But life kept proving to him, over and over, that it didn’t give a damn what was supposed to happen. ‘Supposed to’ was for fairytales. No, Vale was here before him, on his knees, begging, after hours of pain. That was reality. Maybe it wasn’t romantic, or dreamy, or sweet. But it was real. It was his. Vale was his. To claim, and take, and soothe. To mark and fill. To forgive and love. Screw contracts, screw the chomping teeth of death, and most of all screw the fantasies he’d spun before he knew any better. This was his life and his omega. His Vale. He aimed his cock and covered Vale’s back,
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