The moon was high, the air thick with mist and pine and sex.
Lyra staggered into the shadowed garden behind the estate, heart still hammering from Kael's kiss—his touch, his refusal to finish her.
She ached.
Between her thighs.
Between her ribs.
Between every space she thought she'd closed off.
But now?
She was open.
Wounded.
Burning.
And she wasn't alone.
Darius stepped from the shadows.
No smile. No swagger.
Just eyes that gleamed hungry and wild.
He took one look at her and froze.
Her dress was crooked, one strap fallen. Her lips were kissed red and bruised. Her thighs pressed tightly together—aching. Kael's scent still clung to her like smoke.
Darius inhaled once—sharp.
And his hands clenched.
"You let him touch you," he said, voice rough.
She didn't answer.
"You let him taste what should've been mine."
Lyra looked up slowly. Her eyes weren't apologetic. They were shattered.
"Then take what's yours."
The growl he let out was pure possession.
He was on her in two steps—hands in her hair, mouth crashing into hers, not like Kael's firestorm—Darius kissed like drowning. Like he'd waited years to feel her lips.
He lifted her—lifted her like she weighed nothing—and slammed her back against the ivy-covered stone wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he pressed against her, hard and ready.
"You smell like him," he snarled, mouth trailing down her throat. "But you're going to scream my name tonight."
She gasped, fingers digging into his hair. "Then make me."
He did.
One hand shoved her dress up, baring her soaked lace. The other pushed her panties to the side, fingers sliding through the wet heat between her thighs.
He groaned. "Fuck, Lyra. You're dripping."
"Because he—he didn't finish it," she gasped. "He left me."
Darius laughed darkly. "Then I'll make you forget him."
And he did.
His fingers plunged into her—two at once, deep and steady. His thumb found her clit and circled with filthy, knowing pressure. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just devastating.
"Tell me who's touching you like this," he growled.
"You are," she gasped.
"Tell me who's making you fall apart."
"You are."
He bit her neck, sucked hard enough to leave a mark. "That's right, baby. Mine. You're going to come for me, right here, where anyone could see—"
"Oh god—Darius—"
He added a third finger. She clenched around him, thighs shaking, nails clawing his back through his shirt.
"Come for me, little wolf," he whispered, lips brushing her ear.
And Lyra broke.
Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, full-body, brutal, beautiful. She bit his shoulder to muffle her scream, legs locking around him like a vise.
Darius held her through every wave, every cry, fingers still working her through it until she sagged against him—wrecked.
He pulled back slowly, dragging his fingers out with a groan.
Then—with eyes locked on hers—he sucked them clean.
"Sweet," he said, voice wrecked. "Just like I imagined."
She trembled, still high, still twitching.
But then he pressed his body against hers again—hard.
"You think I'm done?" he asked.
Lyra gasped. "Darius—"
"No. You're not getting one and walking away."
He kissed her again—deeper, darker.
"I'm going to make you come again," he said. "And again. Until you forget his name."
And she let him.
All of it.
---
Elsewhere, from a high window, Kael watched.
Watched Darius take what should've been his.
And the snarl that ripped from his chest?
Shook the stone walls of the estate.
Selene heard it.
And she smiled.