Chapter 155

Chapter 155
Aeron
I carry her out of the dungeon like I’m carrying something sacred and breakable and infinitely dangerous all at once.
Because that is what she is. She's all those things and so much more.
The corridors of Castle Stoneheart swallow us - torchlight flickering over ancient grey stone, the scent of cold iron and old blood baked into the walls. The stale scent of the Sorrowshade still hanging around.
But it is starting to smell like home again.
Guards drop their eyes as we pass. They know better than to look at her when she’s like this, raw, shaking, glowing faintly under her skin like a star that hasn’t decided whether to burn or go out. They have known from the very first day that she is not for them to look upon.
I carry her all the way to our apartment is at the top of the north tower. Five flights of stairs. I take them two at a time, her arms looped around my neck, her face buried against my throat. Every step jars her body against mine and I feel her breath hitch, feel the wet heat of her tears soaking into my collar.
I shoulder the doors open and kick them shut behind us. The lock slams home. Tonight the entire fucking world can burn - nothing gets through these doors. It is just the two of us. Isla needs some kind of reassurance. She is afraid of herself, and she's terrified that I can't handle her.
I will teach her that I am more than enough for her.
Moonlight already pours through the arched windows, bathing our bed in silver, the black linens, the chains bolted to the headboard that we’ve never needed until now.
I set her on her feet in the centre of the room.
“Strip.” The single word cracks like a whip.
She flinches, then obeys. Fingers fumbling with buttons, hooks, laces. Her clothes slides off her shoulders, down her arms, over her hips, and pools around her feet. No underthings. Just skin, gooseflesh, and the faint shimmer of power still crawling over her like living starlight. Her nipples pucker beautifully, and her skin erupts in goosebumps.
I let her stand there naked while I circle her, slow as a predator who already knows the prey isn’t going anywhere.
When I stop behind her I lean in until my lips brush the shell of her ear. “You do not get to be a goddess now,” I say, voice low enough to vibrate in her bones. “When you are in this room, you do not get to carry the weight of creation or death or any other cosmic horseshit. Tonight you are only one thing. My bride. My wife.”
I slide my hand up the elegant line of her spine, fingers splayed wide, claiming every inch, until I reach her hair. I fist it hard and yank her head back, arching her throat.
“You are mine.”
A broken sound escapes her - half sob, half moan.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.” Her voice is shaky, but she's filled with lust.
I tighten my grip until tears spring to her eyes. “Louder.”
“I’m yours, Aeron.” Her voice cracks
I spin her, slam her back against my chest, and bite the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, hard enough to break through the skin and taste her blood. She cries out, body jerking against mine.
With my free hand I rip my own shirt open. Buttons scatter like hail across the stone floor. I shrug it off, kick off my shoes and in three quick motions I'm naked, my cock heavy and aching. I press the full length of my body against her back so she feels exactly how hard I am for her.
She whimpers and tries to grind back against me.
I pin her hips still with one iron arm.
“No. You take what I give you. Nothing more.”
I walk her forward until her thighs hit the edge of the bed and shove her down face-first into the mattress. She lands with a gasp. Before she can push up I’m on her, knee forcing her legs apart, hand between her shoulder blades holding her flat.
I lean over her, mouth net to her ear “Hands flat on the bed. Ass up. If you move I will bind you in silver. Understand?”
“Yes.”
The word is slightly muffled, but her excitement is clear.
I reward her with one slow lick from clit to entrance. She moans into the bed. I do it again, and again, until her thighs are shaking and she’s dripping down my chin. Every time she tries to push back I pull away completely, leaving her empty and whining.
Only when she’s sobbing with frustration do I rise up, fist my cock, and drive into her in one merciless thrust.
She comes instantly, violently, walls clamping around me like a fist. I don’t give her time to breathe. I set a brutal pace, hips snapping against her ass, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise even vampire skin. The headboard slams against the wall in a rhythm older than language.
Every thrust is a claim.
Every cry she makes is surrender.
I flip her onto her back without pulling out. Hook her knees over my elbows and fold her nearly in half, opening her completely. The new angle lets me go deeper, harder. Her nails rake bloody furrows down my back and I hiss with pleasure, driving into her until the only sounds are wet flesh, broken pleas to fuck her harder.
“Look at me,” I snarl.
Her eyes snap open, wild, crimson, terrified, perfect.
“You are not the balance,” I tell her between thrusts. “You are not creation. You are not death. You are my wife. My bride. My greedy little monster. And I decide when you come. I decide when you breathe. I decide who you are tonight. Say it.”
“I’m your wife,” she sobs. “Your monster. Please, Aeron, please...”
I slam home and grind against her clit. She comes again, back bowing off the bed, a silent scream tearing from her throat.
I still don’t stop.
I pull out only long enough to flip her onto her side, hook her top leg over my shoulder, and sink back in from a new angle that makes her eyes roll back in her head. My hand finds her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder.
“Mine,” I growl, punctuating each thrust. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
She breaks open a third time, this one so intense her whole body locks up and she squirts around my cock, soaking the linen, my thighs, the sheets.
I bite into her, drinking her blood.
That finally undoes me.
I bury myself so deep inside her that I lose myself, and come with a roar that shakes the bed. My fangs sink deeper inside her, drinking her down while I throb inside her.
When it’s over I stay locked inside her, arms banded around her trembling body, cock still twitching with aftershocks. She is limp, boneless, tears streaking her temples into her hair.
I pull out slowly, roll us so she’s draped across my chest, and stroke her sweat-damp hair back from her face.
“Breathe,” I murmur against her temple. “Just breathe, love.”
She does, shakily.
I kiss every tear track, every bite mark, every bruise my fingers left.
“You are safe,” I tell her. “You are home. You are mine. And I am more than strong enough to hold whatever you give me. I can carry you, no matter what.”
She curls into me, fingers clutching my shoulders like I’m the only solid thing in her universe.
“I was so scared,” she whispers. “That I’m becoming something that can’t be loved.”
I tilt her chin up and make her look at me.
“I love the girl who couldn’t sleep and wandered into a dungeon." I trace my finger over her breast. "I love the woman who brought a queen back from death because she didn’t want blood on her hands." I circle her nipple. "I love the goddess who could unmake worlds and still begs me to fuck the fear out of her.”
I kiss her slowly, tenderly this time.
“I love all of it. And I am the only one who gets to decide when you’ve had too much power. Not you. Not Morvahn. Not the gods. Me.”
She exhales like I’ve lifted a mountain off her chest.
I pull the covers over us both, tuck her head beneath my chin, and hold her until her breathing evens out and the glow under her skin finally fades. She's asleep. After days and days of just wandering around the castle, terrified and alone, she's finally resting.
Down in the dungeons, Morvahn can rot in his chains.
Valeria can rage at the walls all she likes.
Tonight, in this bed, in my arms, Isla is just mine.
And she finally knows that I'm more than enough to hold her and keep her.