the mewling cries welling up from his throat, I curled over him, licking his mouth, and when his tongue rubbed over mine, I wanted to claim my mate as the man I was and no longer remain in my shifted state.
“Please,” he moaned as I slid free and rolled him to his back in the middle of the bed, curling over him, shoving a pillow under his hips, draping his legs over my shoulders as I took hold of his cock and stroked him to the same tempo as my pounding.
“Graeme,” he rasped, and I felt his muscles clamp down around me, spasming as he came over my hand and abdomen, arching under me, mouth open, head back, panting hard.
I buried myself inside him, pushing, pressing, trying to get even a fraction deeper, coming hard, pumping into his body before I collapsed on top of him, never wanting to move, to be parted, happy to lie between his thighs for the rest of my life.
My mate, my husband, my omega…my love. And God, he was. Never a doubt, no question, not from the beginning, from the first kiss, first smile, first touch of his hand.
Everything had been spinning for so long. I was in a million pieces, together on the outside but never within.
But now, the man whose arms and legs I was wrapped in as he panted into the side of my neck, chuckling, kissing, nibbling with his sharp teeth, had gathered me up so tight that I knew I would be whole always, from now on. It was easy to believe when you found your other half.
The party at my home was a zoo. The house was filled with the jarl; even those who’d never deigned to appear at functions before came to wish me the very best on my mating and assure me they were, of course, looking forward to the wedding. I chuckled quietly, because there was no way in hell my grandfather was allowing half of these people at my wedding; they simply weren’t important enough to him.
As expected, Graeme Davenport the Third had insisted that Avery call him Grandfather, just as he’d directed Gigi to do when she and Stone were mated. He was in heaven, introducing Avery to the people who mattered, not, as he called them, the rabble. Richest didn’t matter at all to him. Character, a loving family, sound judgment, both ethically and financially, that was the ticket. He already adored Avery’s mother, and had made certain her hand had not left his arm.
My grandmother had taken Linden under her wing the instant she spotted him. Always a fan of flawless, cultivated taste, she found a confidant in him. He could spot a piece of fake jewelry from across the room, and so could she. Avery told me Linden had been worried that people would talk about him behind his back, but with Joan Follet Davenport holding his arm, no one dared. If she didn’t like you, God help you; she could destroy social standing with a squint in your direction, and Linden was her new favorite, after Avery.
My new mate had stepped in and hugged her, squeezing a slight grunt from her she found enchanting. I hadn’t been worried. The man was far