The final surge hit like a biological tsunami.
Lyra woke in the master suite — Kael's private chamber, reserved for pack leadership, now transformed into a den of relentless mating.
The air was thick with pheromones, musk, and the copper-sweet scent of spent release. She'd lost count of hours, of orgasms, of the ways they'd claimed her.
But this was different. This was the peak — the version that demanded completion, the irrevocable bonding of an omega to alphas.
Her body was already moving before conscious thought formed — climbing over Kael where he lay on the massive bed, her thighs straddling his hips, her hands pressing against his chest for leverage.
He was hard, always hard for her now, his body as hijacked as hers, and she positioned herself above him, sinking down onto his
