Page 62 of Claimed

The truth is there’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to him. I am his entirely, and always will be. I was his before I knew who he was, and I will be his until death and beyond.

“You’re going to be my sweet little bride,” he snarls, pumping my ass hard. “You’re going to be my well-fucked, well-bred, entirely owned, and sometimes even obedient wife.”

“Yes!” I cry out as he snarls and growls and fucks me to completion, sliding my hand underneath my body to rub my clit desperately so I can come with him as he lets out a roar ofdominance and fills me up, his cock making that fist-sized knot inside my poor ass.

We are trapped together in the aftermath of my anal punishment. Alexei cradles me close, kissing the back of my neck where he bit me, showing me tenderness after the rough ravaging. I curl back against him, my ass aching and my heart feeling full.

Slowly, he slips from me as the knot subsides. Only then am I able to roll around and face him.

I look at Alexei with more than a little curiosity. I feel much better. I feel absolved of whatever guilt was lingering in my body for my actions in the whole affair. I wonder if he feels the same. No. An alpha can never truly be absolved of responsibility. His position means he must bear guilt for everything forever. He is the shield standing between us all and the world at large.

I want to make things easier for him from now on. He doesn’t need more trouble. He never has. And he is still feeling the loss of his brother and Elena. They may not be gone forever, but they are still gone in a sense.

That was the result of their own actions, but their actions were a result of my actions, and really life is just a series of consequences, isn’t it? I wish they were all as enjoyable as the bedroom repercussions.

“What is it, Anya?”

“Are we really getting married, or did you just say that during sex?”

“We are really getting married.”

“Dom will be pleased.”

“I will be pleased,” he growls. “And that is all that matters. We are going to put all of this behind us, Anya. We are going to live good, sane, sensible lives going forward. We are going to get married and have babies, and we are going to grow old…”

“You’ve already done quite a bit of that,” I point out encouragingly.

He lifts a brow at me. “Attitude, now?”

“I mean…” I try to hide my smile, but quite fail. “I was just teasing.”

“This is a serious matter, Anya. We will have whelps of our own, an entire litter, and we will raise them to be good and true.”

I listen to Alexei talk, and I know he means what he is saying. I know all he wants for me, for himself, and for the pack is a happy, full life replete with family.

But I know darkness lingers in me. I know I am touched by a curse that will never entirely leave me. And I know that Alexei will forever be helping me resist it. I am not good as he is. I am not upright and proper. I am a problem.

“Why do you not look happy, Anya? Do you not want to get married?”

“Of course I want to get married. Everybody wants to get married,” I say with a smile.

Alexei comes to me, goes down on his knee, and looks me very seriously in the eye. He is a big, strong, serious man and I find myself appreciating that very much in the moment.

“If you do not want to be married, you do not have to be. You are my mate. That is enough for me. But I think we should do everything we can to…”

“Be more normal?” I finish his thought with a guess.

“Be more stable,” he says. “I do not know that a ceremony will change anything, but it is celebration, and we need one of those. You should be celebrated, Anya. I love you, you are mine. And everybody should know it.”

I know who he truly means should know it. A certain tall blood-eyed creature of the night. Dom’s shadow falls over us from time to time, a chill that does not come from the external temperature or the internal drafts of the castle.

“I love you, Alexei. And I am yours. As you are mine.”

He wraps his hand in my hair and kisses me deeply, thoroughly, with animal possession that will brook no interference from anybody, living or dead.

CHAPTER 21

“Weddings are deeply political things,” Mrs. Tibbs says.

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