“Mine,” I growled against her skin.
I found the sensitive pulse of her bonding gland, right where her neck met her shoulder. I didn’t sink my teeth in. I couldn’t, not without binding us forever in a way she hadn’t consented to. But I scraped my teeth over the swollen skin, letting the raw energy of my House flood into her.
Andie cried out, her inner muscles clamping down on me in a violent, spasming rhythm. The sensation of her unraveling destroyed my last shred of control. I groaned and poured myself into her, my release tearing through me like a lightning strike.
The force of my climax brought the knot tearing to the surface. Deep inside her slick heat, my cock violently thickened, swelling hard and fast. My knot stretched her impossibly wide and lock us together in a crushing, inescapable tie.
We collapsed together, our hearts beating a frantic, synchronized tattoo against our ribs. The silence of the orchard rushed back in, heavy and thick. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. The knot fiercely anchored my hips to hers, forcing us to share every jagged breath.
I pulled back slightly and looked at her neck. Where I had grazed her gland, a mark had formed. It was a branching scar of pure white light, glowing softly against her flushed skin. The temporary claim. A lightning rod to ground the madness.
Andie blinked, her eyes clearing. The feral look was gone, replaced by a terrifying lucidity. She looked up at me, breathlessand disheveled. For the first time in months, she sawme. Not the enemy. Not the curse. Just the man who was holding her.
Her lip trembled. The anger had drained away, leaving only a hollow vulnerability.
“Alexander,” she whispered, her hand coming up to touch my cheek, her fingers trembling. “Stay with me. I’m scared.”
The fear in her voice cut deeper than her rage ever could. I kissed her forehead, pulling her tightly against my chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Andie,” I murmured into her hair. “Never.”
It was a lie, and we both knew it.
Tomorrow, the glow on her neck would fade. The clarity would dissolve back into paranoia. Tomorrow, she’d turn me away. Tomorrow, she’d look at me with hatred again, seeing only the monster who had forced himself into her life.
But just for today, I wanted to pretend. I wanted to pull her underneath my skin and make myself believe that, maybe, just maybe, I could be the Alpha she deserved. That I could be the harbor, not the storm.
Somewhere in the distance, a peacock screamed, a mocking sound that echoed through the pillars of the Heraion. Hera was laughing at me. She knew, like I did, that I didn’t have a chance.
12
An Offer from the Ocean
Andie
There were few things I hated more than the knowledge of my own lack of control. I’d hated it back home, when the Olympian world had threatened everything I’d always worked for. I hated it even more now, when the infection seemed to be coming from my own veins.
It had been two days since Alexander had visited. Two days, and I still didn’t understand what had made me surrender to him.
The path to the oldest House Hera altar wound upward through twisted olive trees. I’d discovered it yesterday while the priestesses thought I was resting. Hiding under countlessgnarled branches, the crumbling stone stairway was half-reclaimed by wild thyme and rosemary. But it had all beckoned to me, anyway.
The ruins appeared suddenly as the path crested. Weathered marble columns stood sentinel around a simple stone platform, untouched by any kind of modern renovations. This was Hera’s altar as it had existed millennia ago, before marble temples and golden statues. Raw. Ancient. Real.
I stopped at the edge of the sacred space, my fingers trailing along stone worn smooth by countless hands.
“We are the daughters of the First Queen, dearest.”
Mother’s voice came to me, crystalline in my memory. I’d been seven, maybe eight, young enough to still believe in fairy tales, old enough to sense the weight behind her words. We’d been in her private study, surrounded by old books and older artifacts. She’d shown me a painting: Hera enthroned, peacocks at her feet, her expression neither kind nor cruel.
“What does that mean, Mother?”I’d asked.
She’d smiled then, a sad, knowing curve of her lips that I hadn’t understood until years later.
“It means we are fortunate. Though we are Omegas, we are stronger than any Alpha can ever hope to be. But we must never forget that strength comes at a price.”
I’d thought she meant our positions on the Council. Our ability to manipulate bonds, to shape the very connections that defined Olympian society. Political power wrapped in an Omega’s skin, defying every expectation the world held for us.
But even then, she’d known it. She’d been all too aware of the curse lying dormant in my blood, waiting for the right catalyst, the right moment to strike.
A flash of iridescent color caught my eye, snapping me from my thoughts.