(Reader discretion advised).
The latch clicked softly behind her as Liora stepped into the room.
She didn't speak.
The air hit her first.
It was warmer than she remembered—thick, almost heavy. Not just the hearth or the cloaks hung by the door. Something denser. Scented. Alive. An invisible pulse in the air of the space itself. She breathed in—and faltered.
Pine.
Spice.
But sharper now. Feral at the edges.
And wrong, somehow—no, not wrong. Just raw. She blinked slowly, letting it settle in her lungs, over her skin, through her throat. Her heat-honed instincts prickled like static across her shoulders.
It wasn't just Veyra's scent.
It was her scent in rut.
Liora stayed still near the door.
Not frightened. Just... stunned.
The realization struck in pieces. The weight in the air. The charge beneath it. The way her own scent bloomed slightly in response, traitorous and warm. She'd never sensed a rut up close before—not unleashed like this, not coiling through a space she'd once used as refuge.
Her breath trembled once, but she steadied it.
She didn't leave.
She crossed the room—slowly, calmly—and moved toward the bench near the hearth. Not the bed. Not yet. She lowered herself there, spine straight, arms wrapped loosely around her middle. The hem of the tunic slipped down her thighs as she sat. She said nothing.
She waited.
Behind her, a shift.
Veyra was still sitting at the edge of the bed, half in shadow. Her head bowed, jaw tight. Her hands braced on her knees, fists curled like she'd been holding her breath since Liora left. She looked—
Gods.
She looked wrecked.
Her hair had come loose, black strands hanging in wild curves around her face. Her eyes were bright in the firelight, ringed in shadow, locked on the space where Liora had just crossed. She hadn't moved. But her scent betrayed everything.
It was everywhere.
Veyra's voice came quiet, low in her throat.
"...You shouldn't be here."
Liora didn't turn her head.
"I know."
Silence stretched.
"I didn't post a guard," Veyra said next, more bitter now. "I left you here alone. After what happened. I thought I was being cautious. Efficient. I failed you."
"That's not why I left," Liora said.
Another pause.
"I know."
The fire cracked.
And then, finally, Veyra moved.
One step. Then another. She crossed the room in slow, uneven strides—like something inside her pulled forward, while the rest of her screamed to hold back. When she stopped, she stood just to the side of the bench. Not close enough to loom. Not close enough to reach.
Her voice dropped.
"I can't think when you're here."
Liora glanced up, gaze quiet but steady. "Then why haven't you asked me to go?"
Veyra exhaled sharply through her nose. Not a laugh. Not quite.
"Because I don't want you to."
Liora nodded slowly, lips pressed together.
"You're in rut," she said softly. "That's what this is."
A beat.
Veyra's jaw tensed. "Yes."
Liora turned more fully toward her then. Her knees drawn up, one hand resting over her ribs.
"It's not shameful," she said.
Veyra flinched like she'd been struck.
"It feels like it is."
"Why?"
A pause. Then:
"Because I don't know what I'll do if I let go."
Liora's brow furrowed, something quiet rising behind her expression. Not fear. Not scorn.
"Do you think I don't know that feeling?"
Veyra met her eyes.
And suddenly she looked young. For all her armor and command and presence—she looked like someone caught between instinct and terror of what it might make her become.
"I've spent my whole life fighting what I am," Liora said, her voice steadier now. "Not because I hated myself. Because I was afraid of being taken. Of being used. Of waking up with someone's scent on my skin and no memory of saying yes."
Veyra closed her eyes.
Liora went on, softer.
"But you—Veyra—" she shook her head slightly, "—you didn't touch me. Not even when I kissed you. Not when I climbed on top of you. You didn't take."
"I wanted to," Veyra rasped.
"I know."
Silence.
"But you didn't," Liora whispered. "That's the part that matters."
Veyra opened her eyes again. She looked wrecked and reverent.
"I don't know how to want you and keep you safe," she said. "Not at the same time."
Liora's lips parted.
Her heart felt like it was trying to break out of her chest, but she kept her voice level.
"Then maybe we figure out how."
Veyra dropped to one knee in front of her—slowly, so slowly—until they were eye-level.
Close now.
Close enough to feel the heat of her breath, to see the way her shoulders trembled from holding herself back.
"I've never wanted anyone," Veyra said. "Not like this. Not at all."
Liora's voice came gently.
"Me neither."
Neither of them moved.
Then Liora did.
She reached forward—just barely—and took Veyra's hand.
Warm.
Calloused.
Still shaking.
She wrapped her fingers around it and held it there, like something sacred.
And neither of them said a word.
Veyra's hand remained beneath Liora's, their palms pressed together, both warm and trembling. For a moment, they didn't move. The air around them had thickened with heat through the hush—not awkward, but charged. Beneath that stillness, the scent of rut rose in waves: pine sweetened into spice, iron warmed in fire, salt, skin, and want.
Liora's breath had shortened without her realizing. Her pulse danced behind her ears.
Veyra's voice broke the quiet, low and hoarse:
"Can I touch you?"
Liora blinked. Her hand tightened over Veyra's instinctively. It wasn't the question that stunned her—it was how small the voice was behind it. Not demanding. Not even confident. Just... bare. Vulnerable.
Her own body was already burning.
But she still managed a nod.
Veyra didn't move.
"Say it," she rasped. "I need you to say yes."
Liora's breath hitched. She could feel her skin prickling, her legs tingling beneath the hem of her tunic. Her lips parted.
"...Yes."
Veyra's breath shook in her throat.
Liora sat so still on the bench, fingers curled in her lap, her copper eyes fixed on her with something between trust and terror. Her scent had bloomed into full heat—honey steeped in smoke, velvet-soft and aching. Veyra's rut rose like a tide inside her, making her limbs tremble from the effort of stillness.
She reached forward, knelt in front of her, and touched her knee.
"Liora," she said, voice raw. "If I touch you, I don't know if I can stop."
Liora's throat bobbed. Her hand reached out and cupped Veyra's cheek.
"I know," she whispered. "But I'm still saying yes."
That was all Veyra needed.
But she didn't lunge. She didn't devour.
She lifted her.
With one arm beneath Liora's knees and the other around her back, Veyra gathered her up, pulling her close to her chest like something precious. Liora gasped—not from pain or fear, but surprise—and clung to her instinctively, face tucked into the curve of her neck.
Veyra crossed the room in slow, trembling steps, carrying her.
Every breath was fire.
Liora's scent clung to her skin now—soaked into her collar, her hair, her breath. She could feel the pulse of Liora's heart fluttering against her own, feel the shift of bare thighs brushing her hips.
The bed waited—rumpled and shadowed by the firelight.
Veyra set her down on it with unbearable care, as though she might vanish if handled too roughly. Her hands lingered—one on her waist, one sliding up her back as she leaned over her.
Liora looked up at her, eyes bright with nerves and something else—want.
Veyra's breath caught. The firelight trembled across Liora's cheeks, softening the flush there, casting warm gold into the hollows of her throat. Her legs were bent, parted loosely around Veyra's hips where she knelt over her—tunic bunched high, breath rising and falling shallow beneath the fabric. There was no fear in her gaze. Just the weight of trust. The kind that didn't beg, but waited. Brave. Exposed.
Veyra's hand curled against the bed beside her thigh.
"...You can still tell me to stop," she said, voice raw.
Liora didn't flinch. She reached up slowly—fingertips brushing the line of Veyra's jaw.
"I won't."
The words undid something in her.
Veyra bowed her head. Her hair slipped forward, curtaining their faces in dark strands and smoke-scent. She braced her hands to either side of Liora's body, then leaned down, slow, until her mouth brushed the center of her chest.
Liora gasped.
It wasn't harsh. Not claiming. Just felt—a kiss so careful it hurt. Then another. Higher this time, just below her collarbone. Her fingers tangled in the hem of Veyra's tunic.
Veyra moved by instinct now, but she moved like prayer—not greed. Her hands slid beneath the linen at Liora's waist, palms meeting bare skin. Heat met heat. Her thumbs found the edge of Liora's ribs, following the delicate line up until she felt her shiver.
Liora arched, just slightly, into her touch.
Veyra's voice was a whisper against her skin. "You're shaking."
"So are you."
The tunic slid up, drawn gently over her head. Liora lifted her arms to help. The room shifted with her—scent thickening, air brushing her skin as it was bared to the open heat. Her chest rose and fell, naked now beneath Veyra's gaze.
Veyra stared.
She looked like she was trying to memorize her.
One hand lifted slowly, reverently, and cupped Liora's breast. Her thumb brushed over the soft peak—just once. Liora made a sound in her throat, half breath, half moan.
Veyra's control fractured.
She kissed her again, deeper now. Mouth to mouth. Her weight settled slightly between Liora's thighs as their hips brushed—nothing frantic, only need, thick and rising like a tide.
Liora clung to her—hands in her hair, on her back, pulling her close as their bodies molded together.
"Please," she whispered against her lips.
That was all.
Veyra kissed her once more—then pulled back to her knees and fumbled at her belt. Her fingers shook.
Liora watched, wide-eyed, lips parted, chest bare and glowing in the firelight.
When Veyra finally let her trousers fall, she hesitated. Just a beat.
Liora reached.
Her hand slid gently down, eyes locked with Veyra's, until her fingers brushed against the heat between her thighs. She found her there—hard and trembling. Liora's breath caught. It was her first time seeing this part of an Alpha. Of her.
But she didn't pull away.
She touched her, slow. Careful. The same reverence Veyra had shown her.
"I want you," she said, soft and unflinching. "I do."
Veyra made a broken sound—part breath, part plea. She caught Liora's wrist, kissed her palm.
Then she moved.
She shifted forward, bracing one hand beside Liora's head, the other guiding herself as she pressed the tip of her length to Liora's entrance.
Their eyes met.
"Now?" Veyra asked, voice barely a rasp.
Liora nodded. She swallowed hard. "Now."
Veyra pushed in—slowly.
Liora gasped.
It was so much—stretching, opening, taking. Her fingers clutched the sheets as her hips lifted instinctively to meet her. Veyra groaned above her, burying her face in Liora's neck as she sank in inch by trembling inch. Her body felt like it was breaking open—too full, too deep—and yet it felt right, terrifyingly right.
Veyra paused once she was fully sheathed, her chest pressed tight to Liora's, her breath shaking against her skin.
"I'll go slow," she murmured. "I'll stop if you need—"
Liora's legs wrapped around her.
"Don't stop."
And Veyra moved.
Her first thrust was shallow, testing. Then another—deeper. Liora cried out, not from pain, but from the weight of it, the stretch, the slip of wetness between them and the shock of how much she felt. Her scent surged—thick with heat, honey turned molten, lavender blooming wild and heavy.
Veyra's rhythm found her—careful at first, then faster, hips rolling into hers with a force she hadn't known she had. She kissed Liora's jaw, her throat, her collarbone—panting her name, reverent and wrecked.
"You feel—" she couldn't finish.
"I know," Liora whispered, eyes bright, tears at the corners. "So do you."
Their bodies moved like they'd been waiting for this—slow, then frantic, Veyra's thrusts building, Liora lifting to meet her every time, hands on her back, breathless, breaking.
Liora came first—loud and helpless, thighs trembling, mouth open as her climax tore through her. Her body clamped down around Veyra's length, tight and pulsing, slick heat dragging a cry from her throat.
And that was all it took.
Veyra's body locked.
A deep, guttural sound escaped her as the wave hit—instinct crashing through every muscle. Her hips jerked forward once more, burying herself as deep as she could go—and then she felt it: the pressure building at the base of her length, swelling into that thick, final shape that marked the end of control.
Her knot.
It forced her wider inside Liora—too much, all at once—and the moment it started to form, Liora gasped sharply, back arching, legs tightening around her.
And then—without thinking—she bit her.
Hard.
Her mouth clamped down over Veyra's collarbone, lips parted, teeth sinking into sweat-slicked skin to muffle the cry that tore from her throat. It wasn't violent. It wasn't cruel. It was instinct—pure and panicked and overwhelming.
The knot filled her, stretched her, locked her open.
And Liora couldn't breathe.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't not bite.
Veyra groaned at the contact, the sharp jolt of sensation making her thrust once more as she came—fully, uncontrollably, helplessly. Hot pulses spilled deep inside Liora's body, each one made worse by the way she was biting her, holding her there with teeth and trembling arms and scent.
Her voice cracked against Liora's ear.
"I—I can't—stop—"
Liora whimpered through her teeth but didn't let go.
Her fingers had fisted into Veyra's hair. Her thighs were shaking.
She couldn't even process what she was saying—but the moment she found breath, she did:
"Don't."
It wasn't don't knot.
It was don't pull away.
And Veyra didn't.
She stayed, braced above her, whole body trembling, arms locked on either side of Liora's shoulders as the knot swelled and sealed them together. Her breath was ragged, her jaw slack, her skin burning.
And Liora finally loosened her bite—lips brushing over the mark, tongue darting out instinctively as if to soothe.
Neither of them moved.
Not truly.
They were stuck—joined—but neither wanted to leave.
Veyra's voice came hoarse and stunned near her throat.
"...You bit me."
"I know."
"You really bit me."
"You really knotted me."
A beat. Then a breathless laugh between them, not mocking—just stunned. Tender.
Veyra slumped gently down, burying her face in the crook of Liora's neck.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispered.
"You didn't," Liora murmured. "It just—felt like too much. I needed something. I didn't know what else to do."
Veyra kissed her jaw without thinking, a slow, reverent press of lips.
"You could do anything to me," she said, voice frayed. "I'd still be yours."
Liora blinked, breath catching at the edges of that word.
Yours.
And still... it didn't feel like a cage.
It felt like safety.
Her arms curled tighter around Veyra's back, knot still locked inside her, body tender and full and burning. And she whispered back—quietly, not quite ready to name it aloud, but unable to deny it either:
"I know."
Minutes passed—ten, maybe twenty—before the knot finally began to soften, easing the pressure between them. Veyra stilled at the shift, breath catching, but said nothing. She just waited, body unmoving, giving Liora time to feel it—to breathe through it.
And when the ache eased enough that she could finally pull back, Veyra didn't.
Not all the way.
She only shifted enough to settle beside her again, drawing Liora into her chest beneath the blankets, both of them still bare, skin to skin.
The silence held.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like something unfinished.
It felt like peace.