Claimed by the Forest Reaper: A Monster Romance Short Read (Feral Bonds Book 3)

by S. Alexander

He builds me a bath. Not a metaphor. One minute I’m sulking by the spring, picking leaves from my hair. The next, shadow vines erupt from the ground, weaving a basin into the rocks. Steam rises as the Reaper dips his hand into the water, heating it with a red glow. “Show-off,” I mutter. He flicks a droplet at me. It hits my forehead, warm and startling. “Real mature.” But when he leaves—vanishing into the trees like smoke—I strip fast. The water smells like lavender. *Actual* lavender. How? I sink up to my chin, sighing as the heat unknots my muscles.

He’s everywhere. Not suffocating, just… present. When I wake, he’s mending my boots with meticulous stitches. When I forage for edible mushrooms, he materializes to pluck a deathcap from my grip. When I snap at him to quit looming, he leans against a tree. Still watching. The third time I catch him inhaling near my neck, I whirl on him. “What’s your deal? Do I stink?” He blinks. Sniffs the air deliberately. Shakes his head. “Then *back up*.” He takes one step back. His shadow still drapes over me. I throw my hands up. “You’re impossible.” A corner of his mouth twitches.

“I don’t need bribes,” I tell him, eating a berry anyway. He watches my tongue catch the juice. His claws puncture the log he’s sitting on. “Stop that.” He blinks innocently. “You know what you’re doing.” A shrug. But there’s a smugness to him now, a predator circling prey he has no intention of eating.

"Again?" I ask, half-joking. His eyes flare, and I feel a twitch against my inner walls. Oh. Not joking, then. I smile, stretching beneath him. "Take me, monster. I'm yours." And he does. Again. And again. Until the cavern echoes with our cries, until the shadows dance with our pleasure. Until there's nothing left but him, and me, and the bond that ties us together. Forever.

He goes down on me like a man possessed. One second, I'm sitting on his lap, kissing him. The next, I'm on my back, his hands spreading my thighs. He dives between them, his mouth eager, hungry.

His hands stroke my inner thighs, my hips, my stomach. Like he's memorizing me. Like he's worshiping me. And god, he is. He's on his knees before me, his head bowed, his eyes worshipful. He looks up at me, his gaze full of... love. Adoration. Devotion.

His mouth crashes into mine. We sink into the flowers, his hands everywhere. His touch is different tonight—reverent, almost shy. He peels off my dress like unwrapping a relic. “Kaelith—” “Let me,” he rasps. “Let me show you…” He worships me.

Then Marta whispers, “We’re sorry.” I laugh. “No, you’re not. You’re just scared the Reaper will come for you next.” Kaelith appears at my side, shadows coiling. The mob flees.

“You’re staring,” I say one afternoon. “You’re… radiant.” I blush. “Stop.” He tugs me into his lap, lips grazing my ear. “Never.”

The first snow comes early. We’re curled by the fire when he says it. “You could still go. Before winter locks the passes.” I set down my book. “You don’t get it, do you?” He frowns. “They threw me in here to die. You caught me. Held me. Gave me…” I gesture to the lair—the books, the herbs, the cloak he wove me. “This is my choice. Every day, I choose you.” His throat works. “Why?” “Because you see me. Not a witch. Not a sacrifice. *Me*.” He crushes me to his chest. “Always.”

In spring, the forest blooms. Children dare each other to leave trinkets at the tree line. I collect them sometimes—a wooden frog, a honey cake, a poorly knitted mitten. Kaelith finds me smiling at the trinkets one evening. “Happy?” I lean into him. “Yeah. You?” He turns my face to his. The smile he gives me is slow, warm,...