You are the youngest prince of the Winter Fae Court. Your dying father has given you and your brothers a challenge: kill the heir to the Summer Fae Court throne, become the new winter fae king.
This is your one chance. Your only chance. You will stop at nothing until the Summer Fae Prince is dead by your hand. You will not fail.
The Summer Court is in the middle of a festival when you arrive. The Summer Prince and his sister have been invited as well, but they've already left for their own celebration.
You move through the crowd unhindered, your pale skin glamoured to a dark tan and your wings an off-yellow. A few people look up from their music to watch you pass, but most just continue on with their lives.
You know where he is. You just hope you can get there before your brothers. You fly through the air, flying under balconies and over houses. The street is packed with people, celebrating the beginning of summer. You zip between revelers, not stopping for anyone.
Then you see it: the building you know he is in. You land outside one of the windows and try to get a look inside.
Your eyes land on a dark-skinned man with red hair and resplendent wings. Something within you bursts to life, something primal and hungry, something you never thought you'd feel.
You are looking not only at the Summer Prince, but your fated mate.
There is a new voice in your head that screams to break the window and claim him where he stands. You try to look away, but you can't. You feel as if you might die if you take your eyes off him.
Then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and you know he feels it, too.
His lips part, and you growl, wanting to kiss them. There is only glass between you, the dark fae inside says, "You could easily break it."
You hold onto rational thought long enough to bolt around the side of the building, trying to find the door. When you find it, it opens before you can even raise a hand. Your mate stands there, cheeks flushed and breathless.
"You," he whispers.
"Yes," you say, knowing in an instant that it's true. "Yes."
He leans against the door and raises his arms, waiting for you to come to him. You can't remember why you came here. You only know that you have finally found your fated mate.
"I need you," you snarl as you stalk toward him. "I need to be inside you."
"Yes," he says. "Do it."
He leans forward and kisses your neck, his lips sending sparks through your body. You grab him by the wrist and yank him out of the doorway.
You look for the nearest flat surface. There. A table. You drag him over to it and all but throw him on his back and pin him down.
"You are Prince Zaveryk," you snarl. "And you are mine."
"Yes," he says, eyes dark with lust. "I am yours."
You lose control of your glamor as you lose control of your rational thought. You snarl and your fangs show. Your claws rip his shirt. Your icy wings flair out to the sides.
You stand above him as your true self, and for a brief moment, you hesitate and look in his eyes to search for any sign of rejection. You couldn't handle it if your fated mate rejected you.
But Prince Zaveryk only smiles and lifts his chin, exposing his long throat. "I am yours," he says, voice low and husky. "Do what you will."
"You beautiful, beautiful creature." You drag your fangs over his pulse, applying firm pressure without breaking the skin.
He shifts under you. It's the only part of him you allow to move. His wrists are pinned above his head, and your weight keeps him from moving anywhere else.
"I want to feel you inside me," he says in that low, seductive voice. "I want all of you."
His wings are pressed tight to his back, unable to move, just like the rest of him. That excites you.
You had imagined what you would do to him. Whether it would be quick and painless, or if you would take pleasure in it. You chuckle. The irony is not lost on you. After all, your people did call mating the softest death.
His pupils are wide as they can go, his lips swollen and parted to allow quick breaths, his chest heaving.
You shift your weight to your other knee and reach for his belt. He whimpers when you pull it free, but that whimper turns to a moan when you make short work of the buttons on his breeches.
You marvel at how his member stands tall and proud like an arrow. Your own, which you pull tree of your trousers, curves slightly in toward your stomach. His is thick and hard. Your own is longer than your hand, curved slightly, and shimmering with moisture at the tip.
You can smell his desire and it fills you with a powerful need of your own. With a low growl, you grip both of their members, his and yours, and stroke.
"Oh!" He arches his back, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
You lean down and press your fangs against his throat. You don't break the skin, but he moans in need and want. In desperation and desire. You begin to stroke faster, his hand tangling in your hair and trying to push you closer to his throat.
"Bite me," he begs. "Bite me, please."
You're so hard it's almost painful. You can feel a bead of sweat trickling down your temple.
You murmur against his skin, "Who do you belong to?"
"You," he breathes. He sounds dazed. "I'm yours. I'm your love, your heart, your life. And you are mine."
You bite down as soon as the words leave his lips and thrust your erection so it slides against his, both still held tight in your hand. He cries out in both pain and pleasure, throwing his head back as far as he can with you holding his throat. The twin sensations are too much and it's all he can do to keep in a scream.
You pump your hips, his slick sliding against yours as you thrust again and again. You moan and growl, the hunger filling you. You have never felt anything so pleasurable, so intense.
His blood trickles down your throat, and you can feel his pleasure. It mixes with your own, until it feels like a lazy current swirling around your center.
And then... euphoria.
You both cum at the same time, so perfectly timed that it's impossible to know which streak of white is yours and which is his. One of you manages to hit him across a cheek, and you choose to believe it's yours.
He gazes up at you, covered in sweat and semen, with a little bit of blood trickling down from the bond bite you left on his neck. You lean down and lick the wound to mend his flesh, then lick the cum off his chin.
Finally, you kiss him, and all other thoughts are gone. You will deal with your brothers together. You will keep your mate safe. Nothing matters, not your father or the Winter Court or the throne; nothing except your fated mate.
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