Shattered Bonds: A Second Chance Mate - Chapter 82: Chapter 82

Francesco pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb brushing against my cheek. Then, without a word, he took my hand and led me away from the garden—through the quiet halls of the estate, past warriors and staff who bowed their heads and smiled faintly, respectful but knowing. They could sense it. Their Alpha and Luna were no longer distant stars circling each other. We had aligned.
The warmth of his hand around mine felt like fire in my veins. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.
By the time we reached the doors to our chamber, my heart was hammering like a drum. The second they shut behind us, the mask of restraint he wore fell away.
Francesco spun me into his arms and kissed me like a starving man, devouring every breath I tried to take.
His hands were on my hips, my waist, my shoulders—then lower. With one sharp tug, the robe slid from my body, pooling like a puddle of moonlight at my feet. He stared at me, chest heaving, as if trying to memorize every inch of me before taking what was already his.
“You drive me mad,” he growled, voice dark and reverent. “Every moment you breathe, I want you.”
Then he was on me.
He didn’t just undress me—he unmade me. Each touch, each kiss, stripped away another layer of fear, of hesitation, of the girl who was on fire. Wanted. He always makes me feel wanted.
Francesco lifted me into his arms and laid me gently across the bed as if I were made of something precious—but the heat in his eyes said he had no intention of being gentle.
He hovered above me, his hands framing my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he kissed me again. And again. And again, until I was gasping, clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more.
He trailed kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, between the swells of my breasts—every touch electric, every kiss worshipful.
“You’re divine,” he whispered, his voice rough with awe. “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this. Strong. Mine.”
His mouth moved lower, claiming me with every hot, wet kiss, his tongue drawing circles against my skin until I was writhing beneath him, my back arching off the bed. He teased me slowly, lovingly, as if every inch of my body was a secret only he had the right to uncover.
And when he reached the place between my thighs, he looked up at me once—dark eyes locked with mine—and then lowered his mouth.
I shattered.
His tongue moved with a purpose and a rhythm that made me cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets, my body trembling with waves of pleasure that stole my breath. He groaned against me, the sound vibrating deep into my core.
“Francesco—” I gasped, my voice already breaking. “Please…”
But he didn’t stop.
He licked, tasted, and worshipped until I couldn’t think, until I couldn’t speak, until the only thing that existed was his mouth on me and the stars exploding behind my eyes.
When the climax came, it tore through me like a tempest, leaving me crying out his name, my body arched, my heart thundering.
He kissed his way back up my body, licking the sounds of my joy from my skin, and I saw the hunger in his gaze—the wild, reverent hunger of a man who would never get enough.
Then, with one slow thrust, he entered me again—deeper this time, more intense. Like a second claiming.
He moved above me, our eyes locked, our bodies joined in a rhythm that felt like a prayer. There were no more walls. No more barriers. It was just us—two souls colliding again and again, wrapped in heat, sweat, and something far more powerful than lust.
Love.
He whispered it between kisses, between groans, between gasping breaths that matched mine.
“I love you.”
“You’re everything.”
“There is no prophecy, no Council, no law that will take you from me.”
When we came together, the world broke open.
We collapsed into each other, panting, flushed, trembling with the aftershocks of something too big to name. He held me close, brushing damp strands of hair from my face, his heartbeat a fierce rhythm beneath my palm.
For a long time, we stayed like that—wrapped in blankets, limbs entwined, his lips tracing slow, lazy paths across my shoulder, my collarbone, my temple. As if he couldn’t stop touching me. As if letting go, even for a second, would be too much.
“You feel like home,” he whispered.
I smiled against his chest. “You are my home.”
Eventually, we redressed—slowly, quietly—still wrapped in the glow of something unshakable. The world could say what it wanted. The Council could threaten what it pleased.
We had chosen each other again and again.
And that night, we fell asleep with our limbs tangled, hearts steady.
But that’s when I dreamt it.
A nightmare...
A witch and a white moon wolf can't be together. The carrier will go mad from the power she holds.
What?
Who's speaking?
Then I saw him—Francesco—screaming, writhing in pain, blue fire bursting from my hands and burning into him.
“No!” I tried to reach him—but I froze.
A white moon wolf stood beside him.
But… I’m here.
Then who is that?
“Mika?” I whispered, horrified.
“Mika!! FRANCESCO!!”
They turned to me—but the hatred in their eyes struck like a blade.
Hatred.
What?
Why?
‘A witch doesn’t belong with the light. Go away!’
I turned toward the voice—and gasped.
Anastasia.
Smiling. Mocking.
Then she walked toward my mate and my wolf—my bond—and stood beside them.
“No,” I whispered. “No! NO!!”
I woke with a scream.
Gasping, drenched in sweat, I bolted upright in bed.
Francesco was already there, arms around me in an instant.
His eyes scanned for danger—but there was none. Only me, shaking, trembling… broken by a dream.
“A nightmare,” he murmured, cradling me close. “You’re safe, amore. I’ve got you.”
But even in his arms…
I could still feel the fire on my hands.
Still hear Mika’s voice.
Still see Anastasia’s eyes.
And I couldn’t help but wonder—
Was it just a dream?
Or a warning?