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Mine, the bond sings, a roaring echo inside my head that is truer than magic and older than moonlight.

Mate.

The bite triggers something feral and absolute. As his teeth break my skin, our existing soul-bond flares with a rush of golden and moonlike radiance, acknowledging the physical mark. The sudden flash of pain sparks a blinding white-hot fuse, and my entire body shatters. The climax hits me in waves, my internal muscles contracting around him in violent, desperate spasms that trap him inside me. I scream his name into the pillows, my hands clawing at the duvet as the pleasure rolls through me in relentless pulses.

The tight, crushing grip of my release is the final breaking point for Darius. With an undone roar, he drives into me one last time, pinning his hips hard against mine as his own climax rips through him. I feel the thick, searing heat of his release pulsing deep inside me, filling me as his entire body goes rigid. He shakes against my back, his muscles locking tight as he pours himself into me, our bond flaring into a beautiful reaffirmation. It strengthens our intertwined souls, resonating with threads of moonlight and wolf-song.

I melt into the soft duvet, every muscle unspooling in the aftermath of a union that feels permanent. Darius stays draped over my back, wrapping me in an exhausted embrace as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. We lie there catching our breath, tangled in crisp sheets and moonlight, letting the quiet of our new home settle around us.

He gently rolls us to the side, pulling me flush against his chest so we are face-to-face. "I could get used to this," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly caress.

"The house or the bed?" I tease lazily, running my fingers through his damp hair.

"Both." He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. Catching my hand, he brings it to his lips. "We're not done, though."

A brow arches on my forehead despite the boneless satisfaction weighing my limbs. "Already? Your recovery time is impressive, but⁠—"

"Not that." His grin turns wicked as he sits up, muscles rippling in the moonlight. "We still have every room that needs our mark, remember? The kitchen table and the garden tub are waiting for us. We also have the living room couch, the office desk, and that reading nook by the window you love so much."

The promise in his voice sends fresh heat spiraling through me. "Territorial much?"

"I’m completely territorial about our home and our future." Scooping me up effortlessly, he holds me close as I wrap my arms around his neck. "I want our scent embedded in every corner and surface."

I laugh, the sound bright and joyful. "Let's get to it then, mate."

The endearment stops him cold. His eyes search mine, vulnerability surfacing beneath the heat. "Say it again."

"You’re my mate and my wolf." I leave a soft kiss to his jaw, tasting salt and satisfaction. "You’ll always be my insufferably overprotective partner for life."

His answering smile could power half of Chicago. "Damn right."

Carrying me toward the kitchen with purpose, his renewed arousal pokes against my hip. Our bond resonates to amplify every shared sensation and emotion.

This is the deliberate creation of something permanent, a sacred space worth fighting for.

"The table first. Then we'll see about that garden tub."

"Planning our campaign?"

"Someone has to maintain strategic oversight."

His laughter follows us down the hallway, rich and unguarded. The moon watches through every window we pass, casting a peaceful glow over our path.

I tighten my arms around his neck and let myself be carried home.

40

DARIUS

Iadjust the rearview mirror and catch Serenity's reflection as she reviews case files in the seat next to me. Her eyes devour the documents, her focus razor-sharp, black hair falling around her face. Static lifts the fine hairs on her arms as she traces protective wards over the evidence photos—casual magic that would have sent her into a panic spiral months ago.

Now she wields lunar power effortlessly, treating it like a natural extension of herself rather than a volatile force.

“The missing vampire worked security at three different nightclubs,” she says, never once glancing away from her screen. "All owned by the same shell corporation."

"Money laundering through supernatural venues." I shift lanes, noting how she unconsciously leans into the turn, her body trusting mine to keep us safe. "Classic cover for trafficking operations."

"Or worse. Two bartenders mentioned customers acting 'oddly compliant' before disappearing."