Elodie POV:

His fingers tightened on my chin, a silent command for submission. He reached for his wine glass on the entryway table and lifted it to his lips, taking a deep mouthful of the crimson liquid. His amber eyes never left mine as he set the glass back down. Then his free hand shot up, cupping the back of my head, tangling in my hair, holding me in place. There was no escape.

His mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn't a kiss; it was a claiming. It was punishment and raw, unrestrained hunger. His lips were firm, demanding, forcing mine apart with an invasive, shocking intimacy. And as my lips parted, the warm, potent wine flowed from his mouth into mine.

The taste of red wine and the cold, sharp scent of his power flooded my senses, stealing the air from my lungs. I choked slightly, forced to swallow the liquid he passed to me. It burned down my throat, a second, more intimate seal of our pact. I was drowning in him.

My hands came up to push against the solid wall of his chest, a futile, desperate gesture. He was immovable, a mountain of muscle and sheer will.

He registered my resistance, and a flicker of something dark and violent crossed his eyes. In one smooth, brutal motion, he captured both my wrists in one of his large hands, pinning them behind my back. I was utterly powerless.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, exploring every corner with a greedy, possessive thoroughness. He was tasting me, memorizing me, branding me as his.

My mind went blank, short-circuited by the sensory overload. My knees buckled, my body turning to liquid heat.

He broke the kiss only to tighten his arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet as if I weighed nothing. He strode across the suite, his steps long and purposeful, his destination the enormous bed that dominated the center of the room.

He tossed me onto the soft mattress, and before I could even register the landing, his heavy body was covering mine, pinning me beneath him.

I gasped for air, turning my head to the side. A single, humiliating tear escaped and traced a hot path down my temple. My body trembled, a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome anticipation.

He saw the tear. His movements stilled. The predatory fire in his eyes receded, replaced by a flicker of something I couldn't name. It looked almost like... pain.

He lowered his head, and his lips, so brutal just moments before, gently brushed against my skin, kissing the tear away. The contrast was dizzying, sending my already shattered senses into a tailspin. I opened my eyes, staring up at him in confusion. Who was this man?

His hand began a slow, deliberate journey down my side, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, my hip. His touch was electric, igniting a fire on my skin that spread through my veins.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips.

The sound was a catalyst. It shattered whatever restraint he was holding onto.

With a low growl, he reached for the bodice of my gown. The sound of tearing silk, of expensive, custom-designed fabric being ripped apart, was shockingly loud in the silent room. It was the sound of my old life being destroyed.

Cool air hit my exposed skin, and I tried to curl into myself, to hide. He wouldn't allow it. He gently but firmly pulled my arms away, exposing me completely to his heated gaze.

Then he was inside me. A sharp, searing pain tore through my body. It was a brutal, shocking invasion.

A cry ripped from my throat, a sound of pure agony, and my nails dug into the hard muscles of his back, seeking an anchor in the storm of pain.

His body went rigid. He froze above me, his breathing harsh and ragged. He looked down, his amber eyes wide with a dazed, disbelieving shock as he saw my pale, pain-streaked face.

He had expected a woman of the world, his rival's fiancée. He had not expected this. He hadn't expected me to be untouched.

The shock in his eyes was quickly consumed by a wave of something else-a fierce, triumphant possessiveness. I could feel it radiating from him, a palpable force. His wolf was roaring, claiming its prize. Mine.

He held himself still, the muscles in his jaw tight, a vein throbbing in his temple. He was fighting for control. He lowered his head again, his lips brushing against my forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids, a series of soft, apologetic kisses meant to soothe.

"You're a liar," I choked out, tears of pain and betrayal streaming down my face. "This wasn't the deal."

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "The deal has changed," he rasped, his voice thick and raw against my ear. "From this moment on, you belong to me."

He waited, giving my body a moment to adjust to him. Then he began to move again. The brutality was gone, replaced by an innate, almost shocking skill. He moved with a rhythm that seemed designed to unlock every secret pleasure my body held.

The sharp edges of pain began to blur, melting away under the rising tide of a sensation I had never imagined. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating.

My hands, which had been pushing him away, uncurled. My fingers crept up his back, clinging to his shoulders. I was lost, adrift on an ocean of pure sensation, and he was my only anchor.

The city lights blurred outside the window as the night deepened, the sounds of Manhattan fading away until all that was left was the sound of our breathing, the rustle of sheets, and the undeniable forging of a bond that could never be broken.