This was nothing like that.
This was Frosted Tears concentrated and layered, anointed across warm skin, mixed with the natural scent of a female who was already imprinted on his instincts so deeply he couldn’t imagine a world without her. The fragrance curled around him like smoke, sinking into his lungs with every breath untilhe could taste it on his tongue—sweetness and warmth and something uniquely Elsa beneath it all.
His claws flexed against the obsidian doorframe. The beast inside him strained against its chains, howling for release.
Not yet. Not yet.
And at the center of it all stood Elsa.
She wore the ceremonial garments he’d given her—the white winter layers that hugged her form, the boots made for running through snow. Her hair had been braided with thin silver chains that caught the Lux Tear light. And draped across her shoulders, bright as fresh blood against the pale fabric, hung the crimson cape with its deep hood.
Now he understood why she’d described herself as Red Riding Hood walking into the wolf’s den.
Except she wasn’t walking in.
She was waiting for him.
“Sylas.” His name on her lips, steady despite the nerves he felt flickering through the bond. Her chin lifted, that stubborn defiance he’d come to crave. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind.”
He moved before conscious thought could intervene, crossing the chamber in three strides that felt more like prowling than walking. Her breath caught as he stopped inches from her, close enough that her scent washed over him in waves, flooding his senses until the world narrowed to nothing but her.
“Never.” The word scraped out of him. “I will never change my mind about you.”
Her hand lifted to his chest, pressing flat against the fur over his heart. Through the bond, he felt her steadying herself—drawing strength from the contact, from the thrum of his pulse beneath her palm.
“The Sabers told me what happens next.” Her voice was quiet but clear. “You take in my essence. And then…”
“And then I hunt you.”
She didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze with those winter-sky eyes that had undone him from the first moment she’d dared to meet them.
“Then do it.”
Sylas’s control fractured at the edges.
He leaned in slowly—giving her time to pull away, to change her mind, to realize the enormity of what she was agreeing to. She didn’t move. Just tilted her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat where the Frosted Tears oil glistened against her skin.
Offering herself.
A sound escaped him—low, rough, barely controlled. His muzzle brushed the line of her jaw, tracking down to the place where her pulse beat strongest. The scent hit him like a physical blow, flooding his system with something that bypassed thought entirely and landed straight in his instincts.
Mate. Hunt. Claim. Keep.
He inhaled deeply, drawing her essence into his lungs, letting it burn through his blood and sear itself into his bones. The world tilted. Sharpened. The golden-teal glow of the Luna room intensified until everything glowed with predatory clarity, every detail of her burned into his awareness with crystalline precision.
The lock snapped into place.
He could feel her now in ways he hadn’t before—not just through the bond, but in his very marrow. If she ran to the edge of the world, he would find her. If she hid in darkness, he would hunt her. If she screamed or whispered or breathed, he would know.
There was no escaping this. No escaping him.
Not that she wanted to.
Sylas forced himself to pull back, his eyes finding hers. He knew what she would see—pupils blown wide, the cyan of his irises swallowed by hunger, his expression stripped of every civilized mask he’d ever worn.
The beast, staring back.
But Elsa didn’t recoil. Didn’t tremble. Instead, something fierce lit in her expression—a mirror to his own intensity.