Chapter 55 Be My Luna
Maureen Laurent:
Vuk had shamelessly catered to me for one whole week now.
Every morning: warm tea laced with honey and moonflower petals left on the bedside table before I even opened my eyes.
Every afternoon: new silk dresses laid out—soft blacks and deep crimsons that hugged my curves like they were made from shadows and starlight.
Every evening: his massive frame curled around mine on the furs, claws retracted, voice low and rumbling stories of ancient northern wars until my eyelids grew heavy and the nightmares stayed away.
He never once asked for anything in return.
Not gratitude.Not submission.Not even the title he’d once offered like a crown forged in hellfire.
And right now, feeling good—actually good, the kind of good that settles warm in your chest instead of clawing at your throat—I didn’t know what to do for him.
So I decided to make him heartwarming cookies.
Nothing fancy. Just simple vanilla dough, brown sugar, chunks of dark chocolate that would melt into gooey pockets, the way my mother used to when I came home crying from school. The kitchen in the private wing was enormous—black marble counters, copper pots hanging like weapons, a hearth big enough to roast a boar—but I claimed the smallest corner, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting my nose like snow.
I was shaping the last ball when a familiar heat pressed against my back.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a wall of muscle and pine-and-hellfire scent. Lips found the side of my neck—soft at first, then firmer, a gentle scrape of fangs that made my knees dip.
“What are you doing?” His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet, right against my ear.
“Cooking…” I muttered, trying (and failing) to keep my voice steady as his hands slid up under the hem of his borrowed shirt I was wearing. Callused palms skimmed my bare hips, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below my navel.
He kissed the back of my neck—slow, reverent. “I missed you so badly…”
I turned in his arms, flour smudging across his black shirt as I cupped his face. Those golden eyes were molten, pupils blown wide, the way they always got when he looked at me like I was the only light left in three and a half centuries of darkness.
“We’ve only been apart for a few hours…” I smiled, teasing. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He didn’t laugh.He just leaned down and kissed me—so softly it almost hurt.
Lips brushing mine like I was made of glass. Tongue tracing the seam of my mouth, asking instead of demanding. When I opened for him he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through my chest, and deepened the kiss until I was clinging to his shoulders, tasting smoke and longing and something dangerously close to forever.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against his collarbone.
“I wanted to do something for you,” I whispered. “You’ve given me… everything. And I—” My voice cracked. “I just wanted to give you something normal. Something warm. Something that isn’t blood or chains or screaming.”
His thumbs stroked slow circles over my ribs. “Little moon,” he rasped, “you breathing next to me is already more than I ever thought I’d have.”
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Still. I made cookies. And… I’ve been thinking.”
He went very still. The kind of still that predators get right before something monumental happens.
I swallowed. Took his big, scarred hands in mine—flour and all—and pressed them to my chest, right over my heart.
“I was scared before,” I said quietly. “When you first marked me. When you offered the title. I thought being Luna meant being owned again. Being caged in silk and gold instead of iron. I thought it would erase what was left of Maureen Laurent and leave only… property.”
His thumbs brushed my collarbone—gentle, aching. He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
“But I’ve watched you this week. Watched how your wolves move for you—not out of fear, but out of loyalty. Watched how you burned the eastern orphanages to ash to save children you’d never even met. Watched how you kneel for me when no one else in this dominion would ever dare ask you to bend.”
I lifted onto my toes, brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth.
“I want the title now,” I whispered. “Not because I have to. Not because the bond demands it. But because I choose you. All of you. The monster. The king. The male who would tear the moon from the sky if it hurt me. I want to stand beside you—not behind you, not beneath you. Beside you. As your Luna.”
For one heartbeat the entire fortress seemed to hold its breath.
Then Vuk made a sound I’d never heard from him before—half growl, half broken prayer.
He crushed me to his chest so hard I felt every ridge of muscle, every frantic beat of his immortal heart.
“Say it again,” he rasped against my hair.
“I want to be your Luna,” I said, louder this time. “I accept the title. I accept the crown. I accept you.”
He pulled back just enough to cup my face in both hands—reverent, trembling. Golden eyes shining brighter than I’d ever seen them.
“Then kneel with me,” he said, voice wrecked.
He sank to one knee right there on the flour-dusted floor—seven feet of ruin and flame brought low again, just for me. I followed without hesitation, knees hitting the cold marble beside his.
He took my left hand, pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist where my pulse thundered.
“By the blood of Lucifer and the light of Selene,” he intoned, voice carrying the weight of centuries, “I, Vuk Kael Lasković, Alpha Devil of the Northern Dominion, name you Maureen Laurent—my mate, my equal, my Luna. The dominion is yours to guard, to burn, to heal. And I am yours to command, to break, to keep.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks. I leaned forward, rested my forehead against his.
“And I, Maureen Laurent,” I whispered back, “accept the title of Luna. I will stand with you in fire and frost. I will fight beside you. Love beside you. Rule beside you. Until the stars themselves forget how to shine.”
He surged up then—lifting me in one fluid motion, setting me on the counter beside the tray of cooling cookies. Flour puffed around us like snow.
His mouth crashed into mine—hungrier now, claiming, but still laced with that trembling awe.
When we broke apart he pressed his forehead to mine again, breathing hard.
“Tonight,” he growled softly. “We announce it to the court. Tomorrow… the ritual. Blood and flame and moon. You’ll wear my mark in front of every wolf who ever doubted you were strong enough.”
I smiled—small, fierce, mine.
He grinned—slow, wicked, fangs glinting.
He hooked my legs around his waist in one smooth motion, grinding against me once—slow, deliberate, the thick ridge of him pressing right where I ached most through the thin fabric of his shirt I wore and his trousers.
“Tonight,” he murmured against my lips, “I remind my Luna exactly how much her king worships her.”
Heat flooded me so fast my breath caught. I tightened my thighs around him, rocking once in answer, feeling him twitch and harden even more.
“Please, my Lord,” I whispered, voice already trembling, “tell me… tell me how you would worship me?”
His eyes flared molten gold—pupils blown wide, fangs lengthening just enough to glint in the low light.
He didn’t answer with words at first.
He simply lifted me higher, spun us so my back hit the cool marble counter again, and laid me back among the scattered flour and cooling tray of cookies. The silk shirt rode up, exposing my thighs, my stomach, the damp lace between my legs.
He dropped to his knees between my spread thighs—seven feet of muscle and hellfire brought low for the second time tonight.
“Like this,” he rasped, voice shredded.
His big hands slid up my thighs, thumbs hooking the edges of my panties and dragging them down slow—agonizingly slow—so I felt every inch of lace scrape over sensitive skin. He tossed them aside, never breaking eye contact.
“First,” he growled, “I worship with my mouth.”
He leaned in, nose brushing the soft curls at the apex of my thighs, inhaling deep like I was the only air he needed. Then his tongue—hot, rough, wicked—dragged one long, filthy stripe from my entrance to my clit.
I cried out, back arching off the counter, hands flying to his hair.
He didn’t stop.
He devoured me like a starving man at a feast—long licks, circling swirls around my clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips until my hips bucked. Two thick fingers slid inside me without warning, curling viciously against that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes.
“Vuk—!” My voice broke on his name.
He growled against me, the vibration ripping another moan from my throat. “That’s it, little moon. Let me taste how wet you get when you call me Lord.”
He added a third finger, stretching me wide, thrusting slow and deep while his tongue flicked faster, merciless. My thighs trembled around his head. Slick coated his chin, his fangs, dripped down onto the marble.
I was shaking, so close, hips rolling shamelessly against his face.
He pulled back just enough to speak—lips glistening, voice wrecked.
“Second,” he snarled, rising over me like a storm, “I worship with my cock.”
He shoved his trousers down just enough. His length sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip, knot already swelling at the base. He fisted himself once, slow, letting me see every brutal inch.
Then he lined up, notched the head at my entrance, and thrust—hard, deep, bottoming out in one punishing stroke.
I screamed—high, shattered, nails raking down his shoulders.
He didn’t give me time to adjust. He fucked me like the world was ending—hard snaps of his hips, each one punching the air from my lungs, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off black marble. The counter shook. Cookies tumbled to the floor. Flour puffed around us like smoke.
“Feel that?” he growled against my throat, fangs scraping the bite. “That’s me worshipping you. Filling you. Claiming you. Every inch of this tight little cunt belongs to your king.”
I sobbed his name, legs locked around his waist, meeting every brutal thrust. The knot swelled bigger with each stroke, catching at my rim, stretching me wider.
“Third,” he rasped, voice breaking, “I worship by knotting you so full you’ll feel me for days.”
One final, punishing thrust.
The knot breached—popping past my entrance with a wet, obscene sound.
I came instantly—screaming, walls clamping down in violent pulses, milking him as slick gushed around the thick base.
He roared—low, animal, hips jerking erratically as he pumped me full in thick, endless ropes. Heat flooded me, spilling out around the knot, dripping down my thighs onto the counter.
He collapsed over me—careful not to crush, but pinning me completely—forehead pressed to mine, both of us shaking.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time blurred.
When he could speak again, his voice was soft, reverent.
“That,” he whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth, “is how I worship my Luna.”