Claiming The Moon

Chapter 4: The Claiming Moon Abigail’s POV The torches are snuffed. Only the moon remains, spilling silver through the high windows and painting the room in cold fire. Shadows stretch long across the stone floor, curling like smoke around the bedposts. The air is thick with anticipation, with the scent of pine and iron and the raw edge of the bond that now binds us all. Alexander ’s hands are on me before the door fully closes. Rough. Hungry. He lifts me against the wall, mouth crashing into mine, fangs grazing my lip until copper blooms between us. The taste of blood sparks something wild inside me. I bite back, hard, and he groans into my throat, the sound vibrating through my bones. The bond explodes. A white-hot surge that steals my breath and sets my blood alight. My wolf howls inside my chest. *Mine, mine, mine.* Clawing to be free, to submit, to dominate. Elijah watches from the foot of the bed, still clothed, arms folded across his chest. His silence is worse than Alexander ’s growls. It is calculation. It is control. It is the promise that when he moves, I will break in ways I never imagined. His eyes track every movement, every shiver, every gasp. He is the strategist even here, mapping my body like a battlefield. Alexander rips my tunic down the center. Fabric tears like paper under his claws. Cool air hits my skin, raising gooseflesh, then his mouth. Hot and wet on my collarbone, my breast, the curve of my waist. He drops to his knees, dragging my leggings with him in one savage pull. I step out of them, bare, trembling, but not from fear. My pulse thunders in my ears, in my core, in the slick heat already gathering between my thighs. Elijah finally speaks, his voice a low command that cuts through the haze. “On the bed. On your back. Legs open.” The order slices straight to my center. I obey without thinking, the bond pulling me like a leash. The furs are soft beneath me, the mattress deep and forgiving. Alexander follows, crawling up my body like a predator, muscles rippling under scarred skin, but Elijah catches his shoulder with a grip like iron. “Wait.” Alexander snarls, fangs bared, eyes flashing gold. Elijah meets it with a look that could freeze rivers. Unyielding. Absolute. “We do this together. Or not at all.” A beat of silence stretches between them, thick with tension, with the weight of shared blood and shared power. Then Alexander dips his head. Submission and challenge in one fluid motion. Elijah releases him, and the air shifts. Charged. Electric. Elijah strips. Slow, deliberate. Leather falls away with a soft thud. Shirt. Boots. Every piece a declaration, a stripping of armor. When he is bare, the scars on his chest catch the moonlight. Old battles, old victories, a map of survival etched in flesh. His c**k is already hard, thick, curving up against his stomach, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. He stands there, letting me look, letting the bond drink him in. Alexander mirrors him, shedding the last of his clothes with impatient jerks. They are night and storm side by side. Identical yet opposite. Elijah’s body is lean muscle and precision, every line honed for strategy and speed. Alexander ’s is raw power and wild edges, broader, heavier, built to break bones and tear through armies. Both branded with the same Ironfang mark over their hearts. A wolf’s head snarling, inked in black and silver. They climb onto the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. Elijah kneels between my thighs, his hands cool against my heated skin. Alexander settles beside my head, one hand tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to arch my neck. Elijah’s fingers trace my slit. Slow, clinical, mapping every fold, every tremor. Then he pushes inside. One finger. Two. I arch, gasping, the stretch sharp and perfect. He curls them, finds the spot that makes my vision spark white, and holds there, watching my face. “Wet already,” he murmurs, voice like velvet over steel. “Good.” Alexander leans down, tongue flicking my n****e, then teeth. Sharp. Perfect. The sting shoots straight to my core. I moan, and Elijah’s thumb circles my c**t in merciless rhythm. Slow, then fast, then slow again, building pressure without release. The bond tightens, a rope around my ribs, pulling me under, drowning me in them. Elijah withdraws his fingers. I whimper at the loss, empty, aching. He coats himself in my slick, the sound obscene in the quiet room, then lines up and thrusts in one smooth, relentless stroke. I cry out, back bowing off the bed. He is thick, stretching me to the edge of pain, but the bond sings. *Yes, more, mine.* Turning discomfort into ecstasy. He stills, letting me adjust, letting the bond settle around the invasion. Alexander shifts, straddling my chest, c**k heavy against my lips. I open for him without hesitation, take him deep, tongue swirling, throat relaxing. He groans, hips rocking, hand fisting my hair to control the pace, to set the depth. Elijah sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving me onto Alexander , until I am lost between them. Filled, claimed, owned. A vessel for their hunger and mine. The moon climbs higher, indifferent to our frenzy. Sweat slicks our skin, the room growing humid, heavy with the scent of s*x and pine and blood where Alexander ’s fangs graze my shoulder. Not breaking skin, not yet. Elijah’s hand finds my throat, thumb pressing my pulse, grounding me in the storm. “Look at me.” I do, tears pricking from the intensity. His eyes are molten silver, pupils blown wide. “You are ours. Say it.” “Yours,” I gasp around Alexander ’s length. Elijah’s hips snap harder, deeper, the headboard thudding against the wall. “Again.” “Yours. Both of yours.” The words tear from me, raw, true. Alexander pulls free of my mouth with a wet pop, shifts down the bed in a blur of motion. Elijah flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips until I’m on my knees, ass in the air. Alexander slides beneath me, chest to my back, c**k nudging my entrance from behind, slick with my arousal and his own need. Elijah kneels in front, feeding himself back into my mouth. Salty, musky, perfect. They move together. Synchronized, relentless, a rhythm older than words. I am the center of the storm, the eye and the hurricane, pleasure and pain braided so tight I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Elijah’s fingers dig into my hips, bruising. Alexander ’s teeth scrape my spine. A warning, a promise. The bond coils tighter, a spring ready to snap. Elijah’s hand slips between my legs, pinches my c**t hard. I shatter, screaming around him, body clenching, milking them both in waves that leave me shaking, sobbing, lost. Alexander follows with a roar that rattles the windows, spilling hot inside me, pulse after pulse. Elijah pulls out, strokes himself once, twice, and paints my back in thick ropes, marking me outside as thoroughly as within. We collapse. Tangled, panting, a heap of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. The bond settles, purring, sated. For now. The room smells of us. Of s*x and blood and the faint metallic tang of the claiming yet to come. Elijah brushes hair from my face, his touch unexpectedly gentle, voice soft for the first time. “Sleep. Tomorrow we plan. Shadowclaw won’t wait.” Alexander nuzzles my neck, arm locked around my waist like a band of iron, possessive even in stillness. “Tomorrow we kill. Tonight, you’re ours.” I drift, wrapped in heat and fur and the scent of both my mates, the bond a warm blanket over my soul. My body aches in the best way. Marked, claimed, alive. Outside, the wind shifts, carrying a new scent on the breeze. Smoke and ash and something darker. Somewhere in the black, Shadowclaw howls. A challenge, a promise of blood. But here, in this bed, under this moon, I am not the desperate Luna anymore. I am theirs. And they are mine.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​