The Lycan King's Exiled True Mate

Thor

rable line of my throat. His hot, ragged breath ghosted across my skin, a promise of the violation

omething that would break through the haze of drug and instinct that consumed him. My father's lessons, drilled into me since I was a child, surfaced from the dep

going to

m; it was a lunge *toward* him. I drove my hands up, not to push at his chest, but to tangle m

urged upward, crashin

ision of teeth and lips. I tasted the metallic tang of blood-his

me. He had expected me to fight, to cry, to beg. He had not, in any reality, expected this. My attack,

d nothing to do with fear or violence. It was a thousand tiny explosions, a cascade of sparks that lit up every nerve ending in

ient. It w

It wasn't a growl of fury I felt, but a roar

absolute certainty, echoed in th

te?* I felt his shock, his utter, horrified disbelief. How could this be? How c

ad spin. I didn't understand what it was, but I knew, with a primal certaint

the flames; I had thr

It was immediately consumed by a deeper, more possessive instinct. If I was his Ma

thread of his hu

ult. It was a raw, bruising claiming. It was savage and desperate, fil

d to pull back, to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mount

inst his chest as he strode from the antechamber into the main bedroom. There was

art, a wild rhythm that matched my own. His scent, that intoxicating sme

the impossibly soft furs, sinking into them. He followed, his

e lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear. His voice was a raw, ragged

o eager, I'll g