My palm settles against the slight swell of her belly, and I watch with fierce satisfaction as I move in and out of her, proof that I’ve conquered her in the most primal, intimate way possible. She’s my masterpiece, my creation, and she’s utterly and entirely perfect.
“We’re going to reshape the world,” I promise as my gaze returns to hers, savoring the feeling of her body tightening around mine. “You, me, and our child—everyone else will kneel or fall at our feet.”
“I don’t need the world,” she gasps, her hazel eyes locked with mine, her cheeks flushed in a way that should only ever be seen by me. “I only need you. I only loveyou.”
Her words detonate within me, driving me brutally near the edge. And as release claims us both, our magic explodes outward, wind whipping around us as ice races across the ground, crystallizing in jagged spikes that shatter a moment later.
She has no idea how achingly beautiful she is as every ounce of my darkness and devotion spills out of me and into her.
As we lie tangled together afterward, her head resting on my chest, I trace idle patterns along the curve of her stomach. The sight of it sends a fresh wave of need surging through me, urging me to claim her repeatedly until every trace of the outside world is wiped from her mind.
I’m moments away from succumbing again when a low growl from the edge of the clearing yanks me back to reality.
Nyx, my jaguar, paces restlessly, her golden eyes glinting in a clear message: duty awaits, despite my dark desires.
“The ceremony,” Zoey murmurs, pressing a kiss to my chest before rising.
I stand with her, unable to tear my eyes from her body. She’s the perfect blend of deadly grace and life-giving power. My soulmate. The mother of my child. My gift from the gods. My greatest vulnerability and my most treasured creation.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I say, my voice deceptively calm as we move to the pile of our clothes and put them back on. Because each step away from our secluded alcove makes my jaw tighten and my muscles coil with barely contained resentment.Every fiber of my being demands I pull her back into the darkness, beyond the reach of anyone other than me.
But reluctantly, I walk with her and Nyx down a winding path through the forest, toward the Blood Coven’s new headquarters.
The Victorian mansion looms against the night sky, its spires and turrets reaching like skeletal fingers toward the stars. Once, this place was forgotten, a crumbling relic of a time long past. Now, it’s transformed into something powerful, worthy of the creatures who dwell within.
Together, Zoey and I enter the mansion’s grand foyer, its polished wood floors and silver chandeliers casting light across velvet-draped walls. Dozens of black candles flicker throughout the space, and at the center, an obsidian altar looms, reflective and cold, like a twisted mirror of the darkness inside me.
Every head turns, every gaze locking on us.
My arm slides around Zoey’s waist, pulling her against me as I survey the gathering.
Benjamin stands near a table of ancient texts. Tristan and Willow converse in low voices near the fireplace. Morgan stands near the altar with her boyfriend Blaze, wearing the cloak she never seems to take off, making her look every inch the mysterious witch she is. Zara arranges ceremonial daggers on a silver tray, and Evelyn, Amber’s grandmother, watches everyone with calculating eyes that tend to go unnoticed against her aging skin.
But it’s the two figures flanking the far wall that draw my attention. The Nightmare Weaver and Night Keeper, fellow night fae who have survived centuries in hiding. They’re the ones who connected the Blood Coven to the Night Court, who started to forge the alliance that would never grow to exist.
“Prince Aerix,” the Nightmare Weaver says, his voice like silk sliding over steel. “Princess Zoey.” His eyes linger on her swollen belly, fascination glittering openly within them. “Thechild grows strong. I can sense its power even from here, as it dreams inside your womb.”
Ice crackles beneath my skin at the thought of this man sensing something as intimate as my soulmate’swomb,my instincts roaring at me to reach for my dagger and drive it into the space between his eyes before he has time to speak another word.
Instead, I tighten my grip around Zoey, a silent warning that everyone present understands.
No one touches her. No one approaches without permission. These rules have been made clear from the day we arrived, and every member of the Blood Coven has respected my command.
Still, I watch carefully, alert for even the faintest threat of disrespect,prepared to eliminate anyone who so much as thinks to harm the woman who carries my child and anchors my sanity.
The Revenant Mother,they call her in whispers.The one who will help us claim the world.
“They all adore you,” I murmur against her ear, the pride swelling in my chest mixing with the urge to gouge out their eyes for simply looking at her.
Her hand drifts to her stomach. “They worship what I carry.”
“As they should.” I lean closer, my lips grazing her temple. “But always remember that their devotion pales to mine.”
“Would you ever let me forget?” she asks with the coy smile that always takes my breath away.
“Not even if the gods demanded it,” I confess quietly. “I wouldn’t be capable.”
Her eyes blaze with intensity, and I brace myself for the possibility that maybe, someday, she’ll change her mind and want to forget. That she’ll try to run as far away from me as she can.
