Artem snorted. Sliding one hand under her t-shirt, he replied, “Count your blessings that I saw you first.”
“Oh, I don’t think Taevas and I would have made good mates,” she teased.
“Of course not.” He gave her collarbone a sharp nip as punishment for the suggestion. “You were always meant to be my mate, not his.”
Not that it stopped his damned, trouble-loving cousin from showering Paloma with gifts and attention anyway. Taevas had welcomed her into the clan with enthusiasm, paving the way for her to be accepted by the rest of his family, but he took it a step farther than was strictly necessary because he liked Paloma. He claimed to find her intelligence and guilelessness deeply charming.
He also really, really liked fucking with his cousin.
Paloma smoothed her hands up his sides. Arching her back, she reached out to skim her fingertips over the membrane of his wings, sending delicious little shocks of pleasure down his spine. “Oh?” Her voice was husky. “And why is that?”
“Because you Chose me,” he informed her. Raising his head, Artem ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting the sweetness that was branded in his soul. “Because you’re mine, treat. Always.”
He felt her smile against his lips. “Always?”
Artem breathed in the scent of her, all oranges and vanilla and desire. He felt the softness of her mouth under his. He heard the thundering of her heart pressed so close to his own. He knew, deep in the part of him that was nothing but instinct and raw power, that this place, this woman’s arms, was where he belonged.
Never again would he be lost. Never again would she be alone. They Chose one another. They were one.
“Always,” he answered. “Always.”
THE END