Semua Bab A Different Kind of Alpha: Blood Oath: Bab 91 - Bab 100

AlexeiI wake up to Kieran pretending to still be asleep.He’s curled on his side, back to me, shoulders tense in a way they weren’t when he knocked out last night. His breathing is too measured. Every few inhales there’s a tiny hitch, like he’s waiting to see if I’ve noticed he’s awake.I stretch, slow and deliberate, one arm sliding over his waist, my hand splaying across his stomach. The skin is warm. He goes rigid for half a heartbeat, then forces himself to relax.

KieranBy midday, I’m ready to abdicate in favor of a reasonably competent tree.The morning starts badly and then decides that’s a theme.First, a messenger arrives from the eastern border with a report that is essentially “we saw tracks, maybe Redmaw, maybe a very organized herd of deer, please advise.” Then the kitchen runs low on salt because a wagon got stuck in a ravine. Then an elder co

AlexeiKieran is on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair a dark, damp mess. One leg sprawls across my thigh, toes hooked against my calf like he anchored himself in his sleep and forgot to let go.The sheet has slipped low on his hips, pooled just at the swell of his delectable ass. His back is a map. My map.I take inventory in the dim morning light. The marks are spectacular. A deep, blooming purple across his left shoulder blade where my hand gripped him, my fingerprints a perfect, possessive stamp.

KieranHe doesn't give me time to think. He starts to fuck, his rhythm deep and punishing. He’s not making love right now, he’s erasing. He’s pounding the day out of me. Every thrust is a declaration, pushing the air from my lungs, driving the ghosts from my head.“Yes,” he pants, his hips slamming down. “Take my cock. Take all of it. You’re so fucking good, Kieran. So tight for me. Whose are you?”“Yours!” I shout, my voice breaking. “

KieranThe howl comes while I’m arguing with an invoice.It cuts through the keep like a blade, high and sharp and wrong. Not a hunting call. Not a greeting. An alert.My quill drops, splattering ink across the ledger and a second later, Marcus is at my door.“Eastern ridge,” he says, already half-shifted. “Patrol caught a scent that doesn’t belong.”