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G’raha Tia woke to the scent of autumn zephyrlily.
The pheromone clung to him as though it were alive, weaving itself insidiously into his senses. He pushed himself upright and found that the Warrior of Light had already risen and left. He remembered then, today was the day she'd agreed to travel with Thancred and Erenville to gather Rarefied Dark Rye in Labyrinthos, available only during certain hours.
The sun had not yet fully risen over Sharlayan; pale rays slipped like cautious fingers through the shutters of their shared apartment. Her scent lingered on the sheets, on his clothes, and in the ghostly impression her body had left on the mattress beside him.
It was going to be one of those days.
At the Studium, he attempted to bury himself in lectures, in scribbled notes, and in theoretical debates with his eager-eyed students. He responded mechanically, his voice even, steady—but his heart wasn't present. Whenever he paused, even briefly, his thoughts betrayed him, circling inevitably back to her. Back to Hypshay.
He clenched his quill so tightly at one point that it cracked neatly in half.
“Ah—Master G’raha, is aught amiss?” one of the younger researchers asked.
“Forgive me,” Raha said quickly, forcing a casual smile. “I was…lost in thought.”
He managed to finish the day without another incident, but his actions remained automatic. Her scent never faded, stronger today than usual, clinging stubbornly to his senses. He decided then he’d take the shortcut home—the same route he’d pointedly avoided since his earlier days in Sharlayan because it involved too much jumping around.
It should have been impossible.
Because not only was Hypshay a Beta—one who by nature would never belong to anyone—she had no gland at all.
She had destroyed it during adolescence, before her presentation, permanently severing any possibility of pheromonal entanglement. Without scent detection and without a gland, she was wholly immune to Alpha pheromones, unlike most Betas. She could no longer scent, could not mark nor be marked. And yet, she could fully weaponize her body—something Raha both loathed and lamented, though he never dared protest. It was, after all, her body . He merely wished she would treat it with more care . Watching how recklessly she treated herself tore something in him.
He had known all this, well before he ever locked himself in the Tower. But it made no difference. Words like love or desire were paltry things beside what he felt for her. He could be sealed in a chamber full of Omegas deep in the throes of heat and still think only of her. What bound him to her was not mere attraction or admiration— obsession , Emet-Selch had once called it.
And Raha hadn’t disagreed.
As the Exarch, the Crystal Tower had dulled those carnal needs, suppressing his Alpha instincts alongside them. He had been grateful, then, that she couldn’t scent him—not just for propriety’s sake, but because he knew with harrowing certainty that if she had, she would have discovered who he was long before he could bear the truth himself. Not that she failed to piece it together quickly, regardless.
Yet ever since his return to the Source, without the Tower’s suppression, the urge to mark her had grown stronger with each passing day. If once he had been able to convince himself that she belonged to no one and should remain that way, then after their journey to Ultima Thule—after she’d come so perilously close to never returning—that fragile resolve had been obliterated. Now, the urge was near unbearable .
He wanted nothing more than her happiness. Always. But the selfish part of him—the primal, instinct-driven part—wanted to lock her away somewhere unreachable. Somewhere only he could touch. Somewhere safe.
By the time he finally returned home, he found her bow propped against the wall. Her shoes left askew near the entry mat, sloppy, as always. Her scent came to him before he even saw her, and woven into it—two others. One a warm, musky blend of amber and sandalwood. The other briny, subtle, like ocean wind on stone.
Raha forced himself to breathe instead of snarl.
He knew full damn well both Thancred and Erenville meant nothing by it. Probably a brush of shoulders. Nothing more. But logic and instinct seldom shared a common tongue.
And the worst part was that she couldn't smell it at all.
Hypshay poked her head up from beneath the kotatsu she’d dug herself into. She had insisted on hauling the thing all the way from Kugane because she liked its warmth, despite not minding the cold and despite Sharlayan being temperate year-round. He indulged her in it anyway. He loved all her strange, domestic quirks—this one included. But the heated kotatsu only intensified the scent that wasn’t his, and the primitive part of him coiled tighter in protest.
“You look like someone just fed your precious tomes to Ricecake and he’d mistook them for cabbages.” she said casually. “Rough day?”
Raha dropped his bag quietly by the door. His voice came out a bit too low. “Long day.”
Ignoring her immediate complaints about not removing his coat first, he swiftly approached and slipped into the kotatsu beside her, nudging her firmly without apology to draw an indignant huff. Before she could voice a proper protest, Raha enveloped her in his arms from behind, draping himself around her like an oversized cat. His embrace tightened around the familiar lean muscles as he inhaled deeply, comforted by the intensified scent brought forth by the warmth. He entwined his legs with hers, his tail stubbornly tangling around her own, despite the spikes that lined hers.
“…Now it’s better,” he murmured, brushing his cheek against hers before nipping her neck softly. She laughed at the ticklish sensation. His tongue flicked lower, tracing the ridge of the scar where her gland had once been. Then he bit—just enough to make her twitch. Again. And again. “ Now I feel alive.”
“That’s rare,” she hummed, tilting her head to give him better access and bumping her horn against his cheek in return. “You usually come alive buried in tomes and relics, not people.”
“Nonsense. That’s a baseless claim. And rather cruel,” he muttered, biting her again. He took no small satisfaction in how thoroughly his scent now blanketed her—no trace of any other Alpha remained. “The only true relief I’ve sought my whole life—”
“—Was the truth behind my Allagan eyes,” she finished for him with a soft giggle, echoing the first words he’d spoken to her so long ago. “Isn’t that right, Archon?”
“...You do have that unfortunate habit—an impeccable memory and an even more troubling fondness for watching me squirm,” he said, defeated. The sanity he had felt drained from him without her—for what had truly only been a single day—slowly settled back into his bones. “Yes, that’s right, Warrior. But after I met you, that purpose changed—irrevocably. As you well know.
“But enough about my day,” he added, arms tightening around her, burying himself more fully in her warmth. He inhaled her scent again, hungrily. “Tell me yours.”
“Fairly standard,” she replied. “We ran into trouble during the gleaning run—some escaped experiment from Labyrinthos. Hybrid creature. Erenville nearly had his sleeve eaten—and it actually tried to mount Thancred.”
She broke into laughter, and for one wicked second, Raha almost wished the beast had succeeded.
“The Warrior of Light wouldn’t have left him behind, I trust?”
“Naturally not. I got him out before any permanent damage. Brought the creature down. Don’t remember its name exactly. Something like…Qimera?”
“Chimera?”
“Right,” she muttered. “That. Anyway, they want us to track down the rest of the herd—it was apparently set loose by accident. Dangerous to leave unattended. Erenville’s prepping, Urianger’s en route. Thancred is—well, being Thancred. I would’ve asked you to join but…”
She gave him a sideways glance. “You’ve still got lectures tomorrow.”
And not for the first time, Raha sighed inwardly. He didn’t regret accepting the position at the Studium, nor did he begrudge the time spent aiding his colleagues at the Students of Baldesion. Both needed him—and those were causes he held dear, pursuits where his passion naturally thrived.
Yet in moments like this—when trouble found her unexpectedly, and every instinct in him screamed to stay close—he found himself bound to obligations that pulled him in the opposite direction.
No matter how many times he told himself she was more experienced than he in dealing with rogue beasts and ancient horrors, the worry never left him.
Not after Ultima Thule.
The thought curdled in his chest, and he leaned down to bite her neck again—this time a little harder.
“When are you leaving?” he asked, trying not to sound as petulant as he felt.
He had hoped— perhaps foolishly —that she would say tomorrow .
But just as the words left him, her linkpearl chimed.
She glanced at it, then gave him a rueful look.
“It would be quick,” she told him gently, pecking on his cheek, “Merely two or three suns.”
—---
That night, Raha tried to sleep.
He tried hard.
But the bed was too large without her in it. The sheets smelled like her. Her pillow still bore the shape of her head, her warmth, her breath. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there.
The way her body curled against his, trembling, when she whimpered and gasped his name. The way she arched when he touched the dip of her spine. How she begged when his teeth grazed the hollow of her throat, even knowing there was nothing there to claim. And Twelve helped him, the way she laughed on their quiet days off, carefree and light, dancing barefoot through the garden with her tunic slipping down one shoulder and her hair a mess of raven strands in the sunlight.
Every dream circled back to her.
When the sky began to lighten and he stumbled to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. The chill did nothing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, hot and heavy and wrong .
“...Damn it.” he whispered into the mirror as realization dawned on him.
He was in rut.
He managed to call into the Studium and to Krile, claiming a minor illness. In the bottom drawer of the kitchen shelf, behind various bottles of seasonings, he found his suppression potions.
Raha downed one. Then another. Then, after a pause and a curse, a third .
His gut clenched. The potions always made him feel like he was drowning in his own skin, like his instincts were being smothered alive. Then he locked the door, shut the windows, curled on the couch and told himself to sleep.
But everything— everything —smelled like her.
The mug she used for morning tea. The brush on the dresser still tangled with a few black strands of her hair. Her bow leaning against the corner, a hand-span from his bookshelf. Her boots, carelessly kicked near the door, as if she’d be back in moments.
By the end of the first day, he’d downed two more bottles before unconsciousness claimed him.
But the second day was worse .
Raha didn’t recall waking up. His hand reached for the drawer before he fully knew what he was doing. The soft scrape of wood sliding against wood echoed like thunder in the quiet. Neatly folded tunics met his eyes. He’d organized them for her not long ago, teasing her about how she always threw them in without care.
And now here he was, ruining that work with trembling hands.
His fingers found one—a soft, faded one she wore often at home. Light sea-glass green, with a tiny tear at the hem she never bothered to fix. He lifted it reverently, like it might fall apart if he moved too fast.
Then he brought it to his face.
Her scent hit him like a wave—intoxicating, familiar, hers . Autumn lilies. The way her skin smelled after bathwater and a night curled in his arms. It was all of it. All of her.
He inhaled again.
And again.
And again, until he was gasping against the fabric, his breath coming hard, his fingers curled into the tunic like claws.
He couldn’t tell if it was from the overwhelming pressure in his skull or the threat of tears. He stumbled backward onto the bed and sank to his knees beside it, dragging the tunic with him, pressing it against his face like it might let him feel her again.
But that wasn’t enough.
Frantic, now, he grabbed the blanket she had slept under two nights ago. The warmth was long gone, but her scent lingered in the folds. Then his gaze landed on the oversized shirt she’d left on the back of the chair, the one she wore when she sat cross-legged by the hearth, reading aloud to him, and he crawled over and grabbed it.
Then another and another. An older tunic she’d forgotten in the laundry chest. One of her belts, her wristwraps, even the soft scarf she’d used last winter during one of their walks through the Studium courtyard.
He dragged it all onto the bed, pulled the sheets free, wrapped the fabrics around the pillows, stuffing and twisting and shaping them into a cocoon of scent and softness. Her presence, simulated . Her memory, w rapped in cotton and thread .
And then—bare, shaking, flushed with heat—he crawled into the pile of her , then tucked himself beneath the embrace of her old clothes, arms wound around a pillow wrapped in her scarf. Her tunic was still against his face.
He buried himself in it. Deeply.
—---
The errand had gone faster than expected—most of the herd was found by the end of the first day, and Erenville easily tracked down the stragglers. Painless work. Hypshay returned home nearly half a day early.
The thought of seeing Raha again—curling up beside him in their bed, perhaps teasing him for missing her after just one night—made her smirk as she stepped through the archway into their private quarters.
“Guess what,” she called out lightly, her tail flicking behind her as she kicked off her boots. “Didn’t even take the Warrior two suns to fix the problem.”
She headed toward the kitchen, half-expecting him to appear with her favorite tea and snacks, ready to kiss her and pretend he hadn’t spent the whole day waiting—but he wasn’t there.
His boots were still by the door, which meant he was home. That left only one place: his study. She padded quietly toward it, not wanting to disturb him if he was buried deep in his tomes—not that she thought she could pry his attention away once he was focused.
But the study was empty.
Hypshay frowned. The entire apartment was dimmer than usual. Curtains still drawn high. A half-eaten piece of fruit sat abandoned on the counter. Everything looked untouched, as if he'd vanished into shadow the moment he returned.
She quieted her steps. Instinctively, she hadn’t put her bow away. By now, she wouldn’t be surprised if disaster was waiting for her behind one of these closed doors—such things were no longer rare in her life.
Cautiously, she climbed the stairs and approached the bedroom. Her fingers curled around the knob, then turned it gently, pushing the door open without a sound.
Her eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t a catastrophe.
But it was urgent.
Their bed was buried— consumed —by a chaotic sprawl of fabric: her tunics, robes, scarves. The blanket she'd last slept under. The pale-blue shirt she wore for training. Even a slipper she thought she’d lost. All of it piled, knotted, wrapped into a disheveled nest of her.
And there, curled at the center, was G’raha Tia.
He was entirely naked, what little she could see of him slick with sweat, his skin flushed, his hair damp, pupils blown wide and dark. One of her worn tunics was wrapped around a pillow, which he clutched desperately to his chest as his hips ground into it.
She dropped her bow immediately, taking several steps towards him. Raha blinked up at her with dazed eyes.
“Shay…” he rasped, voice hoarse and needy. “My star… are you real?”
“Very much so.” she answered quickly as she lifted one hand to his forehead and was burned when she felt his body heat emitting from him, “You’re in rut. Did you get enough water?”
It took several minutes for her words to reach him. His eyes searched hers hungrily, and for a second he reached for her wrist—but stopped himself, retreating a little, still holding that damn pillow tightly against his chest.
“I just need… suppression potions,” he mumbled. “I’ll be alri—”
“No,” she cut him off firmly, already stripping her belts off. “The last thing you need right now is more suppression potion.”
Her fingers moved fast—unbuckling the straps of her quiver faster than she ever had before. Raha sat up slightly, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven gasps as his nostrils flared, taking in deep breath, no doubt of her, but he still didn’t move.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes wide.
She turned to face him fully and peeled off her tunic, leaving only her shorts and bra. Then, without hesitation, she hooked her thumbs beneath her waistband and yanked the shorts down.
“Trying to help.” she answered simply.
Raha tensed the instant the fabric hit the floor. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the crimson of his irises until his eyes were nearly black—dark with lust, thick with hunger. He didn’t even blink as he tracked every movement of hers, though his own body kept inching backward, further into the nest of cloth. His fingers dug into the pillow he still held, knuckles gone white, veins raised beneath his skin like vines.
“Hypshay—no. No .” His voice had dropped to a growl, hoarse and broken. “ Please . You need to leave. I could hurt you. I’m not thinking straight.”
“I’m not going anywhere until your rut ends.”
She reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and let it fall to the floor. Her breasts bounced free, and Raha’s eyes locked onto them, ravenous. He licked his lips unconsciously and looked like he was about to spring—but still, he retreated until his back hit the headboard with a muffled thud.
“You—You don’t understand what I’m feeling right now,” he managed, his voice trembling with need. “Everything hurts , Hypshay. I’m—I’m not myself. Every time I breathe, I just want to mark you—”
“Then do it.”
She slid off her smalls and let them fall slowly into the pile of garments he had gathered—just to hear that low, guttural growl tear from his throat again.
“I’ve no gland,” she added, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t mark me in other ways… does it?”
He didn’t answer—but his eyes said everything. She could tell he was already on the edge, barely holding himself together, torn between desire and fear.
So she gave him a nudge.
Hypshay lowered herself onto all fours, crawling slowly across the bed until their breaths were close enough to mix. She didn’t touch him—only darted out her tongue and purred,
“Do whatever you want to me. G’raha Tia.”
His pupils went utterly black .
And he pounced.
—---
Raha lunged before she could blink, seizing her mouth with a bruising kiss—and she clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. His arms locked around her waist, dragging her down into the sweltering nest of cloth and heat he’d built in her absence.
Fabric rustled and tangled beneath them. He could still scent traces of other Alphas on her—faint, harmless, but not his —and he growled low into her mouth. His hand slid down from her waist, fingers seeking, until he found her clit—wet, swollen, aching.
“Hypshay…” he sobbed out, pressing his forehead to hers. “Gods, you’re—you're soaked… all for me—”
She cupped his cheek, breath catching.
“I told you,” she whispered. “Do whatever you want to me.”
Raha fucked her hard then.
There was no patience left in him. His body moved with single-minded desperation, fueled by days of frustration and years of never being allowed to claim . Every thrust of his cock into her heat drew a moan from her throat, a clench of her walls, and he kept going, mindless now. Normally he would’ve drawn it out, teased her until she writhed—but not now. Now he only knew one truth: he needed to fill her with his scent, again and again, until nothing else remained.
Her scent—autumn lilies, thick and sweet—rose up between them, clinging to his tongue, his throat, his lungs. He buried his face in her neck, teeth grazing, breath ragged.
And then he bit.
“Raha~” she moaned, voice breaking on his name and nothing ever sounded better to him.
The first bite was shallow. Not enough to break skin, but deep enough to make her cunt clench harder, to make him feel her. Then another, deeper. The third had his lips pressed hard to her skin as he tasted her blood, his growl vibrating down to her bones.
Each time he bit down, his pheromones surged from him in waves—enough to drive any Omega immediately into heat—even Betas.
But it wasn’t enough. Not for her.
No matter how many times he filled her with his cum, no matter how deep he fucked, no matter how many times she cried out for him—he couldn’t seal the bond.
She would never truly be his.
Frustration would be an under estimation as he kept going. And beneath that brutal, unreasonable instinct to fuck, to rut, to mark—there was another need that he couldn’t say aloud.
He wanted her to claim him .
He wanted to belong to her .
And that drove him to keep going. Again. And again. And again.
“Why—why won’t it be enough?” he groaned between ragged breaths. “I want… Twelve , I want to leave my scent in you. I want you to carry it—carry me —”
“‘Tis—ah~okay,” she gasped, pulling him closer, her legs locking tight around his waist. “I’m yours—I’ve only ever been yours!”
“I know, my star…” he murmured against her skin, teeth grazing the hollow of her collarbone as he slowed his pace just enough to nibble along her chest. “But the Alpha in me doesn’t. Every time I’m inside you, my scent pours out—I can’t stop it.”
From the very first time he took her—pressed against the crystal walls of the Ocular—his pheromones had tried to claim her. A storm of Alpha heat designed to bring any Omega or Beta to their knees, begging with need.
But she wasn’t just any Beta. She had no gland. No scent. No heat.
“I can’t mark you,” he rasped, arms tightening around her as he continued to rut into her—her soaked, abused cunt slick with his cum. “But by the Twelve, I’ll make your body remember . Every time another Alpha so much as breathes near you—they’ll smell me .”
He pulled out, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He flipped her over, lifting her hips, her tail raised instinctively, thighs spread for him as if offering herself. He hovered above her, head bowed, lips brushing down the ridges of her spine. Then his fangs sank in—shoulder, mid-back, tailbone—each bite searching, yearning for a mark that could never take.
“Yes~!” she moaned every time he bit down, “Just— fuck —just make me yours.”
Her words nearly broke him. He snarled low in his throat and lined himself up again, rock-hard and aching, then he slammed back into her. Her body clung to him like it knew him, molded around him as if built for no one else. Cum spilled from her with each thrust, slicking their skin. Her scent, faint as it was, wrapped around his like silk soaked in fire.
It drove him half-mad.
She gasped, her legs trembling from overstimulation, but she didn’t stop him. Instead, her tail curled instinctively around his wrist, holding him there.
That was the final blow.
With a broken groan, he spilled into her once more—and she clenched around him, coming undone with him, together again.
—---
Hypshay had a suspicion—if she’d had a functioning gland, she’d probably be drenched in his scent by now.
Her skin flushed, her muscles sore in all the ways that would remind her of him for days to come. Raha was still pressed against her— in her —limbs heavy and possessive, his cheek resting just below her collarbone.
When she reached up to wrap her hand around the back of his neck where his bland was, she felt the heat still pulsing there—feverish and unrelenting. He groaned softly, trying to follow her touch as she shifted, but she steadied him with a palm to his chest and pushed herself back, breaking contact.
“That’s enough.”
He whined. A low, pitiful sound that came from deep in his chest as he clung to her instinctively. But to his credit, he didn’t resist. He let her go, though his arms stayed loose around her waist, as if hoping she’d change her mind.
She settled into a more comfortable position with a hiss, folding herself back into the pillows and drawing one of the looser blankets over her body. She stretched her tail out with a lazy flick across his stomach, then rolled onto her back with a sigh.
“There it is again.”
His eyes cracked open. “What is?”
“That face of yours. The ‘I’m going to bite and mark her’ face.”
He didn’t even try to deny it.
She snorted. “Too bad I don’t have a gland for you to sink those fangs into, G’raha Tia.”
He went quiet. His expression wavered somewhere between frustration and bone-deep yearning. Then, without a word, he shifted closer again, arms encircling her middle, forehead pressing to her collarbone.
“I know,” he murmured into her skin. “I’ve always known what I was getting into. And I don’t regret a single moment. Not one. But…”
He lifted his head just enough to press a kiss to her shoulder.
“I still want to leave my scent on you, my star. Even if it fades tomorrow.”
“You poor thing,” she teased, lightly pushing his head back, grimacing a little. “You’re sticky and sweaty and trembling like a soaked kitten. I think we’ve had enough for today. I’m owed a hot bath for letting you turn into a beast.”
He grunted but didn’t resist when she eased herself up, shifting toward the edge of the bed. Her muscles protested, the ache setting in already, and she made a mental note to soak in something warm.
Maybe with lavender oil. Definitely with salts.
His gaze followed her as she gathered what little energy she had to swing one leg off the bed, while she added with a wicked grin.
“Shame I couldn’t fulfill my lord’s desires. Should’ve fetched you a proper Omega instead—”
Faster than she could blink, a hand shot out from the blankets and clamped firmly around her ankle.
She yelped, barely catching her balance as he yanked her back. He was suddenly upright, arms snaking around her waist as he dragged her unceremoniously back into the pile of pillows, blankets, and clothing that made up the center of his nest.
“You—!” she started, twisting, but froze when she saw his face.
“You heartless woman—how could you say that?” His breath was sharp, uneven. “How could you—After Ultima Thule—”
Tears welled in his wide crimson eyes and spilled freely, trailing down onto her cheeks. Raha’s crying harder than she’d ever seen. And while she’d heard that Omegas could become unhinged in heat, no one had warned her that Alphas could fall apart like this. Then again, Alpha nesting wasn’t exactly common either—not that she was complaining.
“Raha,” she tried gently, “I wasn’t—”
But Raha wasn’t anywhere close to hearing, he was pushing into her again, almost desperately. She gasped at the sudden stretch of him, her moan fractured as the head of his cock struck the most sensitive spot inside her. Her whole body quaked, trembling violently with overstimulation as he pounded into that sweet spot over and over.
“Don’t leave me to someone else,” he whispered between sobs, but his hips was driving into her harder, fucking her into a stupor, “Don’t leave—don’t ever leave me again, Shay—”
“I was—ah~ hmmmm!” she cried, “Was joking—!”
Yet his crimson eyes remained distant as he rutted into her. She could tell that his mind was somewhere far deeper, far darker. Somewhere where her absence meant death and despair, where her scent fading was the same as her body cold in his arms again.
So she held him. One arm around his back, the other stroking through his hair. Letting him rut.
His tears didn’t stop. Neither did his voice.
“ Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go… ” he cried, driving into her again and again, “Please don’t leave me…I can’t mark you up, but I’ll fill you. Until every part of you reeks of me. Won’t let a single drop spill. Please… ”
Hypshay tried to speak, but every breath was driven from her lungs each time he snapped his hips forward. Yet somehow, she found strength. One hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him down, and instead of words—she bit him.
On his gland.
She’d had no gland, no pheromone, no way to mark nor be marked.
But the moment her teeth sank into that sensitive spot, Raha let out a whimper. His hips faltered, then froze—his knot beginning to swell for the first time inside her. Panic flickered across his dazed face. He tried to pull back, the frayed edge of reason still holding him from locking fully inside her, knowing she wasn’t built to take it.
But she wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging him deeper.
“I’m not going anywhere, G’raha Tia,” she said, one hand coming up to cradle his cheek, wiping away his tears. “I’m here with you. Right here .”
Then she bit him again.
And his knot swelled impossibly at the second bite, thickening inside her as though he’d truly been marked. He groaned into her mouth, body trembling violently, and sobbed against her lips.
“Shay—” he choked, “Don’t—I'll hurt you—”
“You will not.” she interrupted, “Because you love me.”
At those words, he stilled.
His eyes—once blown dark with instinct—cleared slowly, returning to its original crimson, his knot growing even bigger, locking into her womb despite her lack of the reproduction canal, and stayed there, keeping them tightly together.
“And I love you .” she told him, “I will say it however many times you need to hear it, Raha. But do not think for a second that I’ll leave you. Bad jokes aside—and I’m sorry.”
Raha blinked, fresh tears welling in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her again.
“I love you. So much .” he whispered, “Please, bite me again, my star.”
She glanced at the marks she'd already left on his gland, reddened and already starting to bleed slightly, and she hesitated.
“But I’ve already bitten you twice. It won’t leave anything behind.”
“That mattered little to me.” he whispered, his knot still locked inside her body tightly as he begged, “I know it’s not real. But it feels real. I want to be yours, Shay. Even if only in this way.”
She couldn’t deny him. Especially not when he looked at her with those impossibly soft, pleading eyes.
Hypshay sighed and reached up. With no small effort—considering the weapon still buried deep inside her—and bit down on his gland. Raha let out the most sultry groan she had ever heard from him. His knot jolted violently within her, slamming against the sensitive spot that made her vision spark with stars. Her teeth sank deeper into his skin involuntarily, and her legs tightened around his waist.
He groaned louder at the sudden clench of her inner walls, and his knot swelled to its full, monstrous size. He rocked his hips once more and came with a ragged sound—hot, thick spurts flooding into her womb, locked tight by the knot, his cum overwhelming in both volume and heat. Her legs twitched, hips spasming around him as she came too, a quiet curse spilling from her lips as her eyes rolled back with the force of it.
They remained joined as the last waves of release ebbed through them. When at last his knot began to soften, she could finally breathe again. Raha eased out of her carefully, then gathered her into his arms, cradling her close as he pressed a soft kiss to her brow.
“I owe everything to you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, for being such a brute—”
“You should be,” she pouted and winced when another pulse of his cum leaked out of her, “I often forgot how much of an arse you are when you're being sweet.”
He flushed crimson but managed a sheepish grin.
“Let me clean you up? I’ll be gentle. Promise .”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. He slipped away happily then, and padded to the bathroom. Soon the sound of running water filled the apartment. When he returned, he scooped her into his arms again as though she weighed nothing, carried her to the bath and lowered her into the hot water tenderly.
Hypshay finally found the strength to flick her tail and splash him. He chuckled.
“What was all that?” she asked, stretching. “Is this something Alphas usually do?”
“No,” Raha replied as he lathered soap between his palms and reached for her shoulder. “I don’t believe so. I was fairly certain you couldn’t mark me. And yet, when you bit down...” He trailed off, blushing. “I felt better. My rut was gone after that.”
“Hm.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “So you didn’t need to mark. You needed to be marked.”
“That is…quite right.” he admitted. His tail flicked again, nervous and exposed. “I-I mean, of course, you wouldn’t be able to mark me permanently, and I doubt that—that is, this mark would leave any longer—”
“You want something. Spell it.”
Raha ran his hand slowly down her back, soothing the lingering ache in her muscles. His crimson gaze locked on hers, open and aching.
“Could you do it again?” he begged, “Tomorrow. And more. ”
Hypshay exhaled and lifted a single finger under his chin, tilting his face up.
“That depends,” she murmured, leaning in until their lips nearly touched, “on whether you ask nicely .”