CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We left the restaurant not long after the conversation that still clung to the edges of my mind. The car was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind outside. My head leaned back against the seat, my eyes tracing the darkened scenery of the Isle as it passed by, the shadows of trees and the distant gleam of the moon on the lake. My hand was resting in Alexander's, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over my knuckles as he drove with his other hand.

It took a while for me to realize that the path we were on wasn't heading back to the estate.

The familiar curves and winding roads were missing, replaced by unfamiliar streets that led along the coastline. It was hard to tell in the dark, but my instincts told me something was different.

"Where are we going?" I asked, turning my head slightly toward him, my curiosity piqued.

His eyes flicked toward me briefly, a mischievous smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "For dessert," he said, his voice casual, "and a surprise."

The thought of something more after the conversation about Anya was unsettling. But I didn't push him. I kept my eyes on the road, watching the moonlight dance across the water beside us. The night felt darker, the air around us more secretive, as though the Isle itself was shrouded in mystery. After a while, we reached two sprawling estates, each one mirroring the other in size and grandeur, standing like sentinels along the coast.

Their presence alone was intimidating, a testament to the wealth and power that came with being part of the Impío faith. Even in the dark, they loomed above us, steeped in an old, almost ancestral importance. We turned into the driveway of the slightly larger estate, parking behind another flashy car that was already there. The house towered over us; its sharp architecture softened only by the subtle lighting coming from inside.

It reminded me of our own home, secluded and wrapped in luxury, but there was something different here, more personal. I knew instinctively that this place held history for Alexander. The air was heavy with it. He cut the engine and stepped out, coming around to my side and opening my door, as always. I blinked, taking in the massive house, feeling the cool night air rush over my skin as I stepped out.

The smell of the lake was stronger here, mingling with the earthy scent of the trees that surrounded us.

"Where are we?" I asked again, my voice quieter this time, uncertain.

He smirked down at me, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "My parents'," he said with a knowing smile, clearly anticipating my reaction.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. His parents? My mind raced. I had already met his father—the man gave new meaning to the word intense . He had a presence that filled the room, a cold, calculating authority that left no room for doubt. His mother, however, was like a ghost. Always mentioned and never seen. A figure I had imagined but hadn't met, a woman whose influence was undeniable, yet whose face had remained hidden from me.

I stared at him. "Your parents?"

His smirk deepened, enjoying my surprise. "Yes, deliciae . My parents."

I had never really thought about what meeting them would be like. His father's intensity had been daunting enough, but the thought of meeting the woman who had shaped Alexander into the man he was now...

My mind raced with questions—what was she like? Did she know everything? Would she approve of me? Alexander sensed my rising anxiety because he stepped closer, his hand brushing gently down my arm before resting at the small of my back. The warmth of his touch steadied me, grounding me in the moment.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "I was meant to bring you here weeks ago for brunch. They've been waiting to meet you."

The idea that they had been waiting for me didn't help.

He kissed my temple lightly, his lips warm against the cool night air. "Come on, you'll be fine."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my nerves as we began walking toward the grand entrance The massive double doors swung open before we could even reach them, revealing a figure I recognized instantly—Bishop. He greeted us with a wide, charming smile that threw me off guard, as if we'd known each other for years, despite our few brief encounters. He held up a large glass, clearly already a few drinks deep.

"Finally!" Bishop exclaimed, his grin growing wider. "I'm on my third glass already."

I blinked, momentarily surprised by how at ease he seemed. He had always behaved as though we were old friends whenever we crossed paths. The charm and the raw magnetism he carried was undeniable—dark chestnut-hued hair styled as though he'd just run his hands through it, and those deep hazel eyes, glinting with a playful mischief that could be dangerous if you didn't know better.

From behind him came Esther's voice, breaking the moment. "No one told you to start getting tipsy," she said, shoving him aside with a playful push, making him laugh. The sound was deep and contagious. He stepped back easily, giving her the floor.

"Lo," Esther greeted me warmly, her happiness at seeing me radiating off her.

Alexander raised an eyebrow, looking mock offended. "Do I not exist?"

Esther grinned up at him, giving him a one-sided hug. "Alex," she said in a teasing tone, clearly in a good mood. He pulled her in for a proper hug as we stepped inside the grand foyer of the estate, the atmosphere immediately warmer than I had expected.

As we walked in, I took a second to glance at Bishop. There was something about his easygoing demeanor, the lopsided smile that always seemed to linger on his lips, which made him approachable—even in this intimidating setting.

His sharp cheekbones and squared jaw gave him a striking, almost dangerous look, but the sparkle in his eyes and that ever-present stubble softened the effect, giving him a roguish, playful air. We stepped further inside, and the grandeur of the home unfolded before me. Dark, rich wood adorned the walls, with intricate carvings that added to the overall opulence. It was a space filled with history and power, but there was a warmth there too, something familial that made me feel like I was stepping into more than just a house—it was their sanctuary.

As Alexander and Esther continued talking, I couldn't help but observe how easily they fit together, how their interactions flowed with a natural, effortless grace. The bond between them was undeniable, a deep-rooted connection that hinted at years of shared experiences and trust. It left me feeling as if I were slowly being woven into something beyond my understanding.

Bishop caught my eye again, his lopsided grin still firmly in place, like he was already in on some private joke. "You ready for the madness?" he teased, raising his glass in my direction.

I wasn't sure if he was referring to the evening ahead or something more sinister. The glint in his eyes told me it didn't matter—whatever it was, I was already in it. The game, whatever it was, had already begun, and I was just starting to understand the rules. Before I could respond, Emilio appeared from around a corner, his smile just as friendly and disarming as always.

Without warning, he pulled me into a hug, catching me completely off guard. I stood there stiff as a board, unsure how to respond. His laugh echoed through the room. "The Devil, Alex," he teased, "did you tell her she couldn't even hug her family?"

Alexander chuckled, pulling me back to his side, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist.

"I didn't tell her anything of the sort. She's just a good girl," he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar, dangerous edge.

My face flamed, the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room on me. Bishop grinned wider, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. "Good girl, huh? Well, she's learning fast. Or maybe it's just Alex's training that's working," he joked, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Esther rolled her eyes, reaching out to lightly slap Bishop's chest. "Don't make it worse," she said with a playful smile, though even she couldn't hold back her amusement.

Despite my flushed cheeks, there was something strangely comforting about their banter, the way they all teased and laughed together. It felt almost normal.

I had never seen any of them this at ease, behaving like actual people and not the satanic royalty they usually projected. There was a softness to them in this moment, an ease that didn't match the darkness I'd come to associate with their world. It was jarring, in a way—seeing Alexander, Bishop, and Emilio laugh and joke like they were just a group of friends or family. Not powerful men who ruled over something twisted and secret. As the laughter continued to ripple between them, a feminine, bell-like voice suddenly called out, cutting through the conversation.

"She's here."

I turned my head in the direction of the voice, my heart skipping a beat. A woman was approaching, her presence commanding, yet there was something ethereal about her, something delicate. She looked like them—no doubt related—but there was an almost doll-like quality to her.

Her features were finely sculpted, too perfect, too delicate, like a living porcelain figure come to life. Behind her, a man trailed after her, tall and well-built, with a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes sparkled with amusement, as though whatever already entertained him was about to unfold. The woman slowed as she neared, her gaze never leaving mine. There was something unnerving about the intensity of her stare, as if she were assessing every inch of me. She stopped a few feet from me, her eyes still locked on mine.

"Oh, look at her, Corbin," she said softly, her voice dripping with a kind of fascination that sent a chill down my spine.

The man—Corbin—smiled, his eyes flicking between me and the woman, though he said nothing. He didn't need to. The way they both looked at me, like I was something to be studied, made my pulse race.

Alexander's grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against my side in a subtle reminder that I wasn't alone.

The woman's face was full of emotion as she stared at me, her eyes wide and sparkling with something that looked like awe—or curiosity. She was striking, delicate, doll-like in her appearance, yet there was something intensely alive in the way she looked at me. Alexander's voice cut through the moment, grounding me in the present.

"Lolita, this is my Aunt Beatrice," he said, his hand still firmly at my waist, "and my Uncle Corbin. They're Bishop's parents."

Beatrice stepped forward with a kind of eagerness, her hands outstretched toward me. For a moment, I hesitated, confused by the gesture, but then, uncertain, I placed my hands in hers. It felt strange—too intimate, too formal—but I couldn't deny her.

"Hi," I managed, my voice softer than I intended, unsure of what to expect from her.

Beatrice stepped even closer, practically beaming as she looked me over. "She's so pretty," she said with breathless enthusiasm, her gaze unwavering. Then she turned her head slightly to Corbin, her voice dropping to something like a whisper, though it was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Isn't she?"

Corbin grinned, clearly used to his wife's way of behaving.

His tall frame loomed over her as he nodded, his smile easygoing but full of pride. "Of course she is," he said, his deep voice warm with approval. "She's one of the Alistairs."

"Good answer," Esther chimed in with a playful smirk.

Beatrice tightened her grip on my hands and started to lead me away from the door, pulling me deeper into the house. I glanced back at Alexander, but he simply smiled, clearly comfortable with whatever was happening.

"Well, come on," Beatrice said, her excitement palpable. "She's waiting."

The others followed behind us as Beatrice led me through the grand hallway, and soon we entered a richly decorated room—a parlor, I guessed, the kind of space only the incredibly wealthy seemed to have. Dark, intricate woodwork lined the walls, and plush, crimson furniture filled the space, illuminated by the dim, golden light of chandeliers hanging above.

And then I saw her.

The back of a woman's head, her hair pulled into a sleek, elegant style. Alexander's father was standing beside her, a tall, commanding figure, but it wasn't him that drew my attention. No, it was the woman sitting on the sofa, facing away from us. Instinctively, I felt something familiar, something that tugged at the edges of my memory. Alexander's father bent down, murmuring something to the woman. She paused for a moment, then slowly stood, turning around to face us.

The moment her eyes met mine, I had to fight to control my reaction.

I knew her.

She was the woman who had warned me about her son—the very same night he had taken me. The shock of recognition hit me like a wave, my heart pounding as the memory of the words she'd written on a small piece of paper came back to me.

Diabolus has come for you.

I had reread the note, confusion swirling in my mind. The words didn't make sense. Diabolus ? I didn't know what it meant at the time. Before I could press for more, I'd caught sight of Shana, my supervisor, making her way toward us. I'd only glanced away for a second, but when I looked back, the woman snatched the note from my hand and, to my shock, stuffed it into her mouth. She hadn't said another word, hadn't tried to explain. She just walked away, her movements stiff, as if every step took effort. I'd been left there, speechless.

Alexander's mother stepped closer; her gaze locked onto mine with the same intensity I remembered from that night. It was the same look, the same subtle urgency, but now it all made sense. I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my expression neutral as I pieced everything together.

I could feel Alexander's presence beside me, his hand still resting possessively on my waist, his warmth seeping into me, grounding me in the present even as the past threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't afford to lose control now. Not here. Not in front of all of them. Alexander's father spoke softly to his wife, murmuring something I couldn't hear. She straightened, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You've met before," Alexander's father said, his voice low and certain.

How he clocked that immediately was beyond me, but I guessed it came from knowing his wife better than anyone else, almost like how his son knew me.

He didn't even need to look at her to confirm it. Alexander's grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly as if he'd caught on too. "The trade show," he said, his voice smooth and casual, but the weight of his words carried a sharpness I wasn't prepared for.

"Trade show?" Esther's voice broke in, her tone laced with curiosity. She looked between her brother and me, clearly trying to piece it together.

"Bacchus Trade," Bishop supplied from behind her, his grin gone, replaced with a more serious expression.

Esther blinked, then turned her attention to her mother. "Mom? Did you say something to her?"

That was the question they all wanted answered. The room grew quieter, their attention zeroing in on me and Alexander's mother. I could feel the weight of their stares, the tension thickening. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew I had to say something.

The truth would unravel more than I was ready for. As I stared at the woman, at the way she was watching me with that same intensity, I realized I would take what she had done to my grave. But damn if I weren't a terrible liar, and in this room, filled with these people, they'd see through me in an instant. I had to think quickly, to offer them a version of the truth, something that would make sense without giving everything away. I forced a small smile, one I hoped wasn't too shaky, and shrugged.

"That's what I don't get," I said, my voice carefully measured. "She didn't say anything. She just... did this." I gestured vaguely to the woman, who had yet to speak a word since we'd entered the room.

Alexander's father let out a small, almost resigned sigh, shocking me by going along with what I was sure he knew was bullshit. "She gets like that sometimes," he said, his voice heavy, but there was a faint hint of amusement in it as if he was playing along with the charade.

I didn't say another word. I didn't trust myself to. Instead, I kept my focus on the floor, doing my best not to stare at the woman's forehead—at the place where she had so obviously concealed the truth. Because right there, hidden beneath whatever makeup or illusion she had used, was the Alistair pentagram.

The very same one that had been burned onto my back. Someone had carved it so deeply into her skin, it had healed as prominent scar. My stomach churned as I forced myself to stay composed, to keep my expression neutral. It was impossible to forget the weight of that symbol. Seeing it on her, I realized just how deep the connection went. Alexander's father stepped forward, cutting through the tension, his hand resting on his wife's shoulder as if that simple gesture could smooth over the unease in the room.

"Let's not make a thing of it," he said softly, though his eyes betrayed a knowing glint. "It's been a long time since we've had everyone here and tonight is special. Let's not spoil the evening."

The men exchanged glances, amusement dancing in their eyes as they agreed to Beatrice's suggestion. Bishop grinned, always quick to lighten the mood. "Well, if you insist," he said with mock defeat, raising his glass one last time. "We'll leave you ladies to your... necessary chat ."

Alexander leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against my cheek before straightening up, his gaze lingering on mine for just a moment longer. "Behave," he murmured with a teasing smile, his touch warm and grounding, and then he pulled away, heading for the door.

His father wasn't far behind, turning to press a kiss to his wife's temple before following Alexander and the others.

As he brushed past me, he gave me a small, conspiratorial smile—just a flicker of knowing in his eyes. The gesture sent a shiver down my spine, silently confirming that he'd seen right through the lie I had spun to cover for his wife. He knew, and for some reason, he was letting it slide.

When the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted. The room felt smaller, and more intimate, the weight of the conversation to come hanging in the air. Beatrice and Esther immediately turned their attention to me, guiding me toward the sofa where Alexander's mother had returned to sitting.

"Come," Beatrice urged with a bright smile, her energy still commanding, though softer now, as if she wanted to put me at ease. "Sit. We won't bite."

I followed their lead, feeling the weight of their gazes on me as I settled into the plush, velvet cushions.

Esther busied herself with a tray of lemonade and ice water, bringing it to the table before sitting down beside me. The entire time, I could feel Alexander's mother watching me, her eyes never straying far.

There was a long silence, the kind that felt heavy with unsaid words, until finally, Alexander's mother spoke, her voice softer than I expected. "You look so much like her," she said, her eyes never leaving my face. "But him too."

For a moment, I wasn't sure who she was referring to— her? Him?

But as her gaze continued to study me, I realized she meant my parents. She saw something in me that reminded her of them. The intensity of her stare, the way she was dissecting my features as if looking for traces of people she once knew, left me unnerved.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Who do you mean?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're truly Alistair. It's all in the blood."

Beatrice cut in with a soft smile, her voice steady and warm. "I'll tell her, Adelita."

Adelita.

The name echoed in my mind, a strange resonance flickering through me. It was so close to mine, like a reflection of something I hadn't yet grasped. I glanced toward Alexander's mother—Adelita—trying to process this new connection, but she only gave a small nod, confirming the name I'd just learned.

Beatrice handed me a glass of water, and I accepted it gratefully, trying to still the sudden unease rolling in my stomach. Esther took the seat beside me, offering her quiet presence, but her eyes held the same knowing look as the others. Beatrice's smile widened, and she began, her voice taking on a storytelling tone as though she'd told this tale a hundred times before.

"Adelita was a close friend of mine in high school," she started, leaning back in her seat. "That's how she believed she met my brother, Draven."

I felt Alexander's mother—Adelita—shift slightly beside me, her eyes still on me, but Beatrice continued without pause.

"Truth be told," Beatrice added with a conspiratorial wink, "her story is a lot like yours. She and her sister are Asmos', the last of them. That's relevant."

I blinked, trying to piece it together. Asmos'? I'd never heard the term before, but something about the way she said it made me think it wasn't just a family name. It was heavier, more significant, like the weight of ancient history wrapped up in a single word.

Beatrice watched my expression closely, then went on. "Well, her sister, Isabel, was dating a real nasty piece of work called Troy—and also cheating on him with Adelita's dear friend, and mine, Kyle."

She paused, her eyes scanning my face to understand. "Are you following so far?" she asked, her voice light but with an edge, as if what she was telling me held more weight than just a complicated love triangle.

I nodded slowly, though my mind raced to keep up. "I think so," I said, my voice hesitant. There was more to this than I could see, but I sensed that the history she was weaving was leading somewhere... and it involved me.

Beatrice's gaze softened, and she gave me a reassuring smile. "Good. Because the story doesn't end there."

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glimmering with something between nostalgia and something darker as she continued. "Well, Isabel wound up pregnant, and Kyle knew she would need to be brought back to the Isle. This was before it became what it is today—back when things were a lot more complicated. Many things were different."

She gave me a small, knowing smile, like she was letting me in on some long-buried secret. "It worked out well since Adelita was in a relationship with Draven—though, admittedly, she didn't know at the time that he was Diabolus ," Beatrice paused, her laugh light but carrying a hint of the gravity behind her words. "Anyway, they were brought to the Isle. Isabel wasn't the happiest here. Her now ex, Troy—well, he was dead by then. And eventually, she lost her tongue. But don't worry, that didn't slow her down any."

She stopped, her expression shifting briefly as a flicker of sadness crossed her face before she pushed through it and continued. "Isabel wound up losing the baby," Beatrice said softly, her tone carrying more weight now. "Shortly after that, a certain someone helped her escape." She shot a playful glance at Adelita, her words laced with a joking tone.

Alexander's mother, Adelita, shifted slightly but didn't speak.

The tension in the room thickened, and I found myself holding my breath. I glanced between them, trying to process the weight of what Beatrice was telling me. The pieces of this twisted history were falling into place, and it was clear now that Adelita had played a role in helping her sister escape the Isle—a move that went directly against everything this place stood for. What baffled me was the way they spoke about it so casually, like these were just the facts of life. Loss, punishment, and betrayal all wrapped up in a web of relationships and secrets.

Beatrice continued, her tone softening as she delved deeper into the story. "We didn't see Isa for a long time after that. We sent many to find her, but it wasn't easy. Eventually, Kyle did. And that's where you come in." She smiled, though the warmth of it didn't reach her eyes. "He lost Isa again before he could bring her back to the Isle. She was good at hiding. So good, in fact, that she gave birth to you off the record and raised you for four years before we found her again."

Beatrice sighed, her gaze flickering with something that felt like regret. "That's when things got messy. You wound up in the system under a completely different surname, hidden in plain sight. Isa let Kyle find her after that, maybe out of guilt, maybe to tie up loose ends. But then she did something no one expected—she took both of their lives. I can only assume she thought it would keep you far away from here."

The weight of Beatrice's words pressed down on me, the reality sinking in with every sentence. My mother... she had killed herself and my father to protect me? And didn't she she'd lost her tongue somehow? I was instantly reminded of Kennedy. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with the truth I hadn't even known I was missing.

"But that wasn't her choice to make," Beatrice said softly, her voice sharpening just a little. "The Isle was rightfully upset. Your bloodline... it's tied to us in more ways than you realize. That's how I found you. How we learned about the existence of Lolita."

I was never meant to escape this .

The thought was the first to rifle through my head.

Beatrice's voice softened again, but her eyes gleamed with something sharp, something deliberate. "I have vast resources, a network that can find anyone, anywhere. And when I learned about you, it wasn't tying up loose ends. It was about lineage, legacy." She paused, watching me closely as if gauging my reaction. "You carry the legacy of Impio in your veins, Lolita. Blood that ties you to us."

I could barely breathe. My mother had tried to save me, but even in death, she hadn't been able to keep me from this place, from them.

"For years, we kept track of you," Beatrice continued. "You grew up oblivious to your true heritage, and we waited— watched. It was only a matter of time before the right moment came to reintroduce you to the Isle. And once I told Alexander of your existence... well," she smiled again, this time with a hint of pride, "the rest is history."

Everything around me blurred as her words settled in. They had always known about me, always watching, waiting.

"When we say you're family and we've always wanted you, we mean it," Esther said softly, her eyes warm as she looked at me.

Adelita spoke up for the first time. Her voice was calm, but there was an intensity behind it that cut through the room. "You took the best of both of them," she said, her gaze piercing as she studied my face. "Your mother and father."

Her words sank in slowly, but when they did, it was like everything around me froze. My mind raced to catch up.

This woman—Adelita—was my aunt . My mother's only sister. Which meant Alexander was my…cousin? I blinked, my vision swimming for a moment as the room seemed to tilt around me. I glanced at Beatrice, at Esther, at Adelita, trying to find something in their faces that would tell me I was wrong. There was nothing. Only calm acceptance. To them this was the truth I should've always known. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as the pieces of my life shifted, rearranging themselves in ways I couldn't have imagined.

Alexander.

My Alexander.

My cousin.

"When did you find me?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think, my mind spinning too fast to catch up. When did they find me? How long had they been watching me, knowing who I was, waiting?

Beatrice's gaze softened, though there was no hesitation in her answer. "I found you when you were fifteen." Her voice was calm, a matter of fact as if she were recounting something routine. "Alexander was told about you when you were seventeen."

I quickly did the mental math, trying to make sense of it. That would've made him... "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight?" I said, my voice small, barely audible. The realization sank in—he hadn't known about me for as long as I thought he did, which meant he moved quicker than I could have ever imagined bringing me home.

Beatrice nodded, confirming my thoughts. Esther chimed in, her voice soft, almost admiring. "He accepted you right away."

Adelita's voice followed, the first trace of vulnerability slipping into her tone. "He rearranged everything for you," she said, as if the words held more meaning than I could grasp.

Then her gaze softened further, a glimmer of something deeper flashing in her eyes. "He has made me proud many times over the years... but I admit, when I learned you'd be brought back here, Lolita, I was terrified." Her voice wavered, but only slightly, as if revealing this truth pained her more than she let on. "I thought you deserved the life you'd built for yourself. I know what it's like to have that snatched away."

She paused, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart ache. "I... panicked," she confessed, her voice lower, softer. "I shouldn't have. I can see now—you belong here. The Isle chose you, just like it chose my son. And I couldn't be prouder of the man he's become."

There was a long silence after that, the weight of her words pressing down on me. The Isle chose you .

Adelita's eyes darkened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But it's Diabolus that worried me."

The shift in the room was palpable, the name ringing with a weight that couldn't be ignored. She was talking about her own son—the role he had taken, the power he wielded as Diabolus .

I had always known that the title came with a darkness but hearing her speak of it like this made it feel all the more real. I sat there, the walls of the parlor closing in around me as I tried to process everything. My family. My past. Alexander. Diabolus . The twisted web I was caught in was tightening around me, and there was no way to untangle myself from it.

"This is, um... a lot," I said, my voice shaky despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I felt like I was swimming in information, and the weight of everything they'd just told me was pulling me under.

Beatrice smiled gently, as if she'd expected this reaction. "Yeah, I imagine it is. But you've only proven you were the Isle's choice by handling everything the way you have and accepting our faith, even the darkest parts of it."

I wouldn't necessarily say that I had accepted it, not really.

I wasn't going to point that out. Instead, I took a small sip of water, putting the glass down carefully before the emotions that were tangled inside me could slip through. Everything felt so tightly wound within me that it physically hurt, a pressure building in my chest, but I couldn't let it show. Not now.

"Is there a bathroom I can use?" I asked, my voice tight.

Esther immediately stood; her smile warm but concerned. "Of course. Come with me."

I followed her out of the room, my feet feeling heavy with each step.

The air in the hallway felt thicker, quieter than the tension I'd left behind. The dark wood and rich decor felt suffocating as we walked in silence down the hall, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my entire world had just been turned upside down.

Esther slowed to a stop just outside a door. "It's right here," she said softly, gesturing toward the bathroom.

"Thanks," I muttered, moving toward the door. I needed a minute to breathe, to think, to feel something other than the numbness spreading through me.

But before I could enter, Esther's hand gently rested on my arm, stopping me. Her touch was firm, but there was an unexpected warmth in it.

"Hey," she said quietly, her voice grounding. "I know this is a lot." She looked at me, her eyes filled with understanding, as though she knew exactly how overwhelmed I felt. "But my aunt was right, and I've said it before. You've already proven you're stronger than you think. You're here now, and you belong here." She gave my arm a gentle squeeze. "You've survived so much already, Lolita." Her voice was steady, as if she believed every word she said, and that was why it was so hard for me not to believe her too. I looked at her, trying to form words, trying to make sense of everything. "Blood matters here," Esther continued, her eyes locking onto mine. "Legacy matters. And you've always been part of this, even if you didn't know it."

I didn't know how to respond. Legacy. Blood. They kept talking about it as if it were a gift when even as I came to accept that I'd never leave this Isle, it felt like a slowly restricting chain.

Esther's voice softened as she shifted, sensing the real fear swirling inside me. "Look," she said gently, "I know you're scared. I know the idea of Alexander being Diabolus is… a lot. I know he's a lot. It's something even our mother fears. He may carry the weight of the Isle, but he's chosen you, Lolita. You're meant to be his balance."

Her words hit me harder than I expected, cutting through the chaos in my mind. Alexander had chosen me. Despite everything, the darkness, the secrets—he had chosen me, just as I had been pulled toward him. I looked down, swallowing the lump in my throat. "And what if I can't be his balance?" I asked quietly.

Esther gave me a soft, reassuring smile, her hand still on my arm. "You already are." She stepped back. "I'll come check on you if you're not back in a few minutes, alright?"

I nodded and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind me with a quiet click. The room was silent, but the pressure in my chest felt deafening. I turned the sink on, letting the sound of rushing water fill the space. My hands gripped the cool porcelain basin tightly, my knuckles turning white.

The room seemed to tilt for a moment, everything spinning out of control. I could feel the weight of my reflection behind me, like it was watching, waiting, judging.

I couldn't face it.

I couldn't face her .

With a sharp breath, I turned away from the mirror, refusing to look at myself, my pulse racing in my ears. My reflection wouldn't just show my face—it would show everything I was struggling to keep inside. The questions, the confusion, the growing connection to a place and a man I had just barely began to understand. I took a shaky breath, leaning back against the cool bathroom wall, the sound of the running water fading into the background.

My mind was racing, but the realization of what I'd just learned sat heavy in my chest. Alexander and I— We were family. Not strangers, not lovers who just happened to find each other.

It wasn't a complete shock. Alexander had alluded to it more than once. I'd tried to find the connection. I just hadn't known how deep the connection went. So many times, he told me we were bound by something more than his obsession, something that had always tied me to the Isle. I couldn't deny that I knew it would be something like this. Now, the truth felt strange, but not as horrifying as I thought it would be. Maybe it was because I had already accepted so much about him—his darkness, his ruthlessness, his role as Diabolus .

The family aspect was just another piece of the puzzle, another facet of the twisted world I had been pulled into. The fact that we shared blood made this all feel inevitable, like we had been destined for this from the start. I let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through my hair. I should've been disgusted or scared. Instead, I felt conflicted. Why hadn't he just told me? He had kept this from me, knowing full well what it would mean.

It wasn't just the Isle that had claimed me; it was my blood, my family. My thoughts circled back to everything that had happened between us, how deeply he had intwined himself into my life, my mind, my heart. I gripped the sink again, squeezing my eyes shut. What did this mean for us now? Did it mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things?

No matter how much I wrestled with this revelation, it didn't change the way I felt about him. There'd been something pulling us together from the very beginning, transcending the boundaries of right and wrong. Just as my thoughts spiraled deeper into the unsettling truth about Alexander and me, something caught my eye—a small piece of paper slipping beneath the door. I froze, staring at it, my mind immediately wondering Adelita?

No. Adelita wouldn't risk something like this, not now. She may have warned me long ago, but it was clear she loved her son— Alexander. She wouldn't betray him again.

Heart pounding, I snatched the paper up, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfolded it. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and the message left me reeling.

I know how to help you. 1 week at Elmsworth Market. Row T4.

Confusion washed over me, my mind racing. Who wrote this? My pulse quickened, suspicion creeping in. This was a dangerous game, and I had no idea who had just pulled me into it. Without wasting another second, I tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed, watching as it swirled away, gone before anyone could trace it back to me. I couldn't afford to hold on to it, not in this house.

I turned back to the sink, splashing cool water on my face, the chill seeping into my skin as I forced myself to breathe. One deep breath in, then another. My reflection blurred in the mirror, but I kept my eyes trained on the water, the sound grounding me in the moment.

I turned the sink off and patted my face dry, knowing I couldn't hide out in the bathroom, no matter how luxurious it was. My heart was still racing, the message on the note haunting me, but I couldn't let it show. I took one more deep breath, bracing myself, and pulled the door open. I took one last breath, trying to collect myself, and opened the door. I nearly jumped when I saw Esther leaning against the wall. Her expression was calm, though something about the way she was waiting for me stirred up a new kind of tension inside me.

"Have you been there the whole time?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice came out more uncertain than I'd meant.

Esther laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, I was about to knock."

"Oh." I stepped out, feeling the unspoken heaviness between us.

She moved forward and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

It wasn't unusual for her to be affectionate, but this... this was different. There was a desperation in the way she clung to me that caught me off guard.

"Don't leave us, Lo," she murmured, her voice so low it was a whisper. "Don't leave me."

I froze, the meaning of her words sinking in. She knew. Esther had seen whoever left the note, but she wasn't saying anything. Her grip on me tightened for just a moment, and I realized she was begging me to stay—not just with the family, but with her. She pulled back, her smile returning as if nothing had happened. "Come on, it's time for dessert."

I nodded, following her down the hall, my mind still racing. We entered a cozy dining room, where everyone else had already gathered. Emilio sat at the far end of the table, talking animatedly with Bishop, a glass of wine in his hand.

The mood was lighter than I'd expected, too light considering the weight of what I'd just learned. As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt Alexander's eyes on me. His gaze was always intense, but now, knowing what I did, it felt like a constant reminder of the ties that bound us—ties I hadn't fully understood until tonight. He smiled when he saw me, but it wasn't the kind of smile that eased tension. It was the kind that pulled you in, made you forget everything except him.

In the center of the table was a massive double chocolate cake, decadent and rich, the scent filling the air. Draven leaned back in his chair, his arm casually draped around Adelita, a proud grin on his face. "Best cakes on the Isle," he boasted, looking at his wife with open admiration.

She smiled at him affectionately, her eyes softening as she met his gaze. It was a side of her I hadn't seen yet—more vulnerable.

The woman who had once warned me about her son now seemed perfectly at ease in her role as wife and mother. It was a strange contrast, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. Alexander approached me with that same unwavering focus, his presence commanding the room without even trying. He moved closer, his hand finding its way to the small of my back, guiding me toward the table with that same possessive touch I had grown used to.

His fingers lingered, warm against my skin, and I couldn't help but feel the slight shift in our dynamic now that I knew the truth. Family . It felt twisted and wrong, yet the connection between us hadn't lessened. If anything, it had only deepened. He pulled out a chair for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I sat down. Emilio, seated across from us, raised his glass in a mock toast. "Took you long enough," he teased, his easy grin lighting up the room.

"I had to freshen up," I replied, forcing a small smile, though my mind was still buzzing. Emilio and Alexander exchanged a look—one I couldn't quite decipher—before Alexander took his seat beside me. He served us both a slice of cake, as was our habit, sliding the plate between us as if we were the only two in the room.

I glanced around the table, noticing the casual way they all interacted, like this was just another family gathering. Bishop was cracking a joke with Esther, who rolled her eyes playfully but couldn't suppress a grin. Draven and Adelita whispered quietly to each other, lost in their own world.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around me, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like an outsider. Alexander's arm rested on the back of my chair, his thumb brushing the edge of my shoulder in gentle, possessive strokes.

The cake was delicious, rich, and sweet, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the man beside me, and the secrets that now bound us tighter than ever before. I found myself laughing along with Bishop and Emilio, even as my mind continued to swirl with everything I had just learned. It was unsettling how normal it all felt—how easily I was slipping into this role, sharing a meal, talking with them as if nothing had changed. As if I wasn't now aware of the twisted legacy, I was a part of.

Alexander leaned in; his breath warm against my ear. "You're doing well," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for me. I turned my head to meet his gaze, and there it was again—that magnetic pull that refused to let me go. Even though my world had been upended, even though everything about us should have felt wrong, sitting here, sharing a plate with him, surrounded by his— our —family, it somehow felt right.

We didn't head back to the estate that night. At some point, as the hours grew late and the house quieted, Alexander took my hand and led me upstairs. Esther had already disappeared to bed, and the rest of the family had scattered, leaving the house cloaked in an intimate stillness.

"This was my room," he said as we reached a large, intricately carved door at the end of the hall. His voice, deep and low, sent a shiver down my spine. He opened the door, and I stepped inside, momentarily speechless. The room was breathtaking. Dark, elegant, and undeniably gothic, it looked like something pulled straight out of a dream.

Tall, arched windows framed by heavy drapes allowed the moonlight to spill in, casting soft shadows on the floor. The furniture was all dark wood and rich textures, every piece exuding an old-world luxury that made the space feel grand and intimate all at once.

There were rose petals.

They were everywhere, scattered across the bed, the floor, and even some on the windowsill. Their deep red stood out in stark contrast to the black linens and dark furnishings. Candles flickered in every corner, their flames casting a warm, golden glow across the room, filling the space with a sense of intimacy that wrapped around me like a second skin. It was beautiful. I stood there taking it all in, knowing that he had set it up this way for me.

Me.

I moved further into the room, my fingers trailing lightly over the carved wood of a nearby dresser.

As I took it all in, I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. When I turned to face him, his gaze was unwavering, the weight of it sending a pulse of warmth through me.

"What are you thinking, delicium meum ?" he asked, his voice a low, velvet murmur. The words slid over me, wrapping around me like a possessive embrace.

I shook my head, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Everything that had happened tonight, the truths I'd learned, the reality of the life I was being pulled into. It was all overwhelming. But right now, in this room, with him standing there, none of that seemed to matter. I took a slow breath, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm thinking... you know exactly what you're doing."

He grinned, that devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I may have an ulterior motive beyond making you feel cherished," he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

I swallowed, my pulse quickening at the way he looked at me, so sure of himself, so sure of us . I almost told him he didn't need to do all of this, that he already made me feel cherished without grand gestures like this. The truth of it hit me before I even finished the thought—he had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world when we were together, as twisted as everything else might be.

Then something else crept into my mind—his past. The fact that he had been married twice . I had known this for a while, and it had never really bothered me before. Standing there in the room he once called his own, surrounded by the effort he had put into making this night special, the thought of it weighed heavier than I expected. Had he done this before? Created this kind of intimacy with them too? And if so, how did that make me any different?

"You've done this before... haven't you?"

He locked the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the room like a final decision.

My heart thudded in my chest as he moved further inside, the space between us shrinking.

"I didn't do a half of this for them. I never wanted to." He closed the remaining distance between us in a few slow, deliberate steps, his hand finding its way to my chin, tipping my face up to meet his gaze. "They never mattered the way you do," he assured me, "What do I need to do to prove this is all only for you? That you are everything?"

His fingers trailed down to my throat, resting there lightly, his thumb tracing the delicate skin, but the weight of the gesture wasn't lost on me. "In case I haven't made it clear, I want all of you," he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to send a thrill through me. "Every thought, every fear, every dark corner you try to keep from me. No one else has ever had that, no one else ever will. I don't just want to possess you, Lolita . I want to consume you. There will be no space between us, no other thought in your mind except me."

His words filled me with something I couldn't quite name—more than desire. It was darker, more powerful. I didn't know what to say, didn't know if I even could say anything as the intensity of this man always overwhelmed me. His grip on my throat tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over my pulse as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

"I'm all yours," he promised, his voice like velvet and sin, making my knees feel weak. His hand slid lower, grazing my collarbone before trailing even further, sending shivers through me. "You've infected every corner of my mind," he continued, his lips brushing over my neck now, leaving a scorching trail in their wake. "I've never wanted someone like this—never needed someone in this way."

He pulled back just enough so that I could see his face, his eyes burning with something raw and untamed. "You've made me a madman," he confessed, a truth that sent a rush of heat through me.

"And you know what else?"

I blinked, still caught in the intensity of his presence. "What?"

"They never had me working countless hours on the design of a ring."

I frowned slightly. "I don't have a ring."

He tilted his head, that dark grin widening as he reached into his pocket. "Don't you?"

Before I could say anything, he pulled out a small black box, his gaze locked on mine. My breath hitched as he slowly opened it, revealing the most striking ring I had ever seen— deep red, like blood on black steel. It wasn't just a ring; it was a declaration, a claim. The rich crimson stone glowed darkly in the candlelight, surrounded by intricate black detailing that made it look both regal and dangerous, just like him. I glanced from the ring to his face, my heart pounding in my chest.

"You already have my name and crest on your skin," he murmured. "You'll have every title I can give. You deserve this too."

He held the box out to me, the weight of the moment settling between us. The ring wasn't just an object; it was a final, tangible symbol of his obsession and commitment.

"You're mine, aren't you?" His words were more than a question. His gaze held me captive, the fire in his eyes burning through any hesitation I might've had.

I nodded once. "I am."

A slow, devilish grin spread across his face as he reached into the box, taking the ring from its velvet cushion. His touch was deliberate, his movements slow as he slid the ring onto my finger where it seemed to tighten.

"Perfect," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. He tossed the empty box aside carelessly, the clatter of it barely registering as his hand took hold of my face, tilting it up toward him. I opened my mouth to speak, but then hesitated, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us.

"Alex, you know that we're—." The words caught in my throat along with the reality of what we were.

"Family?" He finished the sentence, his voice soft but laced with amusement. "Does us being family stop you from wanting me?" He leaned in closer, his lips lightly brushing against mine. "Has it stopped your pussy from being wet for me?"

His words made my pulse race, I tried to look away, but his grip on my chin tightened, forcing me to hold his gaze.

"No," I answered honestly, my voice barely audible.

He smirked, satisfied. "That's what I thought." His lips brushed against mine again, a tease, a promise of what was to come. "You belong to me—blood or not." He kissed me fully then, and the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us—him, with his dark possession, and me, willingly giving in.

I kissed him back with everything I had, my arms winding around his neck as if I could pull him closer, as if I needed him to be part of me. He moved me to the bed with ease, his hands slipping beneath my dress to cup the back of my thighs, lifting me like I weighed nothing.

I broke the kiss abruptly, placing my hand on his chest. "Wait."

He froze, staring down at me with eyes darker than I'd ever seen. "I've waited all damn day for this. I'm close to having a psychotic break."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me, but it only earned me a look from him that made my face heat up instantly. His eyes burned through me, like I'd crossed a dangerous line. I hurried to get out my objection. "Your parents are in this house somewhere," I said quickly, trying to focus.

My pulse was racing from the feel of him so close, heat gathering between my legs. "And your sister. Does your brother live here too?"

He exhaled sharply, his patience clearly thinning. "No. And why the fuck is that relevant right now?"

I stared at him. "Isn't that obvious?"

For a moment, there was silence, then a slow, wicked smile curved his lips. His eyes gleamed with that possessive edge I was beginning to understand all too well. "You really think I care about that?" He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear "Let them hear. I want them to. I want the entire Isle to know who you belong to. Whose fucking you and making you feel so good they feel it too." His grip on my thighs tightened. "If I can't have that, I'll settle for just this side of the Isle hearing you scream for me. Our whole damn family included."

A shiver ran through me at his words, heat flooding my body. He pulled back to look in my eyes, his eyes filled with a dark promise.

There was a gentleness in how he undressed me, though it took only seconds. His hands moved with purpose, but each touch lingered. As he pulled my dress over my head, his fingers grazed me, igniting something deep inside. Every piece of clothing that fell to the floor seemed to amplify the tension between us, but it wasn't frantic—it was controlled, deliberate. His eyes roamed over me, and for a moment, he just looked at me. His hands slid down my arms to my waist as he pulled me close again. His gaze was heavy and intense, but behind that was something deeper, that left me feeling both exposed and cherished.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," he murmured, his voice low and rough, like it physically pained him to hold back. "Every inch of you, perfect. You make me insane; you know that?" His fingers tightened on my waist, pulling me even closer. He kissed me again, softer this time, but filled with the same intensity.

"No one else has ever had this effect on me. No one else has ever made me lose control the way you do."

I could barely breathe as his lips brushed against my skin, his words sinking into me, filling the space between us with the undeniable truth of what he felt. I tried so hard to be quiet, to keep some semblance of control, but Alexander was determined to make that impossible. Every touch, every word that left his lips was designed to unravel me. He thrived on it, on knowing just how far he could push me, how he could coax out sounds I had no hope of suppressing.

His hands roamed over me, his grip firm yet gentle as he explored every inch of skin he'd just bared. I bit down on my lip, willing myself to hold back, but he made it a challenge I couldn't win. The way he moved, the way his body pressed against mine, made it impossible to think of anything but him.

Every kiss, every touch, every dark whisper pulled me further under his control, to make me forget where we were, and who might hear. It was carnal, the way we finally came together, as if nothing short of becoming one would satisfy the hunger, we both felt. The way he grabbed my hips, pulling me closer with each thrust so he that he was fully inside me, was absolute bliss. I could feel his desire, raw and untamed, as he claimed me with every movement. The sounds that escaped his lips only made me moan louder and louder.

His fingers dug into my skin, leaving marks that would surely bruise, but I reveled in the pain. I wanted more of it. His cock filled me completely, hitting every sensitive spot with expert precision. I could feel myself tightening around him, my muscles clenching with each thrust. He groaned, the sound low and guttural, as he increased his pace. I could feel the wetness between my legs, slick, as he pounded into me.

The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room, a symphony of pleasure. He whispered dirty words in my ear, telling me how tight I was, how good it felt to be inside me. His breath was warm against my neck, the low growl of his voice sending a shiver through me as he whispered, " Delicium meum , you feel perfect."

He wasn't just satisfied with taking; he wanted everything.

And I gave it to him.

My nails dug into his back, and I felt him tense, a low curse escaping his throat as he pressed his lips to mine, harder, more demanding.

I needed more too.

Every inch of me burned with the intensity of it—of him. I didn't know how I managed it, but before I realized what I was doing, I had him flat on his back, my thighs straddling his hips as I looked down into his eyes.

Those beautiful eyes that always held me as captive as he did.

They were filled with a hunger that mirrored my own, a dangerous glint of approval flickering in them. He grinned up at me, his hands finding my waist, gripping me like he couldn't believe I'd taken control, but he didn't resist. Instead, he let me move, his hands on my body were steady but not forceful. He wanted to see what I'd do.

The power that surged through me, the way he let me lead for just a moment, was intoxicating. My hands pressed against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers as I moved against him. The look in his eyes never wavered, never softened, only intensified. I didn't hold back. I couldn't. The way we fit together, how he worshipped every movement I made—it fueled something inside me. I leaned down, pressing my lips to his.

I knew this wouldn't last.

Alexander didn't share power.

Still, I moved against him, savoring every second I could. Riding him as his hands slid up my sides, his fingers digging into my skin. I had no idea if I was doing it right, but that fact coupled with how he was looking at me and his moans of pleasure only made me wetter.

" Deliciae ," he growled, his voice gravelly and strained with the effort of letting me fuck him for once. "You're playing with fire."

I held his gaze and pushed him further, my moans growing louder as I challenged him to take back his control. His eyes smoldered with a warning I blatantly ignored. He smirked, his fingers digging into my hips with a slight hint of force. "How does it feel, carissima ?" His voice was a dangerous taunt, sending a rush of heat through my body. "Knowing it's your own cousin beneath you?"

I gave him a coy smile, pressing my fingers harder into his chest. "It feels like I finally have you right where I want you."

Before I could fully process what was happening, he moved. He flipped me onto my back with a strength that took my breath away. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs and left me vulnerable as he pinned me to the bed, gripping my wrists in an unbreakable hold above my head. There was no gentleness in this display of dominance; only raw desire and need for absolute control.

He didn't hesitate, plunging deep inside me in one swift motion. I cried out, my nails digging into my own skin as my fingers curled. Moans poured from my mouth, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as he fucked me hard. His eyes locked onto mine, the intensity in them matching the heat that coursed through my veins. I couldn't look away, my body begging for more. The strength he exerted only fueled my desire, driving me to the brink of insanity. As he thrust into me harder and faster, I could feel the heat building within me.

My body tensed, every nerve ending on fire as I moaned his name like a chant, pleading with him to never stop. The air between us crackled with electricity, the air heavy with the scent of our sweat and desire. My heart raced in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as I lost myself in this dark, twisted dance of pleasure and pain. He continued to move within me, his cock drenched with our combined arousal. His breathing was only just now elevating, his eyes never leaving mine.

I managed to pull him closer. He groaned, his hips stuttering as I took his cock deeper inside me. I could feel the tension building within him too - we were a single entity now, moving in sync with each other's desires.

"Harder," I begged. "Faster."

He laughed the sound deep and guttural. He complied without hesitation, his movements becoming frenzied. His hips slammed against me, each thrust a punishment and a reward.

My moans grew louder, more desperate. I loved the pain of being stretched, his cock filling me to the brink of unbearable fullness. I could feel myself tightening around him, my muscles clenching and releasing in time with his movements. He whispered dirty words that only served to heighten my arousal.

"You love the feel of your cousin's cock, don't you?" He taunted.

My mind raced, torn between submission and rebellion. But as he stared deeply into my eyes, there was no denying the truth. "Yes," I moaned hoarsely, my body trembling with pleasure and taboo excitement. "I love it, I love feeling you inside me."

"Fuck. I can feel how wet that just made you." He groaned in response, his grip tightening on my wrists as he devoured me with his intense gaze. "You're such a filthy little thing. " He kept my wrists pinned above my head and gripped my throat. "I fucking love it."

I gasped as he began to apply pressure, cutting off my air supply just enough to make me dizzy. It was dangerous, and I knew it, but I couldn't deny the thrill it brought me. My heart raced as he leaned in closer, moaning "You feel so fucking good. Best pussy I've ever had. Fuck."

He pounded into me with abandon, his gaze never leaving mine. I could see the desire, the lust, burning deep within him. It only served to intensify my arousal, the pleasure building and building. His grip tightened and I clenched around his cock.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

I nodded, unable to speak, as he increased the pressure just a bit more. My vision began to blur, and I felt myself slipping into a state of pure ecstasy.

"Yes," I gasped, the word barely audible through my heavy breathing. "Please don't stop. Please, Alex."

His name escaped my lips, a plea for more, more of his touch, more of his dominance. His eyes flashed with delight at my submission, his grip on my throat tightening just a little more. "Good girl."

I knew I was crossing a line - an unthinkable boundary - but I couldn't deny the intense pleasure surging through my veins. My body arched off the bed in ecstasy as he pounded into me. Could feel the headboard hitting the wall behind us as he drove into me, our bodies slapping together in a rhythm that was both primal and possessive. The mattress beneath us groaned under our combined weight as he pinned me down.

His tongue traced the pulse point on my neck before moving towards my lips again. I moaned his name, melting under his touch. The scent of sex and desire clung to us like a second skin, driving us both wild. My vision began to blur, and I felt myself teetering on the brink of consciousness.

Just as I felt myself slipping away, he released his grip, allowing me to gulp in a ragged breath. The feeling of relief was intense, and it sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. I felt myself slipping away into darkness. I wasn't sure how long I passed out, but as I came to, I realized that he was still inside me, still thrusting hard and deep.

My body was wracked with pleasure, and I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, and I knew that I never wanted it to end. He continued to fuck me with an intensity that bordered on savagery. I could feel another orgasm building, my muscles tensing as I got closer and closer to the edge.

"You're going to come again, aren't you?" I could barely utter a word, but I nodded vigorously, my throat dry and hoarse.

He gripped my throat tighter, and I felt the familiar sensation of danger creeping up on me. But this time, it wasn't fear that coursed through my veins, but rather anticipation. I was at his mercy, completely vulnerable and open to him. With each thrust, he reminded me just how much power he held over me.

My mind was a whirlwind of pleasure and pain, desire and terror, love, and hate. It was a mix that left me gasping for breath, trembling with need. I cried out helplessly, each movement pushing me closer to the edge. The sensation felt almost otherworldly, like I was no longer in control of my own body. I came harder than I ever had before. My body convulsed, and I screamed out his name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. He didn't stop, though, still pounding into me as I rode out the aftershocks of my orgasm.

It was as if he were possessed, driven by an insatiable hunger that only I could quench. As soon as both of my hands were free, I slipped them over his powerful back to his hips, guiding him deeper inside me. His sweat-slick skin sliding against my fingers, his muscles flexing with every thrust.

I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, in sync with mine, as we reveled in this primal union. "You're mine," he ground against my lips, the word a fierce declaration of ownership.

"Fuck," I whimpered, feeling as if I could come apart at any moment. I gripped his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more as every inch of my body burned for him. He didn't hesitate, his movements fierce and unrelenting as he drove me over the edge. My breath came in ragged gasps, my mind barely able to process the intensity as I shattered beneath him.

But he didn't stop.

Repeatedly, he took me there, each time more consuming than the last, until I was lost to him completely, my body trembling with the sheer force of it all. His name fell from my lips in breathless whispers like a revered prayer. The night stretched on, time blurring as the moon gave way to the early light of dawn, as if the world outside didn't exist.

When he needed a reprieve with his cock, he used his mouth or fucked my throat until he got hard again.

As the sun began to crest the sky, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow, his pace finally slowed, his breath ragged and heavy as he pressed his forehead to mine. My body was utterly spent, every muscle limp beneath him, my mind hazy with exhaustion and satisfaction.. He pulled me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as our breathing synchronized, the world outside slipping further away.

His lips brushed my temple as he whispered softly in the Isle's native tongue, his voice low and reverent, like I was the most precious thing he had ever held. He murmured something that felt ancient, like a vow or a promise made in a language far older than us. I didn't need to understand the meaning to feel the weight of them, the possessiveness, the devotion that seeped through his every word.

Wrapped in his arms, I felt safe. Content. As if nothing could touch me as long as I was here, held close to him.