I slammed the bedroom door behind us before I even realized I'd moved. The sound echoed in the hallways of the villa like a gunshot, final and full of something I couldn't name—need, maybe. Hunger. Worship.
Tiffany was downstairs—safe, fed, already passed out in her bedroom with white noise humming through her phone. There were no more excuses. No one left to stop me from falling apart.
But Sera stood by the window.
Back straight. Arms folded. Face calm in that maddening way only she could manage, like she wasn't about to tear me in half just by standing there. Like she wasn't already carved into every inch of me.
She wasn't even looking at me.
It hurt.
It fucking hurt.
I couldn't breathe. Not properly. Not with the bond crawling under my skin like wildfire and venom. Not with her scent in my lungs. Not with her so close, yet untouchable.
Every second without her was a scream in my chest.
So I fell.
To my knees. Right there. On her floor.
I didn't think about it. I just collapsed, like gravity itself bent toward her.
"Sera," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Sera, please…"
She turned slightly, not fully, like even the sight of me like this might break her resolve. Like she didn't trust herself to face me.
"Cass," she said softly. A warning, not unkind. "You need to breathe."
But I couldn't. I couldn't.
My voice cracked. "Please. Just—just touch me. Look at me. Say something."
She turned, finally. Slowly.
The moonlight cut across her face, lighting up the silver in her eyes like frostfire. Beautiful. Ethereal. Untouchable.
"You're not thinking straight," she said again, gentler now. "The bond—"
"This bond is everything," I cut in, desperate. "It's you. It's always been you."
I bowed my head to the floor, palms flat against the hardwood, forehead touching the cold wood like it was an altar. My whole body trembled with restraint I didn't have. "And I don't care if I sound pathetic. I don't care if I have to crawl through hell to be enough for you. Just don't—"
My voice caught.
"Don't make me be away from you."
She was silent. Still.
But I felt her watching me now.
I crawled toward her—hands flat, elbows shaking, heart punching holes through my ribs. My breath was ragged. My body was on fire. My cock was hard, aching, straining like it would tear through my jeans. But this wasn't just lust.
It was worship. It was obsession. It was need in its rawest, most helpless form.
I looked up at her. She looked like a goddess of war, sex and mercy all wrapped into one. And I was just a man—on my knees, undone by her silence.
"I don't deserve you," I breathed. "But I'll spend every breath I have proving I do. I'll serve you. I'll fight for you. I'll die for you."
I reached her feet, kissed the toe of her boot.
Then again.
And again.
She flinched.
Barely.
But I saw it. That crack in her composure. That fragile sliver of hesitation—like my reverence scraped against something vulnerable inside her.
Like it meant something.
My fingers curled gently around her ankle. Not to trap her—never that. Just to anchor myself, to know she was real.
I bowed my head and pressed my lips to the top of her foot like it was sacred. My pulse throbbed against her skin. I was trembling, undone, shattered at her feet.
"I'll kneel for you every day, Sera," I whispered, voice hoarse and raw. "I'll crawl through fire. I'll give up everything. Just say you want me. Please. Please."
Her breath caught.
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
But her heartbeat stuttered—and I felt it in my soul.
The air between us grew dense. Electric. Like the moment before lightning strikes.
Her control cracked.
And in that sliver of silence, that heartbeat of stillness…
I knew.
I wasn't the only one suffering.
---------------------------------------------------
He was on his knees again.
And this time, it wasn't for play.
It was devotion.
Cass closed the door behind him like the world outside had become too loud, too cruel, too full of reminders that he nearly didn't make it. His shoulders were tense. His breathing shallow. He looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this side of death.
My blood. My name. Our bond.
I didn't move. Just leaned against the wall, arms folded, trying not to shake.
Because I remembered it all. The hospital. The way his heart stuttered beneath my hands. The way I ripped open my wrist without hesitation and fed him—my power, my essence, my life. I gave it freely.
And now he was here.
His eyes burned when they met mine. Wild. Worshipful. Wrecked.
"Sera," he breathed.
Just that.
Like a plea. Like a man drowning, whispering the name of the storm that both destroyed and saved him.
Then he dropped. To his knees. Palms flat to the floor like it was sacred ground. Like I was sacred.
I didn't stop him when he crawled to me. When his mouth touched the top of my foot. Then my ankle. His lips moved over my skin with reverence, not desperation.
He was silent until he wasn't.
"Tell me it wasn't just survival," he rasped. "Tell me I didn't dream the way your blood felt in my veins. That it wasn't just instinct."
"It wasn't." My voice barely made it out. "It was me."
His eyes fluttered closed. A breath caught in his throat like it hurt to hold so much emotion.
"Then I'm yours," he said. "I want to be yours."
"You already are."
I reached down, fingers threading into his hair, guiding him up. He stood slowly, his shirt brushing against my skin as I pulled him closer. He was still trembling.
"You almost died," I whispered.
"I didn't," he murmured, lifting my hand and kissing the inside of my wrist. "Because you didn't let me."
My pulse jumped beneath his lips — the same place he drank from, the same vein that sealed the bond. He wasn't even turned, not yet. But somehow, we were linked. I could feel him now. His need. His ache. His devotion.
I swallowed hard. My hands curled into his shirt.
"I should make you beg," I said softly. "Make you prove you're strong enough to stay mine."
"I will." His voice cracked. "Again and again."
I laughed — low, dark, fond. "I should punish you… for scaring me."
"Do it," he whispered.
So I did.
I kissed him — not to break him, but to claim him. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. His mouth opened beneath mine like he'd been waiting his whole life to be devoured.
I walked him backward toward the bed.
Stripped him slowly.
Tasted the new scars along his chest like they were sacred verses written just for me.
When I pushed him onto the sheets, he reached for me like I was salvation.
"You don't belong to yourself anymore," I told him, climbing over his hips. "You're mine."
"Yes," he breathed.