Ronson rumbled and groaned, kissing up my jaw and down my throat, and I arched for him, offering the spot I knew he was searching for.

He stopped there, breathing roughly against my shoulder, and then pressed a long, chaste kiss to the bruises. "Mairwen," he started slowly, lifting away to meet my gaze. "What did you mean when you said I couldn't bite you until after you'd explained what you found in the library?"

I stilled, and thought rose up in a flurry. I'd spoken in the heat of the moment, in the shelter of Ronson's warm stare and loving words, but what if he'd only been reassuring me? What if he'd been responding to my perfume and a moment of pride? What if the words he'd said—that I had his heart—were temporary? Because what I'd learned about mating was…permanent.

Ronson watched me, brow tensing, lips hardening, but he relaxed with a brief brush of my fingers over his jaw. "Whatever it is, you can trust me, Mairwen."

I can't lose you.

I took a deep breath and nodded. If Ronson didn't want to be mated to me, to tie my life to his, then he would know not to bite me. And if I didn't tell him, perhaps his control might break one day, even in another ten years during another rut…he might mate me without realizing the consequences, and it would be worse to know for many, many decades that he regretted doing so than it would be to accept that he would choose not to.

"Are our unwelcome guests gone?" I asked.

Ronson frowned again, nodding. "Beatrice saw they got a good meal before politely urging them on their way. It's nearly midday now. Niall is taking care of matters for me today."

Which meant there was nothing in the way of our spending the day together. It probably wouldn't take very much effort to distract Ronson from his question, keep him in bed with me…

And if he bites you in a moment of passion? I wondered.

"Come with me to the library," I said.

Ronson sat up with me, holding me close, even as he glowered. "This isn't news we can discuss in bed?"

"Perhaps, but I think you'd have questions. Better to show you everything I've found." It might take a trip up to the portraits too, come to think of it.

Ronson sighed and nodded, but he didn't release me as he left the bed, just carried me along with him as I laughed, arms tangled around his shoulders. "Very well. But we're not getting properly dressed. We've earned this day of rest, and I plan on ensuring we enjoy it."

"This could wait—" I started, unsure what would come of our conversation about the mating marks.

"Oh no, you don't," Ronson said, lips twitching, voice lowering. "You said I couldn't bite until after. Which means you've cause to think I can bite you. And Mairwen, my teeth ache every time I look at you. My jaw grinds to keep me from sinking my bite onto your lovely throat. I'm not sure how much longer I can avoid it."

I licked my lips, and Ronson set me on my toes by the wardrobe, pulling down the slip I'd draped over one door, helping me dress, his hands greedy to touch.

"Perhaps you should go and see a dentist," I murmured.

What if Ronson didn't want to bite me once he learned what it would mean, but he still physically craved the act? How long could he withstand the urge? How long could I keep myself from arching my throat and drawing his mouth to the spot, begging him to make me his?

Ronson groaned and dragged me to him. "You're perfuming, and I want to know why," he growled.

I shivered, his breath ghosting over the temporary marks he'd made, the ones he might make permanent.

"After," I breathed.

I held my breath, standing at the opposite side of the table in the library, the one I'd covered the surface of with open texts. Every mention of an alpha and their mated omega. The very few descriptions of mating ceremonies I could find, in the oldest and most fragile of texts. The small pamphlet from centuries ago referring to the savage and base act of "biting," apparently propaganda opposing the mating marks. I'd done my best before we'd left for the Flight of Alphas to collect everything I could find that might relate to mates or bites.

Ronson stared at a page in one of the oldest texts. "This mentions the strength of two dragons."

I nodded, but Ronson hadn't looked up from the table. His eyes kept bouncing from one book to another, brow furrowed and back straight.

"Yes, I noticed that too." I wondered about Alpha Falk and her wings, wondered how literal those words might really be. I'd nearly brought her portrait down the day Beatrice and I had found it, but I was glad now I'd left it in the attic. It would've been a disaster if Gamesby had come across it while here.

"The dates," Ronson murmured next, looking at the life records of the isle's alphas and omegas, their children.

"Yes. The mated couples had male heirs outside any rut cycle I could track."

What was he thinking? I was desperate to know. I wanted to crawl over the table, into his lap, and force his eyes to mine. I remained in place, trying not to fidget.

"What? Oh…oh yes, they do, don't they? But the omegas…they live…"

Suddenly, I couldn't bear to keep still, my body pacing back and forth with quick steps, matching the length of the broad table. "As near as I can tell, the bite changes something within the omega. Their lifespans match their mates. The estrus cycle changes too, I assume. I'm not sure if there's more ruts or more-more⁠—"

"Heats," Ronson finished, and I glanced over nervously, only to find him watching me. His eyes were dark, hot, hungry. I shivered and stumbled and then stood still at the corner of the table.

He'd put me into heat during the rut. He'd been resisting the urge to bite me. He'd nearly been in tears last night, begging me to tell him that I'd drunk the tea to prevent a pregnancy, that I'd chosen my life over my duty to him.

"And no mention of deaths during the delivery of a child," I breathed, trying to hold onto the facts, the information I'd found, and not fall into the tension between us that called me closer, closer, closer to my alpha.

"Mairwen—"

"It's irreversible. I don't know why…why…"

"Come here," Ronson purred.

"Why they would've put a stop to the marks, but the pamphlet originates in Skybern, so perhaps the answers are there. And even after the law forbidding bites, Alpha Brooks is still noted as having taken a…a…"

Ronson rumbled and I staggered back, swallowing.

"Mate," he said, and my belly clenched. It sounded less like he was finishing my sentence for me and more like he was calling to me. "Come here."

"Ronson," I protested, but it was useless—I was already rounding the edge of the table as Ronson pushed his seat back. He held his hand out when I paused, and I found myself sliding between him and the table, his hands cupping the backs of my thighs as he leaned in and stared up at me.

"You discovered all this on your own?" he asked.

"More or less by accident at first. I was only researching family lines. The further back I went, the more I found mentions of mates."

Ronson purred, and I sighed, my eyes falling shut as he drew me a little closer, pressing his lips through the silk of my robe and slip to kiss my stomach.

"What a clever omega I have," he said against me. My hands found their way into his hair, sighing in relief, anchored in calm simply by being able to touch him. "I thought I was going mad, losing my mind to my dragon's or worse."