You hadn’t expected the bond to feel like this.

The first rays of sunlight crept through the sheer curtains, painting gold across the bed—and across Nyx, sprawled beside you, gloriously bare and fast asleep. His dark curls falling into his forehead, lips parted just slightly, and one arm remained looped tightly around your waist, possessive even in unconsciousness.

You were wearing his shirt, the fabric soft against your body, smelling like cedar and midnight. Beneath it, your skin was marked—violet bruises, hickeys littered along your collarbone and thighs, faint marks where he’d gripped you too tightly. And he bore your marks just as proudly—scratches down his back, your bites on his neck.

The mating bond had changed everything.

Last night had been overwhelming, feral, consuming. You had known male mates could be affected differently—but this? This was something primal.

Why hadn’t anyone warned you how intense it would be? How he’d looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality. How he’d said your name like a vow.

Carefully, you tried to inch away, needing space, needing to breathe. But even in sleep, Nyx’s grip tightened, dragging you back against the hard planes of his chest with a low, content hum.