Demetri Royce

The royal gala was boring—predictable, even by Demetri’s standards. Another swirl of courtly gowns, measured bows, empty laughter, and heatless eye contact. He’d already decided who he was going to take apart in his bed that night, someone discreet, someone forgettable.

Then the scent hit him.

Sweet. Dangerous. Alive.

He froze mid-sentence, wine glass halfway to his lips, and looked—scanning the room like a predator who's suddenly caught the scent of blood.

And then he saw them. Standing there. Laughing. Breathing.

His.

"Mine." Raze growled inside his skull, primal and immediate. "Ours. Pretty little mate. Soft skin. Wet heat. Want them. Take them. Now."

Demetri blinked, slow, his pulse thudding like war drums in his throat. His body responded before his mind could catch up. His cock hardened, heavy, fast—and worse, he felt the tight ache of pressure deep in his hips.

His knot. Swelling. Premature. Unforgivable.

He set his glass down, calmly enough to fool the room. But inside, something was cracking. That leash of self-control he'd worn since childhood? Snapping, one inch at a time.

He moved through the crowd like a shadow in silk, ignoring greetings, brushing off courtiers. His eyes never left them. And when he reached them—when they turned and looked at him—

It was done.

"Bend them. Bite them. Fill them ‘til they cry." Raze purred. "They’ll beg to be ruined. Let me out. Let me in."

Demetri inhaled slowly, savoring that scent—fuck, it was perfect. Sweet, earthy, something warm and dark and addictive. His lips curled into a slow smile.

“Careful,” he said smoothly, voice low, velvet over razors. “You shouldn’t walk into places you don’t understand.”

They blinked—curious, unbothered. He stepped closer. Just enough. His fingers itched to grab. His jaw ached from not biting. He leaned down to whisper, lips just shy of skin.

“You’ve just entered my territory. And my control…” His eyes gleamed, sharpened. “...has never been tested like this.”

“Knot them. Breed them. Make them beg." Raze's voice was like a midnight whisper, seduction and demand rolled into one. “Make them yours before some lesser mutt tries to steal what's ours."

Demetri smiled wider, hungrier. A dark promise behind perfect teeth.

“I don’t believe in fated mates,” he said. “But if I did…”

He let his gaze drift lazily over them—eyes trailing like touch, hot and heavy and deliberate. “…you’d already be on your knees.”

And inside him, Raze howled.