Chapter 3

Erebus's recovery was far faster than I'd anticipated.

In just two weeks, the gashes that had carved down to bone had scabbed over and fallen away. New black scales emerged beneath, gleaming under the magelights with a dangerous, metallic sheen.

The only problem? He'd gotten clingy as hell.

Whenever I was home, he stuck to me like tar. Wherever I went, he followed.

When I brewed potions in the lab, he coiled beneath the worktable, resting his massive head on my feet. When I read in the study, he forced his way onto the sofa, wrapping his tail around me until I was caged in his embrace.

Tonight, I carried a bowl of freshly brewed potion toward him—dark purple, almost black.

I'd added an obscenely rare Nightmare Blossom to repair his damaged mana core. The side effects were mild: elevated body temperature, slight hallucinations. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"Drink," I said, holding the bowl to his mouth.

Erebus opened obediently, his crimson tongue curling around the liquid as he swallowed.

But instead of pulling back, he leaned closer.

His warm breath ghosted over the hollow of my throat. Then his tongue—rough, wet—flicked out and licked a stray droplet of potion from my fingertip.

The sensation—slick, textured with tiny barbs—sent a shiver through me. Something low in my chest tightened, a strange, unwelcome flutter.

I froze. My fingers curled instinctively. I didn't know what the feeling was, but I didn't like it.

I set the bowl down and forced my expression flat.

"That's enough. Go to the pool. You'll overheat when it kicks in."

I yanked my hand back, turned on my heel, and retreated to my bedroom.

After washing up, I collapsed into bed.

Maybe I'd inhaled some of the Nightmare Blossom powder while preparing the brew—whatever the reason, sleep dragged me under fast.

The dream came without warning, but it felt disturbingly real.

I was still in my bed, but the air was stifling. Thick. Hot.

A heavy, primal scent filled the room—male, bestial, unmistakably high-ranking.

Something massive pressed down on top of me.

I forced my eyes open. My vision swam.

A man straddled me. Tall. Powerfully built.

In the dim light, I could only make out the hard planes of his body—shoulders that blocked out what little light there was, limbs that caged me in on all sides.

His back and arms were covered in intricate black markings that snaked up to his neck.

His face was hidden in shadow. I couldn't see his features.

But I could see his eyes.

Violet. Burning. Fixed on me with obsessive, unhinged hunger.

"Who—" I tried to move, but he pinned my wrists above my head with ease.

His strength was inhuman. Absolute.

Those violet eyes… I'd seen them before. I knew I had. But my mind felt sluggish, fogged.

"Seraphina," he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with something disturbingly soft. Almost wounded. "Don't you recognize me?"

He lowered his head. His lips—hot, too hot—pressed against my throat.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim.

His teeth grazed my collarbone. His tongue, textured and rough, dragged over the pulse in my neck.

"Nn—" A sound escaped me, unbidden. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

He made a low, pleased sound and grew bolder.

One hand released my wrist and slid down my side, scorching hot, until he tore my nightgown open.

His fingers—rough, inhuman—found the soft heat between my thighs and pushed inside without hesitation.

"Don't—" I gasped, trying to close my legs. He forced them apart.

"Your body's more honest than your mouth, Seraphina."

He laughed softly, the vibration rumbling through his chest into mine.

His fingers moved inside me, deliberate and relentless, dragging out sensations I couldn't control.

I felt like a ship torn apart in a storm, helpless under his control.

His mouth moved lower, closing over my breast. He sucked hard, teeth scraping, until the skin flushed dark and swollen.

"So sweet," he muttered against my skin, eyes blazing. "You're mine. Only mine."

Then he stopped.

I looked down, dazed.

His cock stood thick and rigid between us, veined and inhuman—ridged near the base with small, textured barbs.

He gripped my waist, eyes locked on mine. Waiting.

I couldn't speak. Shame and fear collided with a dark thrill I refused to name, shorting out every coherent thought.

After a few seconds, he smiled.

He lifted me effortlessly, positioned himself, and thrust in all the way.

"Ah—!" I screamed. The stretch was brutal, overwhelming, like being split open.

He groaned, low and satisfied, and began to move.

Deep. Hard. Unrelenting.

The barbs raked against my inner walls, a maddening mix of pleasure and pain that shattered what was left of my control.

"Slower—too deep—" I sobbed, nails raking down his back.

My fingers met something cold and hard beneath his skin.

Not tattoos. Scales.

He didn't slow. If anything, he moved faster, harder, like he couldn't get enough.

He bit down on my earlobe, breath scalding against my skin, and growled:

"Seraphina. Be good. Stay still. You're mine."