Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Jericho

The order rang out somewhere in the dark. It made him more frenzied. The slide of her hot skin right next to mine, the smell of blood, the pumping of her heart. It enticed him even closer to the surface. And my claws ripped into the sheets as I gripped hard.

The bedframe cracked underneath us.

I caught my reflection in her eyes. Pitch black eyes. Dark veins. Darkening, morphing skin. Fanged teeth. And yet, she held still.

"How?" I whispered, throat closing around the words. "How can you look at me like that? I was hurting you."

Her fingers tightened against my jaw. "You were having a nightmare. You still are."

"I was strangling you." The words echoed between us. Ugly, rotten, true words. "I could have killed you. I want to hurt you."

Her nose nuzzled against mine. She was so warm. "That isn’t true. That isn’t who you are."

My Lycan laughed darkly at that. "You don’t know what I am, malyshka."

Her thumbs brushed my cheeks, curled gently in my hair. "You’re Jericho."

Something inside me splintered. "May—"

"You’re Jericho," she repeated, breath mingling with mine, like the words were enough. Like they were everything. "If you must be a monster, then you’re my monster. My Jer."

She meant them. I could hear it in the steady thrum of her heart, see it in the way she held herself absolutely still. Waiting. Open. Offering something I wasn’t even sure she understood.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t know how wrong she was.

Didn’t know that the only thing separating the man from the monster was a threadbare leash I’d been clutching for an entire decade. She didn’t know that leash was snapping, strand by strand, right now, right here, with her blue-fire eyes and her steady heart and her fucking smile.

I wanted to protect her. Cherish her.

He wanted to devour her. Wanted to sink fangs into her delicate neck again. Wanted to feel her pulse stutter against his—our—tongue. Wanted to fuck her so deep she’d feel me in her throat, wanted to leave marks on her hips that wouldn’t fade for weeks, wanted to split her open and crawl inside her and—

His hunger tangled with mine into something indistinguishable, and my hand rose before I could stop it.

Shot out and wrapped around her throat.

I gripped her hard enough to feel the delicate architecture of her trachea, the flutter of her swallow, the jump of her carotid under my thumb.

Maisie gasped.

Her eyes went wide. Finally. Finally, there was the fear I’d been waiting for—

No. Not fear.

Her pupils had blown so wide the blue was nearly gone. Her lips parted, and the sound that came out wasn’t a whimper of terror. It was a moan. Tiny. Surprised.

She liked it.

The knowledge slammed through me like a fucking sledge hammer. Her scent shifted into something muskier, something that made my mouth water and my fangs lengthen until they pressed against the inside of my lips.

There was something else there. She still smelled like me from last night. The image of her on her knees, hands between her legs as I came on her skin, her tongue darted out to catch the drop that fell on her lip, it was an image that my Lycan fed on. Constantly. Obsessively.

"Say that again," I told her. "Say I’m yours."

Surprise flickered in her eyes. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her plump lips and my eyes tracked the movement.

Saying it again would cement it. Make it real that she’s claimed me the third time in one day. The first time we could chalk up to the possessiveness of a mate. The second she could blame on trying to get me out of my nightmare. The third time, there would be no excuse. It would be different.

She balked, understanding the gravity of her statement too late.

I hated when she did that. I hated when her eyes shuttered and the warmth fizzled and turned into ice. I hated when she reminded herself she hated me.

I hated it most when she lied to herself.

My hand yanked her forward and I sank my teeth into her collarbone.

She screamed.

Her blood flooded my mouth, hot and richer than anything I’d ever tasted. Couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get close enough...

Her fingers curled into my shoulder. Dug in. Her nails bit through the torn fabric of my shirt, found skin, and I felt five perfect crescents of pain open on my muscle.

She was both pushing me away. And pulling me in.

And then—fuck—then her hips rocked forward.

It was barely a movement. A half-inch shift of her pelvis against mine. But she was straddling my thigh, and I felt the heat of her even through her thin sleep shorts. Felt the damp spot where the cotton clung to her skin. Felt her clench and release and clench again as another swallow of blood left my throat.

My name fell from her mouth. "Jericho."

It was a little plea. And it was all I’d been waiting an entire lifetime for.

Something finally cracked open in my chest. The dark receded, but not him. He lingered. He stayed. But the violence that consumed me fled.

My fangs pulled back enough and crushed my mouth to hers, hard enough for our teeth to clink.

Maisie kissed me back like she was drowning and I was air.

Her tongue met mine. Twisting. Her teeth caught my lower lip and bit down, and the jolt of pain went straight to my groin. I growled into her mouth. The sound vibrated through our joined lips, and she whimpered and ground her hips down against my thigh.

She caught my hands on her hips and in a movement too fast to predict, she shoved me back against the mattress, trapping my hands on either sides of me hard enough to snap my wrists.

It was a new experience, being pinned down by a woman. By anyone.