She jumped 27

Dawn painted the room in golden light.

It bled over Hector’s bare shoulders, tracing the curve of his spine, the broad strength of his back. The faint scar beneath his ribs caught the light like old magic.

He stood at the edge of the bed, silent, watching me like he didn’t trust this moment to be real.

There were no witnesses. No crowns. No rituals etched in moonlight. Just us.

His eyes found mine. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

My breath trembled as I sat up and let the sheet fall. His gaze dropped instantly. My bare skin prickled with awareness under his attention—desire, hunger, and something far more dangerous.

Reverence.

I whispered, “No more pretending.”

“No more waiting,” he said, voice low and raw.

He moved toward me slowly, like he thought I’d disappear. He knelt at the side of the bed, one hand reaching for mine, the other sliding along my jaw, thumb brushing my lip.

“I need to know you’re sure,” he said. “If I take you—if I mark you—I won’t be able to let go.”

I laced my fingers through his. “I don’t want you to.”

He inhaled, sharp and shaken. Then his mouth claimed mine.

The kiss was deep and slow at first, like he was learning me from the inside out. But it didn’t stay gentle. My fingers tangled in his hair, and I moaned into his mouth. His hand slipped behind my knee and pulled, easing me down to the sheets.

“You’re shaking,” he said, brushing my hair back. His voice was barely a breath. “Are you scared?”

“No,” I said. “Just… I’ve never—”

His expression cracked wide open. Hunger warred with restraint.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, “and I will. I swear it.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

His hands moved carefully, reverently, sliding the thin slip of my nightdress down my arms. His lips brushed every inch of skin he revealed—shoulder, collarbone, the slope of my breast.

I gasped when his mouth closed around my nipple, when he sucked lightly, then groaned against me.

“I’ve imagined this,” he said, voice shaking. “But nothing compared to this.”

I let my legs fall open as he kissed lower, lower, lips trailing fire across my stomach, down to the soft flesh of my inner thighs. He looked up at me from between them, eyes blazing.

“Let me taste you,” he said. “Let me make you ready.”

I nodded, breathless.

His tongue was hot and wet and perfect, stroking through my folds with devastating patience. My hips bucked against his mouth, and he held me still, fingers gripping my thighs.

I cried out when his tongue flicked over my clit, then circled it, again and again, until I was moaning his name.

When I came, it was sharp and overwhelming, my back arching, body pulsing with pleasure I’d never known. He didn’t stop until I was trembling.

Only then did he climb back up my body, kissing me slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His cock pressed against my thigh—hard, thick, leaking.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, lining himself up. “This will hurt. But I’ll go slow. I’ll make it good for you.”

I held his face, looked him straight in the eye. “I want all of you, Hector.”

He groaned like the sound was being torn from his chest. Then he pressed in.

The first stretch burned, sharp and sudden. My breath hitched. He stilled.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Just breathe, little wolf. That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

He kissed me through it, his thumb stroking my cheek, my hip, as he pushed deeper, slower than I thought possible. My body fought the intrusion, but I wanted it—wanted him—and after a moment, the pain softened into pressure. Heat. Fullness.

When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, we both groaned.

“Fuck,” he choked. “You feel like you were made for me.”

He didn’t move right away—just kissed me, held me, until I shifted my hips in invitation.

“I need you to move.”

He did. Every thrust was slow, deep, and intense. I felt every inch, every drag of his cock inside me, every press of his hips to mine.

The pain was gone—replaced by a steady rise of pleasure. It built with each stroke, each kiss, each filthy word whispered into my skin.

“You’re mine now,” he growled, kissing my throat. “And I’m going to mark you so deep they’ll never touch you again.”

His mouth found the hollow between my neck and shoulder. I was already close again—panting, moaning, my nails digging into his back.

Then I felt his fangs pierce my skin.

The mark lit through me like lightning.

I came the second his teeth sank in—crying out, my body clenching around him. Hector roared as he spilled inside the condom, hips grinding against mine, holding me tight while the bond sealed.

Silver exploded from my chest. Gold flared across his. Magic poured through the room like fire and wind.

The bond locked in place. And for the first time in my life, I felt whole.

It all merged. Pain and pride. Grief and fury. Hope and longing. The bond welded us together with a force stronger than fate.

When the magic faded, I was still in his arms.

Sweat clung to our skin. My thighs trembled from exertion. The sheets beneath us were half-tangled and torn, the air thick with the scent of us.

But we were whole. No longer separate. No longer uncertain.

I lay against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that now matched mine, pulse for pulse. His arms curled around me—protective, possessive, sacred.

He kissed my temple, lips soft and reverent. “So,” he murmured, voice rasped from screaming my name. “We live?”

I pulled back just enough to see him.

His eyes had changed—silver now danced in the gold, like starlight had sunk into the core of him. Mine too, I knew. I could feel it. I was no longer just Lyssira. No longer a Virgin Luna Bride. No longer a rebel hiding her bloodline.

I was Luna-made.

I smiled, slow and certain. “We lead.”