Luca's POV
Rian takes me to a private island for our honeymoon.
Literally an island—small, tropical, isolated. Just us, a beach house, and endless ocean.
"You bought an island?" I ask, staring at paradise.
"Rented. But I could buy it if you want."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
Annoyingly, I do.
The first few days are bliss. Swimming, exploring, making love on every surface of the beach house. Learning each other without pack duties or outside pressure.
One afternoon, lying tangled together after sex,
Luca's POV
The island is paradise—white sand, crystal water, complete isolation.
"Two weeks," Rian says, carrying our bags into the beach house. "Just us. No pack, no duties, no interruptions."
I should feel trapped. Instead, I feel... relieved.
The house is stunning—open air, ocean view, one massive bedroom. Everything designed for romance and privacy.
"You planned this," I observe.
"Every detail." He approaches slowly, eyes intense. "Wanted our first days as husbands to be perfect."
"Husbands." The word still feels foreign. "I'm married to you."
"Having regrets already?" There's vulnerability beneath his teasing.
"Ask me in two weeks."
He closes the distance, hands settling on my waist. "I plan to make sure the answer is no."
His kiss is slow, deep, claiming. Not desperate like before—confident. Possessive. Like he knows I'm his now and plans to savor it.
When we break apart, I'm breathless.
"Hungry?" he asks, voice rough.
"Starving."
His smile turns wicked. "For food or...?"
Heat floods my face. "Food. Actual food."
He laughs, leading me to the kitchen. We prepare dinner together—domestic, easy, comfortable. The bond hums contentedly between us.
After eating, we walk the beach. Sunset paints everything gold and pink. Rian's hand never leaves mine.
"Thank you," he says suddenly.
"For what?"
"Giving me a chance. Choosing me despite everything." He stops, turning to face me. "I know I forced the bond, forced the marriage in many ways. But you could've fought harder. Run harder. You chose to stay."
"The bond wouldn't let me leave."
"The bond causes pain. Not acceptance." His thumb brushes my cheek. "You accepted me, Luca. That was your choice."
Looking into his golden eyes, feeling his genuine love through our connection, I can't deny it anymore.
"Maybe I wanted to," I admit quietly.
His expression transforms—joy, relief, overwhelming love. He kisses me again, deeper this time, walking me backward toward the house.
We stumble inside, mouths never separating. His hands slide under my shirt, finding bare skin. I gasp against his lips.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, "and I will."
"Don't stop."
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The bedroom isn't far. He lays me on the bed carefully, covering my body with his.
"I love you," he breathes against my throat. "So fucking much."
"Show me," I challenge.
His eyes flash amber. "Gladly."
What follows is slow, intense, overwhelming. He takes his time, learning every response, every sound I make. The bond amplifies everything—pleasure feeding between us until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
Afterward, tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, he holds me close.
"No regrets?" he asks.
I trace the bond mark on his chest—my mark on him. "Not right now."
"I'll take it." He kisses my forehead. "We have two weeks to make sure it stays that way."
I fall asleep in his arms, feeling safe for the first time in months.