Marked by Three: A Fated Destiny Series Book 1 #starywritingacademyv

The Guard

John

From the moment I stepped into her classroom, I knew.

Katie.

The name always lands like a gut punch — a thread of fate coiled tightly around my ribs, tightening each time I get close. She smiled politely that day, shook my hand, and thanked me for being there. She didn’t know me. But her soul? Her soul always does.

She thinks she’s just a woman — tired, middle-aged, quietly drowning in student debt and secondhand shoes. But she’s Regalia. A daughter of the old blood. A hidden flame in a world full of dim light.

And me?

I’m her Guard. Bound by ancient oath. Built to shield her from things that want her gone.

But what I wasn’t built for — what no training ever prepared me for — was her.

The way she looked at me when the door shut behind us.

That wasn’t the look of a protected. That was the look of a woman who was finally seen.

It was Saturday. I brought food as an excuse. I needed to be near her, to watch the flicker of memory trying to wake up behind those tired eyes. She opened the door and said, “I thought you should come in.” I stepped inside and the air between us shifted. Something old stirred.

I should’ve left.

I didn’t.

She touched my shirt — lightly, like she didn’t believe I was real.

And for a moment, neither did I.

When I kissed her, it wasn’t soft.

It was centuries of restraint snapping like dry twine. Her mouth opened to mine and I devoured her — not just with lips, but with memory. Her taste pulled something buried to the surface. Lives we’d lived. Deaths I’d seen. Versions of her I’d held, and versions I’d lost.

She didn’t know that.

But I did.

When she whispered, “Here,” instead of “upstairs,” something primal uncoiled inside me.

I backed her to the hallway wall, kissing her like she was breath after drowning. My hands gripped her hips, my thigh sliding between hers to feel the heat building through her leggings. Her body responded like it had been waiting just as long as mine.

Her bra came off — one-handed, by instinct. Her breasts spilled into my palms like they belonged there. I took my time, tasting her skin, alternating between pleasure and reverence. She arched into me, and I swore I could hear echoes — faint, ancient hums of the bond reawakening.

Then I knelt.

She flinched. Embarrassed. Beautiful.

“Don’t hide from me, Katie,” I whispered.

She didn’t. And when my mouth met her, I damn near came undone.

She was sweet. Warm. Wild beneath my tongue. I worshipped her like the altar she was. Every cry, every shake of her thighs — I felt it. Not just in body. In soul. When she climaxed, it was like something broke loose. A wall. A barrier. A seal.

I held her as she trembled, carrying her to the couch. I brushed the hair from her face, kissed her temple, and whispered, “I need to be inside you.”

She pulled me down. “Please.”

When I entered her, I saw stars. Not metaphor. Actual stars.

My control frayed. My magic spiked. The bond thrummed in my blood like thunder.

She rode me first — slow, fierce, grounded in her own rhythm. She was beautiful. Unfiltered. She owned every movement like a woman who didn’t yet realize she was royalty.

Then I turned her.

I cupped her breasts in my mouth, kissing each one, moving slow. I didn’t want to rush. I wanted her to remember this when the storm came.

And when I made love to her — not just f****d her, but really made love to her — she moaned my name like a vow. I buried my face in her neck, holding her like she might vanish if I let go.

She came again.

So did I — teeth clenched, body locked, eyes flashing…

Gold.

Just for a moment.

Her head was tilted back. She didn’t see it.

But the bond did.

It’s waking now. So is she.

And I’m not sure which of us is going to survive it.