Lucius POV
She offered herself to me.
Let me repeat that—she offered herself to me. Told me to drink from her. Worried about me. Worried enough to willingly bare her throat to me, the monster everyone warns their children about. My little rose, trembling but determined, telling me I could—should—take from her.
And gods… I couldn't stop the smile that stretched across my face like a madman. A feral, hungry, grateful smile. She was sitting on my lap, curled into me, her scent crawling into my lungs like a drug, soft warmth pressed against the cold corpse I call a body. And she—my impossible, stubborn little mate—cared enough to do something that no sane creature would: she offered her blood to the king of monsters.
My demons, of course, started hissing immediately. Screaming, actually. Clawing at the back of my skull.
Take her. Bite her. Drink. She offered—you're not forcing. Not wrong. Take her now. She wants it. She smells willing. She smells yours.
