POV EMMA BELLE
The door to my chambers hadn't just closed; it had sealed the rest of the universe away. The flickering orange glow of the fireplace danced across Félix's face, highlighting the raw, emerald fire in his eyes. There were no more jokes, no more playful nicknames. There was only the heavy, suffocating heat of two souls that had been starved for a lifetime.
"Emma," he rasped, and the way he said my name felt like a physical touch against my bare skin.
I didn't wait. I couldn't. I crossed the space between us and slammed into him, my mouth finding his with a desperation that bordered on violence. I tasted the salt of his skin and the wild, spicy scent of his arousal. He groaned into my mouth, a deep, animal sound that vibrated through my chest and down to my thighs, which were already aching for him.
His hands, calloused from years of survival and the bowstring, found my waist. He didn't just hold me; he gripped me, his fingers bruising the skin of my hips as he hoisted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my center pressing firmly against the hard, throbbing length of him hidden behind his leather trousers. The friction made me cry out, a high, needy sound that only fueled his hunger.
"I've wanted this since the forest, Little Bird," he whispered against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. "I've wanted to feel you break under me, to hear you scream my name until your voice fails."
He carried me to the bed, the furs soft against my back, but I only felt the hardness of his body as he followed me down. He stripped his tunic in one fluid motion, revealing the lean, corded muscle of his torso—covered in the freckles I loved and the fresh scars of the battle we had just won.
When he looked at me, his gaze was so predatory, so utterly possessive, that my inner wolf let out a submissive, pleading whimper. I reached for the fastening of his trousers, my fingers trembling. I wanted him. I wanted all of him. I wanted to be filled by the only man who had ever truly seen me.
"Slow down," he murmured, though his own hands were frantic as he helped me discard the last of my silk nightgown.
When we were finally skin-to-skin, the world seemed to tilt. The heat was unbearable. He moved over me, his chest rubbing against my sensitive breasts, his nipples grazing mine until I was arching my back, searching for more. He began to trail a path of fire with his tongue, starting at the hollow of my throat and moving down, past my collarbone, to the heavy swell of my chest.
He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking deeply, his teeth grazing the tip. A jolt of pure electricity shot straight to my core, and I buckled beneath him. "Lixie... please..."
"Not yet," he whispered, moving lower.
He explored every inch of me as if I were a sacred map he was finally allowed to touch. His hands moved over my stomach, my thighs, parting them with a gentle but firm insistence. When his fingers finally found the wet, pulsing heat between my legs, I lost my breath. He toyed with me, his thumb circling the center of my pleasure while his fingers slid inside, testing my readiness.
I was slick for him, dripping with a need that was embarrassing and intoxicating all at once. I was a mess of soft moans and frantic movements, my head tossing on the pillows.
"You're so tight, Emma," he groaned, his voice thick with a primal need. "So perfect for me."
He replaced his fingers with his tongue, and the world shattered into a thousand shards of light. I cried out, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my heels dragging against the furs as he tasted me. He was relentless, his mouth a source of exquisite torture that pushed me closer and closer to the edge. Just as I felt the first wave of release starting to take hold, he pulled back.
I opened my eyes, my vision blurred by tears of frustration and desire. He stood by the bed for a fraction of a second, shedding the last of his clothes. He was magnificent—thick, heavy, and pulsing with the same emerald light that filled his eyes.
He knelt between my legs, his hands sliding under my knees to pull me even closer to the edge of the bed. He looked at the mark on my neck—the fresh, glowing sigil he had placed there hours before.
"Look at me, Emma," he commanded.
I met his gaze, my violet eyes locked with his emerald ones.
"You are mine," he whispered, his voice a vow that echoed in the very stone of the mountain. "In this life and every other. My soul belongs to the White Queen, but my body... my body is yours."
He pushed into me slowly, a deliberate, agonizing inching that made me gasp. He was too big, too much, and yet, he was the only piece of the puzzle that had ever fit. I felt my body stretching, adjusting, accommodating the sheer force of him. When he was finally buried deep inside me, we both froze, our chests heaving in unison.
The bond snapped into place with a physical force. It wasn't just a connection; it was a fusion. I felt his pleasure, his possessiveness, and the overwhelming love that was driving every one of his movements.
He began to move—slow, deep thrusts that hit a spot deep inside me I didn't know existed. Every time he withdrew, I felt a sense of loss; every time he returned, I felt a sense of completion. The pace began to quicken, the bed creaking beneath us, the sounds of our bodies colliding filling the quiet room.
I was lost in him. I was the wind, I was the stone, I was the light. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my nails drawing thin red lines down his back, urging him to go faster, harder. He didn't hold back. He drove into me with a rhythmic, primal ferocity, his breath hitching in his throat as he neared his limit.
"Emma... Emma..." he chanted my name like a prayer.
I felt the tension building, a coil of white-hot energy tightening in my stomach. The violet light began to spill from my skin, mingling with the emerald glow of his. The room was no longer lit by the fire; it was lit by us.
The climax hit me like a landslide. My body convulsed, my walls clamping down around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. I screamed his name into the dark, my eyes rolling back as the pleasure became too much to bear.
Seconds later, with a final, guttural roar that echoed through the entire fortress, Félix followed me. He collapsed against me, his weight crushing me into the furs, his seed filling me as the golden thread between our souls flared into a blinding, eternal brilliance.
We stayed like that for a long time, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing slowly returning to normal. He didn't pull away; he stayed buried inside me, his face hidden in the crook of my neck, right over the mark.
"I love you, Little Bird," he whispered, his voice raw and exhausted.
I ran my hands through his damp hair, a sense of peace settling over me that I had never known. The war was still out there. The other three kings were still waiting. But in this room, on these furs, the world was perfect.
"I love you, Lixie," I replied, pulling him closer.
As the embers in the fireplace died down, I looked at the fresh mark on my neck. It wasn't just a sign of ownership; it was a sign of belonging. I was the White Queen of the North, but as I drifted off to sleep in the arms of my mate, I knew the truth.
I was Emma. And I was finally home.