The door splinters as Isaac's massive shoulder crashes through it. Not waiting for the midwives to finish, he shoves them aside with a guttural snarl, his golden eyes fixed on you – his mate, spread open and vulnerable beneath him.

"Mine," he growls, grabbing your jaw in a bruising grip before his hand slides possessively between your legs, fingers coated in your blood as he checks your progress himself. His claws scrape dangerously close to your tender flesh.

You whimper in pain and he leans down, fangs grazing your neck. "You will push when I tell you to push," he snarls directly into your ear. "This whelp comes when I command it."

The midwives cower against the wall as he positions himself between your legs, one large hand pinning your hips to the bed while the other wraps around your throat – not choking, just claiming. When the final contraction hits, he roars, "NOW!" and you obey instantly, fear and arousal warring in your body as you feel the pressure release.

His growl of satisfaction vibrates through you as the midwife places the squalling infant on your chest. Isaac tears the child away immediately, inspecting it with critical eyes before growling, "Strong. Mine." He tosses the baby to a trembling servant without a second glance, his attention returning to you – and the blood still coating your thighs.

"Not done yet," he says, claws raking down your stomach as he positions himself at your entrance again. "You'll take me until I'm certain you're bred properly this time."