Page 39 of Bought By the Cerberus
In return, my own memories flowed to him. My shame over being barren, the crushing weight of believing myself fundamentally broken. The moment in Agrion when I’d accepted death, convinced I was too flawed to deserve life. My amazement when I’d awakened in a world that valued what my village had seen as a curse.
“Yes,” I gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
He snarled my name, his hot breath panting against the nape of my neck. His fangs grazed my skin, and I arched into it, offering him everything I was.
The Loom’s threads screamed around us, lightning crackling through the chamber. His thrusts grew ragged, and more memories cascaded between us. The transformation into his three-headed form, embracing his true nature to protect what mattered most. My relief when his touch had restored my stolen memories, the overwhelming rightness of choosing him even when I couldn’t remember why. Guilt, terror, devotion, and finally, pure and simple acceptance.
“Mine,” he growled.
“Yours,” I cried out. “Always and forever yours.”
As he sank his fangs into my throat, pleasure exploded through me, violent and devastating. The brand blazed to life on my hand, no longer faint, but searing bright. Climax tore through me, and our souls fused completely in that moment of perfect union.
He roared into my flesh as he came. As his seed flooded me, the Loom’s threads knotted around us so tightly I knew nothing could sever them.
When it finally ebbed, we collapsed together, with Theron curling protectively around me. He licked the wound at my neck, his growl softer now, tender, almost a purr.
The brand on my hand glowed warm, steady, like a second heartbeat. Permanent. Irrevocable. No law could undo this mark, no politics could challenge it. Not even the lake, or Thanatos’s power. I belonged to him as completely as he belonged to me.
When he raised his head, his eyes blazed with possession and devotion. “My mate. My soul. My everything.”
The claiming bite pulsed with warmth, a constant reminder of our binding. Our souls were finally and forever complete. The three Moirae watched us with expressions of satisfaction, their work finished.
“It is done.” Clotho clasped her hands together before the now-peaceful Loom. “The claiming is sealed by fate itself. Let none challenge what the Loom has bound.”
The chamber quieted. My pulse slowed, still tethered to his. And for the first time, I felt whole. Not because he completed me, but because in his worship, his claiming, his fire, he saw me whole already.
Epilogue
Callista
OneYearLater
The village of Agrion lay in ruins.
Vines choked the abandoned market stalls where I’d once sold my weavings. Wild grass pushed through cracked stone where neighbors had gathered for festivals. Nature had reclaimed what violence had destroyed, covering bloodstains with new growth.
I stood at the edge of the clearing where my life had ended and begun. The death energy here still pulsed strong after a full year, calling to those who could sense it. Today was Shift Day again, and we’d returned with purpose.
Today would be my first weave, and by all the gods, I wouldn’t fail.
Theron’s hand found mine, his claws gentle against my palm. “Are you ready for this, Callista?”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the tightness in my throat. “As ready as I can be. But I need to say something first.”
The others all gathered around us. There was Aion, now recovered, his bronze skin carrying no signs of his ordeal. Skaros and Loxias stood by his side, watching. They were Theron’s family, but through him, they’d become mine.
Zoe slithered through the grass at the clearing’s edge, her serpentine body now thick as my thigh. She’d chosen to come on her own, drawn by something I didn’t fully understand. Perhaps the energy called to her, or perhaps she simply wanted to be near us. She came to me so often these days, seeking my company. Having her here felt right.
This was my moment, my choice. I turned toward the village ruins, addressing the empty houses and silent streets. My gaze fell on the abandoned forge, and I barely managed to suppress a flinch. “Melos. You always paid me fairly for my needlework, even when times were hard.”
He’d also been among the first to spit in my face when the news of my curse had come out, but that didn’t matter anymore.
“Elena.” I faced the direction of her old cottage, now barely visible underneath the climbing ivy. “Your wool was the finest I ever worked with. You trusted me with your most precious fleeces, and I was honored to weave them into beautiful things.”
My chest tightened, but I forced myself to continue. These people deserved acknowledgment, no matter what they’d said and done.
“Syagros.” The name came harder, weighted with understanding I’d gained through months of painful growth. “Your cruelty exposed my shame, but it also freed me from lies I’d carried too long.”
