Wings Of Fire Moon And Winter Mating の小説・ストーリー

I guide her from Sarn's territory and lead her home. "Your thing is sticking out," she says in an impish voice. I've been fighting my need since we left. No more. If she wants me, who am I to deny my mate? I rise higher and she flies ahead of me slightly. Coming from above her, I curl my front claws at the seam where her wings meet her back. I push down while flapping my wings so we land with only a slight jolt. I rise up and clamp my back legs around hers. In dragon form, I take my mate. Her cries of pleasure push through my mind. Our bodies still glow and when we explode into flames this time, the purest of dragon fire lights the sky for miles.

The whispers. The accusations. The years of rejection. It all crashed together in one overwhelming wave. Her breathing quickened. “I didn’t do anything,” she said softly. But her voice trembled. Maris scoffed. “Of course you didn’t.” The sarcasm cut deep. And suddenly— The air shifted. Silver’s emotions surged beyond her control. A pulse of energy burst outward from her chest. The torches surrounding the clearing flickered violently. The massive bonfire at the center crackled as flames whipped sideways in a sudden gust of wind.

he says the word with contempt, and I lose the war with holding in a less nervous giggle. “We have something far more important. Most supernatural creatures do. For us, the Moon Goddess bestows every wolf a fated mate. It’s the other half of our soul. The person you can’t live without. Most wolves are mated to other wolves, but a mate can be any other living soul,” he says, his voice filled with a sadness, longing, and vulnerability I don’t understand. “I was given my mate a long time ago,” he begins, and just when I think he won’t say more, he continues.

And when they caught her, they’d claim her all over again. The snow bore the evidence of their dance—paw prints tangled together, scattered with the wildness of lust. Steam rose from their bodies as they mated on frozen ground, in shadowed clearings, against tree trunks. And the moon watched. Silent. Silver. Witness to their carnal frenzy. By the fourth round, her legs trembled so badly she could hardly stand. Her fur was soaked with sweat and snow. Her body throbbed everywhere—used, marked, loved.

A handful of his wolves waited there—eyes sharp, postures disciplined, nothing like the wild chaos the alphas imagined. Hale stepped into the center of the clearing, his voice carrying low but steady. “She’s the key,” he told them. “The Moonfire bloodline didn’t die with the old Alpha. It’s standing in Crescent territory right now. And if Cael doesn’t mark her, she’ll be vulnerable. To doubt. To mistrust. To us.” One of the wolves, an older male with silver streaking his muzzle, stepped forward. “And when she is?” Hale’s copper eyes gleamed in the firelight.

Into memories that weren’t hers. --- She saw a field of golden flame. Two wolves—one silver, one midnight black—circling each other in an endless dance. The silver wolf howled, and the flames parted. From within them, a child was born. Not just of wolf blood… but of something more. She saw visions of herself, walking through fire without burning. Of her child, eyes glowing with both the moon and the sun. Then the vision changed. The Wyrm, massive and serpentine, loomed behind the child, its mouth stretching open as if to consume.

It narrowed. “When?” she asked. “This afternoon.” Rhea looked past Lysa toward the window. The ceremonial courtyard lay below the eastern side of the Alpha wing, its black stones half-visible between the high walls and silver-leaf trees. She remembered standing there beside Maddox after their public mating ceremony, remembered the pack pressing close to offer blessings, remembered his hand warm at her back while he leaned down and whispered that if one more elder praised her breeding potential, he would start a war before dessert.

The puncture was sharp, deep, and fiercely possessive. The moment their blood intermingled, a violent, cataclysmic shockwave tore through Valarian's entire anatomy. The chemical and spiritual fusion of a scout's primordial instinct and a hearth witch’s raw, elemental fire ignited like a dry forest under a lightning strike. The mating frenzy seized him completely, wiping out every remaining ounce of his strategic restraint.