Chapter 23: Lukas

I left Amelia on the balcony, the taste of victory still fresh in my mouth. Victoria's execution had sealed what the claiming bite had started – my mate had witnessed wolf justice delivered in her name and hadn't flinched. When I returned to our chambers at ten, the scent of bath oils and warm water greeted me, drawing me to the bathroom door. She sat submerged to her shoulders, copper hair darkened by water, piled atop her head in a messy knot. Her eyes closed, throat exposed, vulnerable in a way she'd never allowed before. Ares stirred immediately, his hunger a constant pressure beneath my skin.

'Tonight,' he growled, the word reverberating through our shared consciousness. 'No more waiting.'

For once, we were in perfect agreement. I'd been patient – far more patient than my reputation would suggest possible. I'd given her time to heal, to adjust, to accept her new reality. But the execution had changed something in her. I'd seen it in her eyes as Victoria's blood stained the hem of her dress. Acceptance. Perhaps even satisfaction.

I removed my formal shirt, draping it over a chair as I watched her through the partially open door. Steam rose from the bath, curling around her slender form like possessive fingers. My fingers. Soon.

She must have sensed my presence, for her eyes opened, meeting mine in the mirror across the room. Neither of us spoke. None of my usual eloquence seemed necessary when the mate bond hummed between us, carrying my intentions more clearly than words ever could.

I waited, my back against the doorframe, as she rose from the water. Rivulets cascaded down her body, tracing paths I intended to follow with my mouth, my hands, my teeth. She reached for a towel, patting her skin dry with methodical movements that felt deliberately slow, perhaps her final act of defiance before the inevitable. I allowed her this small rebellion, my patience extending just that far and no further.

When she wrapped herself in the thick robe hanging nearby – my robe, marked with my monogram over the heart – something primal shifted in my chest. Mine. The sight of her in my clothing, surrounded by my scent, awakened something beyond Ares's usual possessiveness. A tenderness that felt foreign yet undeniable.

She emerged from the bathroom, hesitating briefly when she saw me waiting. The robe swallowed her smaller frame, the sleeves falling past her fingertips, the hem dragging slightly on the floor. Her hair hung damp around her shoulders, copper darkened to rust in its wetness. She looked younger, more vulnerable, and yet somehow stronger than she had in the throne room hours earlier.

"Lukas," she said, my name a question, though she already knew the answer.

I crossed the room in three strides, closing the distance between us. My hand rose to her face, thumb brushing across her lower lip in a gesture that was both tender and possessive. "Tonight," I said, the word carrying all the weight of my intentions.

She nodded, a single, quick movement that might have been resignation or acceptance or perhaps even anticipation. The mate bond carried conflicting emotions – nervousness, curiosity, fear, desire – all tangled together like a knot I intended to unravel with my hands and mouth and body.

My fingers found the belt of the robe, tugging the knot free with deliberate slowness. The heavy fabric parted, revealing a glimpse of pale skin beneath. I pushed the robe from her shoulders, watching as it slid down her arms to pool at her feet, leaving her naked before me.

Her hands rose instinctively to cover herself, one arm across her breasts, the other dropping lower to shield her most intimate place from my gaze. A girl's modesty, at odds with the queen who had watched an execution without flinching.

"Never hide from me, little luna," I said, gently but firmly capturing her wrists and drawing her arms away from her body. "Not any part of you. You are mine to see. Mine to touch. Mine to know."

Color bloomed across her skin – not just her cheeks, but her throat, her chest – a flush of embarrassment or arousal or both. I released her wrists to cup her breasts, feeling their perfect weight in my palms, the way they filled my hands as if made for them. Her breath hitched as I squeezed gently, thumbs brushing across nipples that hardened at my touch.

'Perfect,' Ares growled, pressing closer to the surface of my consciousness. 'Our mate. Our Queen.'

I walked her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed, never breaking contact, my hands learning the contours of her body with possessive thoroughness. When I turned her to face away from me, her hands braced automatically against the mattress, her body bending at the waist in perfect submission. The position exposed her to my gaze – the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal that contradicted any lingering reluctance.

I freed myself from the confines of my pants, the cool air a momentary shock against heated flesh. When I pressed against her entrance, one hand gripping her hip to hold her steady, I felt her tense in anticipation or apprehension or both.

"Breathe, little luna," I murmured, my voice rougher than intended. "This will hurt, but only for a moment."

I entered her with careful restraint, aware of her virginity, the tightness of her body as it struggled to accommodate me. Her sharp intake of breath, the trembling in her thighs, the way her fingers clutched at the bedcovers – all signs of her discomfort that I noted and then pushed past. This claiming was necessary, inevitable, written in our very blood.

Then Ares surged forward, seizing control with a violence that surprised even me. A red mist descended over my vision as my hips snapped forward, burying myself to the hilt in a single brutal thrust. The barrier of her innocence gave way beneath the force of my claim, her cry of pain lost beneath Ares's triumphant howl in my mind.

'MINE! MINE! MINE!'