Chapter 44 Zhayad's Own Mark Of The Moon Goddess
Aurelia
It didn't take time before news spread round the pack that I was cursed. In fact, I overheard a shifter-maid whispering 'the cursed one’ to her fellow shifter-maid.
When I couldn't handle the stares and whispers anymore, I turned to face Zhayad just as he was about to leave the bedroom when we'd only just come in like a second ago.
“You're not going to do something about the fact that Lance gossips about every single thing, including sensitive information?” My voice was calm, but inside I was boiling.
Zhayad yanked off his shirt and flung it carelessly behind him, and I watched it sail in the air for a second before landing on the bed.
“I don’t tell my wolves what to do,” Zhayad said, that smug edge creeping back into his voice. “I only show them the rules and lead.”
He was already turning toward the door, his shoulders rolling like the conversation was over.
I snorted, loud enough to make him freeze mid-step.
“Then maybe the rules are incomplete,” I shot back. “Or maybe you’re not leading well.”
His back went rigid. The naked muscles along his spine locked up, every line of him suddenly carved from stone.
The next two seconds were a blur. One heartbeat he was at the door. The next he was right in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“Say that again,” he growled.
I lifted my chin.
“Your rules are incomplete—”
“You’re testing me, Aurelia.”
His voice dropped so low it vibrated in my chest.
“You should be careful with that mouth of yours,especially after everything Mace revealed.
About the curse. You completely hid it from me.”
I laughed, the sound scraping out before I could stop it. “You’re mad because I didn’t say it right in the woods?” I asked. “Because I didn’t scream, ‘Oh, Alpha, don’t pick me—a werewolf shifter placed a curse on my ancestors so I can’t give you the pups you so desperately need’?”
His eyes flared dangerously. He stepped even closer, forcing me to back up until my shoulders hit the wall.
One hand planted beside my head. The other came up, his fingers curling around my jaw, tilting my face so I couldn’t look anywhere but at him.
“You think this is a joke?” he asked quietly. “You think I’m angry because you didn’t announce it like a town crier?”
“I'm not dumb, I know you're angry because your mate is bar-”
“I’m not dumb,” I snapped, voice shaking with the anger I’d been swallowing all day. “I know you’re angry because your mate is bar—”
He didn’t let me finish. Zhayad leaned down fast, claiming my mouth in a kiss that swallowed the rest of the word.
It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, bruising, like he needed to taste the insult before it could hurt either of us.
My body, the traitorous, needy thing it was, reacted before my brain caught up.
My arms wrapped around his neck on instinct, my fingers digging into his hair, tugging him closer even as part of me wanted to shove him away and keep yelling.
He broke the kiss first, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Kneel,” he commanded, ruining the after-kiss glow moment.
I rolled my eyes. “No. You can’t command me like that. I’m your mate, not your enforcer.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “I wouldn’t ask Lance to suck my cock.”
I snorted despite myself. “I’m sure it’d be quite the bromance.”
Zhayad didn’t laugh. He just watched me, his eyes narrowing, then whipped his belt from the loops in one smooth motion.
The leather snapped through the air. Before I could blink he had my wrists, pinning them together in front of me, buckling the belt around them with quick, practiced flicks.
I stared down at my bound hands, surprised and amazed at the same time. The belt still carried his scent: pine, smoke, and something darker, something that made my thighs clench.
He stepped back just enough to look at me,.His gaze raked over me, like he was deciding exactly how he wanted to unravel me.
He made me kneel. All it took was one firm tug on my hair and my knees hit the tiles.
His fingers stayed fisted in the strands at my scalp, holding my head tilted back so I had no choice but to look up at him.
“You’re going to see just how mad I am,” he declared menacingly. Then he yanked the laces of his pants open with his free hand.
The fabric parted and his cock sprang free, already hard and flushed dark at the tip.
Our eyes widened at exactly the same moment.
Because there, running along the underside of his shaft and around the whole well-over-eight-inches of his glorious cock was ink.
Not random markings or some crude tattoo. It was delicate, intricate silver-black lines curled from base to tip in elegant, almost glowing patterns.
They looked alive, vines, thorns, tiny crescent moons and sharp leaves twining around the length like they’d grown there.
The ink shimmered faintly, catching the lamplight the same way my mark did when the bond flared.
It was beautiful.
Terrifyingly beautiful. And impossibly hot.
“You got tattoos on your cock?”
“No, this… This has to be from the moon goddess herself.”
I bit on my lower lip, too stunned to say anything. “That’s…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
My brain short-circuited somewhere between holy shit and I-want-to-trace-every-line-with-my tongue.
Zhayad’s thumb brushed my bottom lip. “You’re confused,” he murmured, almost amused.
“Good. I like you like this, wide-eyed, speechless, looking up at me like you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
He guided my head forward, gentle but unyielding, until the flushed head brushed my lower lip.
“Open,” he ordered.
My lips parted on instinct. He slid inside my mouth, letting me feel every thick inch, every raised vein, every shimmering silver-black line sliding over my tongue.
The taste of him hit me, salt, heat, something darker, wilder, and I moaned around him without meaning to.
Zhayad groaned, his hips rocking once, shallow, testing.
“That’s it,” he rasped.
“Look at me while you take me. See how the Goddess marked me for you. Every inch of this. cock belongs to you, little mate. Just like every inch of you belongs to me.”
I looked up, my eyes watering slightly from the stretch, watching his face.
His head was tipped back, throat working, his lips parted on ragged breaths.
The silver lines on his shaft shimmered brighter every time I hollowed my cheeks, every time I swirled my tongue along the underside.
He tightened his grip in my hair, rocking deeper until I felt him hit the back of my throat.
“Good girl,” he growled.
“Take it all. Show me how much you love being marked by me.”
I moaned again, vibrating around him, and his control snapped.
He started fucking my mouth with slow, restrained thrusts at first, then faster, deeper.
The belt around my wrists kept my hands useless; all I could do was take him, feel him, taste the salt and heat and the strange, electric hum of the Goddess’s marks on his skin.
When he finally pulled out, wet, and glistening from my saliv ma and his precum, he dragged me up by the hair and kissed me, tasting himself on my tongue.
Then he released me.
“Your punishment is this, I will not touch you until you learn to stop running your mouth.” He muttered, turning to leave the moment the last syllable fell from his lips.