Page 78 of Impawssible Magic

I reward his patience by sinking down onto him.

Oh.

The sound we both make is guttural. Animal. His hands fly to my hips, steadying me, and I have to pause just to breathe. Just to adjust to the feel of him inside me, stretching me, filling spaces I didn’t know were empty.

“Fuck.” His head falls back against the pillows. The tendons in his neck stand out. “You feel⁠—”

“I know.” I rock my hips. Experimental. Feel the way his whole body shudders. “I know.”

We find our rhythm slowly. Build it like music, like magic, like two people learning a language they’ll speak for the rest of their lives. His hands guide me but don’t control. My body moves over his, taking what I need, giving everything I have.

The pleasure builds. Different from before—deeper, fuller, threaded through with emotion I’ve been running from for two years.

“Leire.” His voice is wrecked. “I need⁠—”

“Yes.”

He flips us in one smooth motion. My back hits the mattress. His weight settles over me. And then he’s moving, really moving, and I can’t think anymore. Can only feel.

Every thrust drives us higher. Every gasp and moan builds toward the inevitable. His forehead presses against mine. His breath mingles with mine. His eyes—those amber, inhuman eyes—lock onto mine and don’t let go.

“With me.” Not a question. An order. “Come with me.”

I shatter.

And at the peak of it, at the moment when everything narrows to pure sensation⁠—

He bites.

His teeth sink into the junction of my neck and shoulder.

Pain flares, sharp and bright, and then transforms into heat. The mark burns—not unpleasant, but intense, like his tiger is writing itself into my skin. Into my blood.

My magic responds.

I don’t plan it. Don’t even think about it. But power surges up from deep inside me, and I feel it flow into him. Into the skin beneath my hands, the muscles flexing under my palms, the heart pounding against my chest.

A witch’s mark. Answering his.

The world goes white.

Not literally—I can still see, still feel, still hear his ragged breathing against my throat. But everything else falls away. The cabin. The battle. The fear and the doubt and the years of isolation. All of it stripped to nothing, leaving only this: two people who chose each other. Who claimed each other. Who built something new from the ruins of their pasts.

Aslan’s head lifts. His eyes are wild. Shocked.

“What—” He touches his chest, where my magic sank in. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know.” The honest truth. “But I think... I think I claimed you back. Surprise?”

The aftermath is quiet.

We lie tangled in sheets that smell like sex and sweat and magic, his body curled around mine. His hand traces lazy patterns on my stomach. The claiming mark on my shoulder throbs in time with my heartbeat—not painful anymore, just present. A reminder of what we’ve done.

“I can feel you.” His voice carries wonder and confusion. “Not your thoughts. Not your emotions. Just... you. Direction. Distance. Whether you’re alive or not.”

“GPS awareness.” I turn in his arms to face him. “That’s what Anouk mentioned once. What the mate claiming does for shifters. You’ll know where I am. I’ll know where you are. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”