𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 (𝟏) | 𝟏𝟖+

xlviii. shift.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That's how she feels at this very moment in time, desperately trying to find a way to contort her magic to make the feeling last forever. For her entire life she's built these walls around her, fortifying them to be impenetrable. That is, until she collided with his. He knocked those walls down and built a castle, crowning himself as ruler.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With her chest heaving with a need for oxygen, she finally manages to open her eyes, only to be met with the firefly glow of her mate. He's breathtaking as he lifts his body from her on rippling forearms, his black wings fluttering with delight as he places the softest kiss upon her lips. Her fingertips find his chest, tracing runes and scars before she forces him to end it so she can gasp for air.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His lips quirk upward. "So damn breathless."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Down the bond, he shoots an image of herself down to her end, a replica of her flushed cheeks and mess of maroon hair while flakes of dried blood drip down her neck and shoulder from his claim. She's out of breath, whipped from his constant need to be inside her. He looks like he could go another round, still famished from their union.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He begins to contort her legs so she stretches for him again. "Gods, I can't. I need to be able to walk."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow stops. A wolfish whimper comes from him, and she rolls her eyes. At the end of the day, Morrow's still dominantly were, still governed by basic wolf instincts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎You don't need to walk, he assures through the mind-link. I can take care of you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," she narrows her silver gaze, letting soft leashes of her magic cascade up his forearms. He observes with awe as the light ripples through his veins until she ends her small show of power. He reluctantly releases her legs and lies down beside her, nuzzling into her bare shoulder.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Rest up," he murmurs, "because you know my wolf will want only one thing when the sun rises."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With a quick kiss to her crown, he pulls away from the bed and stands up, his whole bare anatomy visible in the moonlight. Morrow might be all hard edges that mimic daggers and knives, but behind closed doors, he's everything that she could've ever fantasised about. There's so much about him that she adores, and yet there's parts of him that remain a mystery.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She shoots a quick message down their bond as he walks the room. Spin for me.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A growl echoes through the bedroom as he stops midstep. I don't spin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎One dance? she purrs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow runs a veined hand through his sweat-slickened charcoal locks. A perfect lost curl falls across his forehead, yearning to be combed back into his windswept tousles. Even in the shadows that his midnight wings create, he's still a menacing light that lures her ever closer.