Stormborn
1163 Words
Varek’s POV
The door slammed behind me harder than I meant it to.
I didn’t care.
My veins were molten, my lungs raw from the argument with my father, my mind spiraling with things I didn’t yet understand.
But her scent—
Gods, her scent hit me the second I stepped inside. Wild rose. Rain-drenched earth. Steam wafted from the far end of the suite, and I heard the faintest ripple of water. My boots were silent on the stone floor, but I knew she heard me. I could feel it through the bond.
And when I turned the corner, I saw her.
She was in the bath. Steam curled around her bare shoulders, light flickering off beads of water on her skin. Her back was to me, but she turned—fast—eyes wide, instinct curling in her posture as she crossed her arms over her chest.
I froze mid-step.
"Varek?" Her voice cracked—half startled, half furious. “You can’t just walk in.”
My fists clenched at my sides. I was barely breathing.
“You left the door open.”
Her mouth parted, stunned. “I didn’t think you’d come barging in like you own the place.”
“I do,” I growled. “Every stone of this realm bends to my bloodline. But that’s not why I’m here.”
She rose slightly from the bath, enough to grab a towel from the side, and wrapped it around herself like a shield. Like she had something to hide from me.
The thought snapped something in my chest.
“Don’t cover yourself.”
She stood frozen, the towel clutched tight. Her cheeks were flushed—not from the heat.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
The words were sharp. Cut clean. Her eyes glittered.
“I should have locked the damn door,” she muttered.
“And I would’ve broken it down.”
She glared. “That supposed to impress me?”
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s supposed to tell you how far gone I am.”
She paused, breathing hard. “You’re unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She stepped out of the bath, still wrapped in the towel, still furious.
“You can’t show up here like nothing happened. Like yesterday didn’t happen.”
I stepped closer.
“I didn’t forget yesterday.”
“You acted like you did,” she hissed. “You acted like I was a mistake.”
“You were,” I said.
The silence that followed felt like a gut punch. Her jaw dropped slightly, her throat tightening as she tried to swallow the sting.
I stepped closer, and she backed away.
“You think I wanted this?” I snapped. “You think I asked for a mate that turns my blood inside out?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and I hated myself for it.
“You said you fought the bond,” she whispered. “That you dreamed of me. And then the moment I let my guard down—”
“I warned you what I am.”
“You warned me that you were dangerous,” she said, her voice shaking. “Not that you were cruel.”
That landed.
I flinched. She saw it.
But I was too far gone to stop now.
“I spent my life training to be the blade at my father's back. I was made for war, not this.”
“Then don’t touch me like I’m yours,” she snapped. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t carry me across mountains and beg me to trust you. You can’t have it both ways.”
I swallowed. My throat felt like broken glass.
“You’re my mate,” I said. “It’s not about choice.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re choosing to hate me?”
I took another step forward. She didn’t move this time. Just stood there, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling under the towel.
I stopped inches from her.
And stared.
“You’re hiding from me,” I said. “You’ve been hiding since the beginning.”
She frowned. “What—”
“You never shifted with your old pack. Your wolf—she wasn’t suppressed. She was hiding. Just like you’re hiding from me now.”
Her eyes flashed gold for a second. Nyra stirred.
“And now,” I said, stepping closer still, “you’re hiding your body. Your bond. Everything I’m supposed to claim. Why?”
She opened her mouth.
Didn’t answer.
I didn’t give her another chance.
I reached out, grabbed her hips, and lifted her.
She gasped as I carried her—towel and all—across the suite. She beat her fists against my chest once. Twice. Then stopped. Because the bond pulsed between us, hot and unrelenting.
I laid her down on the bed.
She looked up at me, flushed, breathless, angry.
“I’m still mad at you,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said, pulling the towel loose.
“And I’m not going to forgive you easily.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
My mouth claimed hers before she could argue further.
This time—there was no hesitation. No pretense.
I kissed her like I needed her to breathe. Like I was drowning in everything I couldn’t say. Her hands found my hair, my shoulders, my back—pulling me closer. My weight pressed her into the sheets.
She parted her legs for me without words, and I fit there like I belonged.
My mouth trailed down her throat, her collarbone, to the dip between her breasts.
“Mine,” I growled.
She moaned.
I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other sliding between her thighs. She was already soaked.
I didn’t rush.
I worshipped.
I teased her until she arched, until she cursed, until she whispered my name like a prayer.
When I finally entered her—slow, deep, full—she gasped, back arching like a bow.
Her walls clenched around me, hot and perfect.
We moved together like fire, like ruin. The bed groaned beneath us. The room echoed with her cries, her gasps, the sound of skin and hunger and need.
When she came, she shattered beneath me—her body convulsing, her breath breaking.
I followed, my growl buried in her neck as I spilled inside her, the bond locking tighter than before.
I collapsed beside her, both of us panting.
And for a while—there was silence.
Then, softly—“You didn’t answer my question.”
I turned my head.
“What question?”
“Why are you afraid of me?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t have the words yet.
All I knew… was that she was becoming everything I didn’t know I needed.
And I didn’t know how to protect her from what came next.
- Writer
