The ancient observatory trembled beneath the weight of the storm, its glass dome fragile against the howling wind. Lightning carved the sky into jagged veins of violet and silver, the air thick with ozone, thick with inevitability.
Selene’s breath came sharp and shallow, misting in the cold. Her back pressed against the star-charted wall, constellations biting into her bare skin like fate carving its claim.
And then—him.
Kael stood before her, the storm given flesh.
Rain clung to him, running in slow rivulets over the chiselled ridges of his body, soaking through his black coat until it molded to his form like a second skin. The taut stretch of fabric did nothing to hide the carved perfection beneath—broad shoulders, sculpted chest, muscle stacked over muscle like a war god hewn from obsidian. Each raindrop traced the lines of his strength, accentuating the sharp planes of his abs, the deep-cut grooves running down to where his belt sat low, teasing at the power that lurked beneath.
Ozone and bergamot, spice and smoke—the scent of a storm, of him.
“You dare bind me?” His voice was a dark rumble, thick as thunder, the kind that made the air itself vibrate.
He moved forward—a predator, a king, a force of nature—and slammed a hand against the wall beside her head. His claws, not fully human, not fully beast, raked the marble, scoring deep, punishing lines into the stone.
“Your mortal tricks are insect bites to what I am.”
Selene held his gaze, trapped between the icy wall at her back and the burning furnace of him at her front. Her heart pounded—loud, insistent—but her lips curled in defiance.
“Then why haven’t you torn free?”
His pupils narrowed to slits of gold-rimmed void.
The first touch was hers.
Deliberate. Reckless. Her palm flattened against his rain-slick chest, fingertips brushing the scar that curled over his heart—a flaw in his godlike perfection, the single wound that had ever truly touched him.
The massive muscle beneath her hand went taut, solid as steel, but his breath hitched. His entire body, a masterpiece of raw power, froze—a predator mid-lunge, torn between instinct and surrender.
“Don’t.” The warning was guttural, torn from a throat that had commanded legions, conquered realms. But his pulse thrummed wild beneath her touch, his restraint fraying at the edges.
“You feel it too,” she whispered. “This thing between us. It’s not the spell. It’s older.”
The dome shattered.
Not the glass—the lie.
He moved. Fast. Brutal.
In a single, merciless motion, he seized her hips, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her back slammed against the wall, her legs instinctively wrapping around the hard, powerful lines of his waist.
His body—solid, unyielding, impossibly strong—pressed flush against hers, and she felt every inch of him. The heat of his skin, the raw strength coiled beneath it, the impossible size of him fitting perfectly between her parted thighs.
His mouth found the hinge of her jaw, teeth scraping against the frantic flutter of her pulse. A claim. A promise. A warning.
“You play with hellfire, little witch,” he growled, but his claws—meant for rending, for destroying—dragged her gown upward, inch by torturous inch, revealing bare skin to the cold air and the blazing heat of him.
Stone at her back. Steel at her front.
The storm was inside now, his power whipping through the observatory, whipping through her.
She gasped as his thigh—thick, powerful, unforgiving—pressed between hers, the coarse fabric of his trousers rubbing against her bare skin, igniting a friction that sent lightning through her veins.
“Is this your revenge?” she taunted, nails biting into the massive bulk of his shoulders, feeling the hard flex of muscle beneath her fingers. “Or your surrender?”
His low, sinful laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her own.
“You’ll beg for both before dawn.”
Then his lips crashed into hers.
It was a collision, not a kiss—raw, brutal, devastating.
Midnight and blood, power and ruin—his taste wrecked her, his mouth stole her breath, his hunger left nothing untouched. She bit his lip, drawing thick, dark ichor, and his snarl vibrated against her ribs, primal, pleased.
His claws tightened, gripping her as though he’d tear through the very world before letting her go. She was weightless in his grasp, his strength limitless, his body a living fortress against hers.
“More,” she demanded against his lips.
He growled—a sound deep and hungry, pure dominance—as he rolled his hips forward.
The thick, throbbing length of him ground against her, only the thin layers of fabric between them keeping him from completely ruining her. The friction sent fire licking up her spine, her cry swallowed by the next crack of thunder.
The storm and the spire became one.
Rain slashed through the shattered dome, drenching them, soaking the last remnants of her gown until it clung to her like a second skin. The carved muscle of his chest burned against her, every flex of his strength a reminder that she was at the mercy of something far greater than a man.
“You want the monster?” he rasped, his breath fever-hot against her ear.
She arched against him, body bowing beneath his, a challenge, an invitation, a dare.
“Then take it.”
A roar tore from him as his wings exploded outward—vast, obsidian, blotting out the storm itself.
The force of his body against hers sent cracks racing through the wall behind them, constellations fracturing beneath the sheer power of what they had become.
Selene’s head fell back, her moan swallowed by the howling wind, the relentless power of him claiming her, breaking her, making her anew.
The scar on his heart burned, searing into her palm, into her soul.
Something ancient, something forbidden, fused them.
Lightning struck the spire.
The world went white.
And when silence returned, they were on their knees, bodies trembling, foreheads pressed together, breath coming in ragged gasps.
His wings curled around them, shielding her from the debris still falling. His talons brushed her cheek—absurdly gentle for something that had just shattered the heavens.
“Still alive, witch?” he murmured, his voice all gravel and embers.
She smiled, her fingers tracing the now-smooth edges of his scar.
“Disappointed?”
His growl was all hunger. No threat.
“Dawn is far off.