“This has nothing to do with submission,” Bellatrix said, her voice dropping lower, her dark eyes glowing with the full force of her Alpha magic. “This is about what was always meant to be.”
“I wonder…” Bellatrix’s voice was almost teasing now, her lips brushing Hermione’s ear, the barest hint of warmth grazing her skin. “How long can you pretend, little lioness? How long before your Omega instincts tear you apart from the inside?”
Hermione’s body jerked back, but Bellatrix was there, pinning her against a tree with a brutal force that made her breath catch. Her wrists were trapped, her wand slipping from her grasp and falling uselessly to the forest floor. Bellatrix leaned in close, her lips brushing Hermione’s ear as she whispered, “I always did enjoy a good chase.”
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As Hermione’s suppressants fail, Bellatrix’s Alpha presence overwhelms her, pushing Hermione closer to surrendering to the primal bond between them. Though Hermione fights to maintain control, Bellatrix’s power and desire slowly tear down her defenses, inching closer to the inevitable.
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Hermione’s breath came in ragged gasps, her mind racing to find a way out, any way out. She couldn’t afford to lose control now, couldn’t let her instincts—her Omega instincts—overpower her. But the closeness of Bellatrix’s body, the raw Alpha energy radiating off her, was threatening to tear through every defense she had left. “You were always going to end up here, Granger,” Bellatrix growled, her voice a dangerous purr as she trailed a hand down Hermione’s side, fingers pressing hard against her ribs. “From the moment I realized what you were… what we both are. You’ve been denying it, hiding behind your potions and your pride, but you can’t run from me.” With a swift, vicious movement, Bellatrix’s hand tore away the rest of Hermione’s shirt, leaving her chest exposed to the night air. Hermione gasped again, heat flooding her face as she fought to keep her composure, her mind still desperately clinging to logic and reason. Bellatrix’s hands roamed over her skin, rough and demanding, her grip bruising as she traced the lines of Hermione’s ribs, her nails scraping harshly against her flesh. The touch was forceful, controlling, but then, without warning, it shifted—softening for just a moment, almost tender as Bellatrix’s fingers brushed lightly against Hermione’s throat.
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As Hermione’s defenses crumble, can she resist the pull of Bellatrix’s Alpha presence, or will she be claimed by the inevitable bond between them?
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