So long as her neck remained bare, she could be stolen from him, and that was utterly unacceptable to every part of him.
Viktor skimmed one of his hands up, feeling the smooth expanse of skin and finely made bone of her side. Margot had done a magnificent job of healing the rest of Camille’s injuries, it seemed, so he didn’t have to worry about hurting her. Good, he thought, moving his hand back down to her hip.
Without warning, he hoisted her up, guiding her to wrap her sleek thighs around his hips. Camille squeaked and clung to his neck as he began to walk them back to where he knew the master bedroom must be.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, clutching at the back of his shirt. “I’m heavier than you!”
He gave her thighs an appreciative squeeze. “Yeah, and I’m stronger than you.”
It didn’t matter that she had those elvish bones — dense like heavy metal — he’d carry his mate if it pleased him. And it did please him. The sway and bump of her body against his, the tantalizing view of all that naked skin under her open robe, the knowledge that he was only minutes from finally, finally claiming his mate was almost too pleasing.
As they passed through the double doors that led to the master bedroom, Camille dug her fingers into his hair and nuzzled his ear. “Are you? Are you really stronger than me?” she purred.
Fuck me.
Viktor nearly stumbled. Her scent permeated the lavish bedroom. Fresh desire perfumed the air. Her blunted claws scratched at his scalp as she traced the shape of his ear with her lips. It was all enough to make anyone weak-kneed. “I…”
“I guess we’ll have to find out.”
Without warning, Camille grasped two fistfuls of his hair and pulled, forcing his head back. Lips hovering a hairsbreadth from his, she challenged, “If you think you’re stronger than me, mate, then you’ll have to prove it.”
Heat exploded in his veins — popping and hissing like magic, like the ecstasy of a shift. Lust was all-consuming, as was the need to meet the challenge she lay before him like the sweetest offering. If his mate wanted him to prove his worth, then he was more than happy to—
Fangs sank into his lower lip in a swift, playful bite, and Viktor saw stars.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The pull was a monster. It consumed everything in her, made Viktor her only focus, her only craving — and yet, in that moment, Camille understood that it could also be joyous.
When she wasn’t busy fighting it, the pull could be a sweet drug, a steadily unspooling warmth that tied her to her consort. It made her giddy. It made her combative. It made her want to pin him down and lick him all over. It made her hunger.
So when he playfully asserted his strength surpassed hers, Camille did not fight the spark of challenge that made her blood heat. Instead, she bowed to it.
Finally, her beast sighed, we can play.
She sank her fangs into his lip and everything in her howled with victory. When Viktor jolted, rough hands sliding down her thighs to grip her backside in a deliciously bruising hold, she felt a rush of power so heady, it made her head spin.
Viktor stumbled toward the bed, his hips grinding hard against hers. She felt the hard ridge of his cock through the rough denim of his jeans. Her skin was hyper-sensitive, her core already wet and aching for him. The rough scrape of fabric combined with the insistent rolling of his hips sent a sharp bolt of pleasure through her.
Camille gasped, back arching, as Viktor dropped her on the bed. He remained standing. Towering over her, he smoothed his hands down her legs to lock them around her knees, keeping her spread and pressed against him.
“Fucking beautiful,” he rasped, staring down at where her cunt pressed against his fly. His eyes, coyote gold, roved over her, taking in her splayed arms and spread robe with an unmistakably feral look. “My mate is gorgeous and ready for me, isn’t she?”
Flushed with desire and yet unwilling to give in so easily, Camille lifted her lip in a snarl. She twisted her hips, attempting to dislodge his grip and wriggle away. “Maybe I’m not,” she challenged. “Do you think you don’t have to work for me? For this?”
Instinct was a cacophony in her mind, egging her on, demanding she prick and prod until he wrestled her down and earned the privilege of her submission. Could he make her bend without hurting her? Alternatively, could he yield to her own dominance? Could he play?
Coyote eyes gleamed down at her. A dribble of bright red blood slid down from the tiny puncture wound decorating his bottom lip. It looked particularly wicked when he grinned.
“Sweetheart,” he purred, “I’m a shifter — we always put in the work in bed.”
Viktor swooped down, pinning her lower body to the edge of the bed, and closed his lips over one pert nipple.
“Ah!” Camille dug her fingers into the soft duvet cover, her back arching helplessly as he bit down on her sensitive flesh. It wasn’t gentle. She could feel his fangs extending a mere breath before the sharp sting of another bite made her whole body jerk. She choked on a cry as her hips rolled into his, seeking friction that his weight refused to grant her.
Tongue soothing the sting, Viktor made a low humming noise of satisfaction. He switched to the other breast, clearly determined to give it the same treatment, but even blinding pleasure couldn’t smother the need for challenge. Before he could bite her again, Camille dug her hands into his blond hair and wrenched his head back.
The move took him by surprise, giving her the opportunity to wrest herself from his grip. She was nearly out from under him before Viktor managed to pin her down again, this time with her thighs pinned to the bed, opening her obscenely wide for his perusal.
Rearing backward, he roughly tore his hair out of her hands and stared down at her with a wild-eyed gaze. “I am not letting you go,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a hard thrust of his hips against her core. “You are mine. This cunt is mine. Do you understand me?”
Camille looked up at him boldly, defiantly, even as her heart sang a fierce, possessive song. “Prove it then, alpha.”
Viktor swore. Pressing one hand down against her stomach, pinning her, he reached down to swiftly undo the brass button of his jeans and then the zipper. Shoving his pants and briefs down as much as he cared to, he once more wrenched her legs as wide as they could go. His cock sprang free between them, flushed and perfect, the tip gleaming wetly with pearly pre-come.
The sight made her so hungry, so full of empty, aching need, that Camille began to squirm in earnest. Not to get away, but to get closer. When she made a halfhearted effort to pull her legs back together, seeking leverage, he gave the tender skin of her inner thighs a threatening squeeze and barked, “Still!”
Instinct responded at once. Camille froze. Even her chest stopped its quick movement as she held her breath, watching and waiting to see what he would do next.
Viktor was breathing hard. A look of dark satisfaction crossed his face when he slowly lifted his hands from her legs and she didn’t move so much as an inch. “There’s my good mate,” he rasped, eyes locked on her slick skin even when he reached backward to tear off his faded t-shirt. He tossed it over his shoulder carelessly. That done, he swept his hands back down her thighs to frame her sex. “Look how pretty your cunt is, sweetheart, all wet and ready for your mate.”