As it is, I’m just thinking about his cock…and more importantly, his knot. My pussy clenches reflexively even now.

I wonder if the gods would think I’m a vile creature if I tackled my new husband—excuse me, my mate—in front of their altar. Just grabbed him and tossed him onto his back and flipped up that kilt of his and⁠—

“Candra?”

I blink, pulled away from my lascivious thoughts. “Hm?”

His eyes narrow. “Are you not paying attention?”

“You’re speaking another language,” I chide. “I’m paying as much attention as I can. Are we married yet?”

A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. “Not yet. We must give our offerings to the gods and complete the prayers.”

“Of course,” I say, as if I have any clue about how our ceremony will work. I flutter my lashes and give him an expectant look. “You start and I’ll follow your lead, naturally.”

“Naturally,” he agrees, amused. He lifts our joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine. “Let us give our offerings.”

He gets to his feet and helps me to mine. Nemeth stands proud in front of the altar, with my smaller, ridiculous figure at his side. I cannot imagine what the gods think of our pairing. Of a short, rounded, soft human woman in a voluminous pale blue dress with puffed sleeves and a tightly laced corset, standing next to an enormous Fellian with gray wings, glowing green eyes, and a leather kilt. We are a mismatched pair to be certain, but I like to think that he enjoys the sight of me as much as I enjoy the sight of him.

And truly, that is all that matters.

Nemeth takes each cake and breaks it in half, feeding a portion to the flickering candle in front of each of the triptych images. He chants the words of a prayer in Fellian, and when he places the hard cake into the flames, it lights up as if covered in pitch and flames to ashes in moments. He indicates I should do the same, and he patiently leads me through the Fellian prayer and the cake offering. We repeat that for each of the gods, and when there is nothing left but ashes, Nemeth takes the final cake, breaks it in half, and offers me a bite.

I eat it delicately, making sure to nip his fingers as he feeds me. Then I feed him, and his hot gaze devours mine, sending shivers of anticipation through my body.

“Now are we mated?” I ask, breathless, as I brush a crumb from his hard mouth.

Nemeth chuckles at my eagerness. “Not quite. Now we must give each other the bite of marking.”

Right. The bite-y part of the ceremony. That means we’re close to the end, at least. “Do you bite me first or me to you?”

“You bite me,” he says, and his green eyes flare, as if the thought excites him very much.

“All right, but my teeth are rather blunt. Don’t blame me if I gnaw for a bit.” I take the hand that he holds out to me, palm up, and eye him. “I’m a little afraid I’m going to hurt you.”

His lips twitch. “You will not.”

Hmph. He acts like I’ve got a mouth full of pillows. Teeth are still teeth and if I have to tear at his skin, it’s not going to be pleasant for either party. “Do you have the ink, then?”

Nemeth pulls out a small glass bottle with a flat bottom, likely used for dipping a quill pen. It’s full of dark, thick ink, and I bite my lip, realizing I really have to bite the man I love to show him I care. I glance up at Nemeth but the look on his face is unafraid. If anything, he looks excited at the prospect of my bite.

Well, all right, then. “Do I just bite down whenever? Is there a particular method?”

“However you like. Just do it wide enough and deep enough so it will leave a scar pattern of your teeth.”

I examine his hand, and the meaty portion just under his thumb. I lift it to my face, eyeing him, and his excitement heightens visibly. I’m glad this is a turn-on for one of us, at least. I lick the meat of his palm with a little smile, and then sink my teeth in before I can overthink things.

Immediately, I know I’m not biting hard enough. I can barely dig my teeth into his skin, and Nemeth shows no reaction to my bite, so I concentrate on bearing down as hard as I can. When I finally taste blood, I realize I’ve broken skin, and I make a noise of surprise.

“Don’t let go yet,” he whispers. “Bite harder, so you can mark me harder.”

Oh gods, why did that sound arousing? I do as he commands, and my mouth fills with a gush of his blood. Horrified, I draw back in surprise, spitting it out onto the floor, and swipe at my lips with my sleeve. “I’m sorry,” I say automatically. “Is that enough?”

Rivulets of blood slide down his palm, and the look he gives his hand is pleased indeed. “It is a fine bite.”

“Is it?” I grimace, still tasting copper. I scrub the sleeve over my mouth again, knowing I’m probably ruining my dress. I love the taste of Nemeth…but not his blood. “Can I see?”

He wipes the blood away with a brush of his fingers over the skin and shows me. Sure enough, there are the flat lines made by my front teeth and then the holes from my incisors, along with the rest of the bite that forms a ragged oval on the meat of his palm. More blood wells up, and instead of wiping it away, he picks up the pot of ink and pours it over the wound.

I wrinkle my nose at the sight, imagining the pain. “Does it hurt?”

“It is a good hurt,” he reassures me, producing a strip of white cloth and wrapping it around the fresh wound. Immediately, the cloth soaks with a mixture of ink and blood. “It is a wound I am proud to carry. May the mark last forever, and if it does not, you will have to refresh it for me.”

“Of course.” In that case, I hope it lasts forever. I’m going to feel the give of his flesh underneath my teeth in my nightmares, I just know it.

“Give me your hand.” Nemeth holds his out, his eyes feverishly bright.

I do, eyeing his large, sharp teeth. Surely his bite won’t involve nearly as much…sawing. I swallow hard as he delicately turns my hand over and lifts my palm toward his mouth. “Be gentle,” I whisper.

“You are not a female that likes gentle.” The way he says it is like a caress, his breath playing over my skin.

“You’re right, but—” I gasp as his teeth sink in.

A hot, sharp pain shoots through me, accompanied by an odd curl of pleasure. The way he bends over my hand, his teeth deep in my flesh…it should not look as seductive as it does. He immediately lifts his head and swipes his tongue over the wound, lapping up the blood.

“Oh,” I breathe.

“If it makes you feel any better, you are delicious,” he tells me, licking my palm again as he gazes at me. Another curl of pleasure ripples through my belly at the sight, at the drag of his tongue over my tender, abused skin. “And now we are almost done.”

“Will you put the ink on the bite for me?” I ask. I’m not good at applying my medicine, and I suspect I will be equally poor at this.

He nods, picking up the vial and giving my heated flesh another swipe of his tongue before dousing it with ink. I whimper as the dark ink stings at my fresh wounds. Gods, I hate pain. Hate it. But Nemeth’s eyes are bright with pleasure and wonder both as he gently binds my hand, wrapping up the bite so it can have the chance to heal. “I will tend them both in the morning.”

I take my throbbing hand back and study it, the bandages soaking through with inky blood in the shape of a bite. “Now are we mated in the eyes of the gods? In the eyes of your people?”

“Almost.” There’s a feral light in his eyes as he regards me. “The marriage must be consummated.”

“Well now. This is my favorite part.” I beam up at him and tug at the bow at the front of my dress. “Wanna do it in front of the altar? Shock the gods? Or should we go back up to bed⁠—”

He puts a hand over mine, stopping me before I can unlace my dress. “Now we must do the ceremonial chase.”

Another hot curl of pleasure slides through my blood. “A chase, mmm?”