by Leigh Kelsey
Half an hour later, when the band were done, Gray bounded over with a cocky grin on his face, stray stands dangling from his dark man-bun. He hooked an arm around my waist, pulling me into a sweaty, damp hug. Warmth came off his body in waves, a not entirely pleasant sensation in the muggy atmosphere of the Cellar. My top was instantly damp as Gray pulled me against him, my hands sliding across damp, heated skin as I shoved him away, scowling. “Disgusting.”
His grin was not deterred. “Yep. And you love it.” He tapped me on the nose with a fingertip. “Mate.”
I rolled my eyes but I couldn’t deny the flutter in my belly. “Go get me another drink,” I threw back. “Mate.”
He kissed my cheek and went, dutifully, to the bar. He’d been getting bolder all day, his normal platonic touches turning to lingering sweeps of my thighs, or squeezing my waist, or pressing his fingers into my lower back in a way that felt amazing. I don’t know how, but damn, Gray knew what felt good to me.
I thought about that now, hours later, as I stood in the half-open doorway of the cottage, blowing chocolate-scented smoke into the midnight-dark sky. I had two vices that drained my meagre savings—vaping and knives, preferably of the throwing variety but I’d take anything sharp and pointy. I was running low on both, thanks to the stress of the past week sending me for an emergency smoke every few hours and my favourite knives showing signs of rust. That’s what happened when you stabbed people.
I sucked in another breath of sweet air and let it fill my lungs before exhaling, my mind jumping from the mating ritual, to Cas, to Jack, to Gray. All of them different in looks and temperament—Cas, the alpha carved of moonstone, protector to all; Jack the muscular black scholar who took everything deadly seriously; and Gray, rangy and skinny with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, total pain in my ass.
God knows how they’d describe me. Maybe: Lyra, tall and angry, with tattoos in places that aren’t polite to show in public, a mouth full of filthy words, and a never-ending attitude problem.
I laughed to myself. I liked that.
“Put that on my gravestone,” I said to the night, glancing over the sweep of grass to the cliffs and the sea beyond, delicate silver stars winking in the curtain of sky above it all. “Here lies Lyra Ripley and her never-ending attitude problem.” I laughed, but it wasn’t as funny as it would have been days ago.
With the area around Whitby Abbey and the Church of Saint Mary soaked in blood—the blood of a god, or so Rita the witch had told me—and magic going batshit, throwing my scent out for miles, death was more of a reality than it had been to me last week. And I’d honestly rather be killed than be forced to be another wolf’s mate.
Wolves were a lot of things—strong, powerful, dangerous, deadly, super pretty—but what we weren’t was progressive. Or most wolves weren’t. I’d happened to find myself an awesome pack full of males who, while they may not be a hundred percent good, were trying. Trying not to be like the two rogue assholes who’d seen me as a commodity, a first come, first served opportunity.
And sure, I was one hell of a prize. But I was Lyra too, a woman with my own thoughts and will and dreams and choices. And I wasn’t about to allow anyone to make major life decisions for me, wolf or otherwise.
I’d made my choice, and I’d chosen my three mates. To protect myself, and because I loved them—my pack. My family.
I was on the verge of going inside—it was fucking freezing, even with a leather jacket thrown over my vest—when a white shape trotted along the edge of the cliffs, right by the fence line. And by the boundary Rita had put up to protect me from the consequences of the magic pulse. The shape was clearly an animal of some kind, probably a wandering dog, but I held my breath to see how the wards would react. Only pack could pass—no one else. Cas had been very firm in that, overseeing the witchcraft even if he had no knowledge of how it worked.
But I was worrying for nothing. The dog—I was sure it was a dog now—came closer, way past the wards. Not a threat, then. I’d never known Rita’s witchcraft to screw up, so the dog was safe. Not a wolf come to claim me. Not someone else I’d have to fight for the right to mate who I wanted and to refuse who I didn’t. I exhaled all my panic, rolling my eyes at myself.
The dog—a weird looking, thin white thing I didn’t know the name of—trotted over, coming a little bit closer when I held out my hand, palm down.
“Hello, puppy,” I said, smiling as the dog nosed my fingers. Its face was thin, like it had been squished in a vice, but his eyes—I got the sense he was male—were black and soulful. His tail gave an abrupt wag as I brushed my hand over his head. “Are you lost?”
He tilted his head.
I looked for a collar but found none. No way to identify his owners. He’d probably bolted from one of the houses up the road, or got off the lead of a late-night beach jogger. I sighed. No way to take him home, and Cas would kill me if I took in a stray. I fished my phone out of my pocket, took a quick photo, and posted it to a local Facebook page. If his owner had lost him, they’d find him. “Want some meat?”
He gazed at me with those soulful, deep eyes, and my heart clenched as I looked into his eyes. What had this poor dog gone through? Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have told his owners where to find him.
“You stay here. Stay. I’m gonna get some ham.”
I gave him a strong look, hoping we could communicate wolf to canine, and turned to get some food from the fridge. I stuffed a piece of cooked ham in my own mouth while I was there, and turned back—to find the doorway empty. My heart sunk in disappointment as I poked my head around the door, scanning the grassy area. Gone.
“Don’t say bye, will you? Dick.”
I huffed and ate his three ham slices myself.
LYRA
The next day I tried to keep the grin off my face as Jack slid past me behind the bar at the Moonlight, reaching to grab a packet of crisps from the boxes stacked against the wall behind us. A shiver ran through my vertebrae at the feeling of his strong body pressing against my back. It was still so new, this being mated thing, and it made me equal parts giddy and apprehensive. I wasn’t sure if I knew how to be someone’s mate. If they wanted a soft, emotional woman to take care of them, they’d seriously overestimated me.
But if I didn’t take care of them, what kind of mate did that make me? One who snapped, had a temper shorter than a matchstick, and swore more viciously than a lot of the fishermen who came in here.
“What can I get you?” I asked as a woman pulled herself onto a barstool. She gave me a soft smile, her eyes lit with an inner glow, and I thought, this is the kind of woman my mates should want. Someone who smiles, and looks at strangers with open, welcoming eyes. Not someone who grins like a shark, glares, and insults. But I guess they’d known what they were getting into when they decided to mate me. They’d lived with me long enough to figure out what sort of woman I was.
“Dry white wine,” the woman replied, batting her eyelashes at me, and then at Jack as he came over to pour a pint from the tap beside me. A strange feeling went through me. I was flattered, sure, at the sultry look in her eye. Part of me wanted to give her a smile right back even though I wasn’t gay, if only because it was one hell of a compliment to get flirty looks from someone like her—luxurious fire-red waves of hair, flawless porcelain skin, smoky blue eyes, and that gentle smile.
The rest of me wanted to scratch her eyes out for looking at Jack.
I must have been glaring—growling?—because Jack pressed his hand to the middle of my back and gave me a pointed look. I made myself busy pouring the woman’s drink and putting her money in the till. I wouldn’t snap at her, not when her money was going in the kitty that supported us. But that didn’t mean I could be nice to her. When I went back to give her her change, I found Jack’s face set in a familiar stony glower, fatally serious now the glitter had left his eyes. I hadn’t realised how different he’d looked when he was happy.
“I’m taken,” he said in a low, growly voice.
I don’t think I missed the implied, and so is she.
Interesting. Apparently I wasn’t the only one driven to territorial mate shit.
“Here’s your change,” I said with a sunny smile that clearly baffled both of them. “Enjoy your drink.”
She walked away with confused eyes and no shortage of disappointment.
I glanced at Jack, his eyes dark and slitted behind his glasses—readers he still wore from taking a delivery this morning that made him look sexier than ever. His wide mouth was pressed into a sulky line. I might have been just as pissed off at the sight of a woman flirting with him but the quick way he’d shot her down, and the way he’d laid claim to me … it had the wolf in me doing somersaults of joy.
“Ever heard that saying about the wind changing? Your face will stay that way,” I teased him, glancing at the customers in the pub to check nobody was paying attention before I slid close to Jack and palmed his dick through his jeans.
He jerked, his eyes flying to me. He was caught adorably between a scowl and an embarrassed flush.
“Don’t be so grumpy,” I said, leaning up to kiss his cheek, which only made his cheeks darken. For such a big, muscly man he was so fucking cute sometimes. “I wasn’t gonna flirt back.”
His mouth pressed into an even flatter line but there was a sparkle in his eyes again. I tried not to pout when he removed my hand from him, his thumb skating over my pulse point. “Not at work, Lyra.”
I grinned. “After, then?”
He was fighting a smile really damn hard. “If you’re lucky.”
I snorted. “If you’re lucky, you mean.” My amusement faded. I caught his hand in mine before he could fully let go. “I’m sorry. I was ready to attack her and all she did was look at you. That sucks.”
I spotted a patron approaching the bar and made to move away but Jack hooked me closer, his lips against my ear. “I was, too,” he admitted. “I wanted to hurt her, just to get her eyes off you.”
I squeezed his hand. “Sorry. You wouldn’t have to deal with this mate stuff if I—”
He kissed me to shut me up, a simple brush of his mouth that wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me. “Don’t. If it’s your fault, it’s mine too.” He squeezed my hip and then let me go, turning to the man propping up the bar. “Pint, Samuel?”
He poured the man his drink, took his money, and when he came back, Jack gave me a steady glance—one of those trademark looks of his that worked wonders for easing my stress. “There are going to be bumps in the road. This is such a huge thing, a huge bond, it’ll take a while to settle.”
“I know.”
“It’s only been a day.”
I play-punched his arm because I wasn’t sure what to do. “I know.”
His mouth twitched, a smile caught there. I became fixated on the spot. “As long as we don’t kill anyone, I think we’re doing well.”
A laugh burst out of me. Jack wasn’t one to joke, but he had a morbid sense of humour apparently. “Yeah,” I agreed. “As long as we don’t kill anyone.”
JACK
Of course, three hours after I said that, we killed someone.
It was another rogue wolf, so I didn’t beat myself up over it. He’d followed us home and cornered us by the cliffs just outside the cottage’s shields, the sea to our backs and a snarling dark-haired man at our fronts. I’d planned to talk to him, to try and convince him that what he was doing was wrong, that he couldn’t force a woman to be his mate, since that was clearly what he planned to do.
Some of these young wolves didn’t necessarily know a mate bond couldn’t be forced, that without the permission of both—or in our case, all—wolves involved, it was a pathetic, weak shadow of the bond. Not to mention how wrong it was to force a woman to do something she refused. But maybe he’d been raised this way, maybe he didn’t know better.
I meant to talk to him but the second he growled at Lyra, attempting to intimidate her into obeying him, I snapped.
I didn’t have claws or a knife like Lyra carried around, but I had my strength, and this man was a weedy shit. I launched at him even as Lyra shouted my name, and even though he clawed at my hands, his feet kicking my shins in an attempt to stop me, I was blinded by red rage and refused to release him.
I squeezed the life out of him.
My chest heaved, my vision red and furious, and I knew this wasn’t right, wasn’t me. I was the one who reasoned with people, the negotiator, not the one who resorted to violence.
“Jack,” Lyra said softly, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. “It’s okay now. We’re both fine. You can let go.”
I flinched as I realised I was still squeezing his throat and let go instantly, stumbling back as the wolf—the body—thumped to the grassy ground. My breathing jumped, jolted, and then raced out of control. I’d killed someone. I’d killed someone.
“Jack,” Lyra said again. I couldn’t reply. What the fuck had I done? I wasn’t a killer. That wasn’t who I was. “Jack,” Lyra snapped, grabbing my face to make me look at her. She opened her mouth to go on, a hardness still in her eyes until she got a good look at me. Then she slumped, her eyes filling up with sadness and pain as she leant up to kiss me.
I kissed her back desperately, clinging to her like she was a life raft. My breath caught, my eyes stinging as she kissed me, holding me tight, her hands pressed to my back through my jacket.
“It’s okay,” she said, an arm across my back as she led me through the shield and towards the house. “You’re gonna be fine.”
I shook my head, my jaw clenched so tightly I thought it would never unlock. “No.”
“Jack.” She stopped on the front step of the cottage, regarding me with conflicted eyes. She sighed, something about her crumpling in, becoming smaller, as she quietly said, “I killed someone too, you know? That wolf, near the abbey. I killed him, and I freaked out. Badly. But it’s—I’m not so bad now. You guys make me feel okay. I haven’t thought about it all day.”
But she was thinking about it now. I pulled her into my arms before I’d really decided to do so, my instincts riding me hard to protect her. “This mate thing is hell,” I said, thinking out loud. She flinched hard and I could have kicked myself. “Not being with you,” I reassured her, hugging her closer. The warmth of her and the solid weight of her in my arms did wonders for my stress. I drew in her bergamot and earth scent, my hands flat to her back. “That’s everything I wanted it to be. But it’s making me into someone I don’t like. I snapped at the woman in the bar. I just killed someone for looking at you the wrong way.”
“In your defence,” she mumbled against my jacket, “he was probably going to try to kill you and kidnap me.”
A long, low growl rumbled in my chest at the thought.
“I say try to kill,” she went on, her voice a darker tone, “because I wouldn’t have let him lay a fucking finger on you.”
Whatever anger I still had melted. How the fuck was this gorgeous explosion of a girl mine? I dropped my lips to her hair, holding her tight until I felt less inclined to lose my composure. “If he’d looked at me,” I mused, “instead of you, your instincts could have made you kill him.”
She made a sound of agreement. “I wouldn’t regret it, you know? Not a fucking bit. Not if he’d tried to hurt you.”
My heart warmed, my face heating along with it. “I know,” I said, and I did. If there was one thing people should know about Lyra Ripley, it was this: she protected her friends and family with an unrivalled viciousness, and if you came for one of her own, she’d have no mercy. And I loved that about her.
Something occurred to me as my mind cleared of the haze of violence, and I sighed. “The respite of the lone wolves being scared away didn’t last.”
“Yeah.” She peered up at me, her green eyes wry but still tinged with worry for me. “Looks like even three mates isn’t enough to scare them away. I’m just that damn irresistible.”
I laughed, again questioning how she was mine.
/> “You’re gonna have to stop looking at me like that,” she muttered, scowling as a flush rose up her neck. A wild sense of accomplishment filled me, and I brushed her cheek with the back of a finger.
“Like what?”
“Like you…” She made another sound in the back of her throat and pushed past me through the door into the kitchen, unsubtly avoiding answering. “Gray! Cas! We brought you a present!”
Gray came skidding into the kitchen, his messy brown hair pulled into a knot on the back of his head and a wide grin fixed on his face. “A present? Aw, when did you become a nice, thoughtful person?”
Lyra snorted, already heading for the fridge. “Fair warning, it’s a corpse.”
Gray deflated. “Another one?”
LYRA
Cas was at the gym, making sure his bulk didn’t tragically vanish, and Gray was busy throwing together a giant meal—I’d requested it the bigger, the better—so I didn’t feel guilty for neglecting them as I knocked gently on Jack’s bedroom door. He probably thought I was done bothering him for the day but I was worried about him. I knew what it was like, killing someone. I’d never told anyone but I dreamt about it sometimes, plunging the knife into Will’s throat. I shuddered, but pushed through the memory as Jack called, “Come in.”
It was obvious he’d expected Gray because he did a double take at me. Idiot wolf. Or … I suppose it could be because I was wearing a long black T-shirt, my legs bare. It was probably the legs. I remembered his eyes skimming up my thighs the night I’d told him I wanted him and the others as my mates. Hmm. This I could use to my advantage. I’d come to check on him—to make sure he wasn’t beating himself up inside, and by those dark, tortured eyes he definitely was—but I could easily amend the plan to distract him instead.
And I was still in season, a fact I knew was driving them wild. I saw it in the way Cas would tense up when I brushed past him, or Gray would haul me close and kiss me breathless whenever I was within reach. Jack … Jack just leant close to me, his nose skimming my throat as he inhaled my scent, his hands flexing involuntarily.