by Rebecca Main
“Oh God,” I cry, hips pushing relentlessly against Ryatt’s as my hands claw at his body. What was this? How could the soulmark make me feel so…good? So wickedly good and oh so satisfied. Every man before Ryatt quickly falls to the wayside as I feel a deeper pull bringing us together. “Please,” I whimper. His hand slips from the soulmark, and I give a cry of despair before replacing it with one of relief.
A brief pinching against the skin of my thighs and my panties are ripped from my body, his hand neatly taking their place. Ryatt's eyes dilate as he finds me soaking with excitement. When his mouth finally seals back over mine, he pushes two fingers inside me.
“Tell me,” he asks after a minute of kissing me breathless. He inserts another finger, watching as my body contracts with pleasure. “Tell me it means nothing.” My eyes snap open to meet his, lips forming an “O” as I am ripped away from my pleasure haze.
“What?” When I make no other reply he slowly begins to extract himself—fingers slipping out of me, his hand dropping my thigh. Ryatt takes two steps back, a growing frown upon his face. No.
“Tell me it means nothing and I’ll leave.”
“Are you fucking serious?” My body trembles with the threat of release.
Eyes still locked on mine, he brings each glistening finger one by one to his mouth to lick them clean. “Very. I want to hear you say it again. That there is no chemistry between us. That there is nothing at all between us. Soulmark or not.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, surprised to find myself near tears. Ryatt’s nostrils flare.
“So be it. I’ll sleep elsewhere tonight. If you decide to accept the truth, to accept me, I’ll gladly finish what we started.” My eyes flit across the room, landing on a framed photo atop a side table. It shatters against the wall near the door as he makes his exit.
“Bastard.”
+++
Irina’s head tilts to the side in assessment before shaking her head. “I don’t like it. You need something with a bit more flow for the skirt, don’t you think? To conceal the supplies.”
I barely have the curtain pulled back before Irina makes her comment. Zoelle’s face falls slightly. I turn and look at myself in the mirror.
“I think you’re right,” I murmur.
“Obviously,” she scoffs. I grab five of the dresses, all form-fitting, and pass them to an attendant.
“We won’t be needing these,” I tell her with a smile. Irina shoots me an angry pout but says nothing more, even though all five dresses are her picks.
“You do realize this means we’ll be getting home much sooner than originally planned? Ryatt is probably wearing a hole in one of the Turkish runners as we speak. Pacing like some mother hen, waiting for your return.”
“Doubtful,” I call from inside the dressing room, slipping out of the black evening gown and into a red one.
“Is this about the fight you had last night?” Irina asks.
Zoelle gives a light gasp, “Oh no, you two fought?”
“How the hell did you know we fought?” I bluster, struggling with the side zipper.
“You weren’t exactly quiet,” she replies defensively.
“I thought everyone was still downstairs having their nightcaps.”
“We were,” Zoelle explains. “Would you bring us some water? Thanks.” Quick steps tread from the private dressing room. The other attendant, no doubt. “They hear, like, everything.”
I pause and catch myself frowning in the mirror. “That’s annoying,” I whisper under my breath. There is a moment's hesitation where I wait expectantly for Irina’s cool comeback, but hearing none, I smile and step out of the dressing room with a flourish.
“It’s just as annoying for us as it is for you. Do you think I want to hear you being groped by my brother, or you,” Irina directs a pointed glare at Zoelle, “having at it with my other brother.” She lets out a plaintive sigh. “I have to move out.”
“Can’t you just turn it off?”
“It’s not as simple as that, unfortunately.”
Zoelle takes a sip from the champagne flute, eyeing me cautiously over it. “Just ask me,” I snip.
“Why were you fighting?”
“Why else would we be fighting? The soulmark, obviously.” Irina holds up her hand for silence, and the attendant walks in a few moments later holding a tray with three glasses of water.
“Thank you, that will be all for now,” Irina tells the shop attendant without a second glance. The woman nods.
“Just ring the bell if you ladies need anything more,” she tells us, then walks back to the front of the shop.
“Is it because he sealed the mark without your permission?” Zoelle asks cautiously.
“Yes!” I cry, turning on my heel and heading back into the dressing room. “For whatever reason, he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept that sealing the soulmark was not his decision to make alone.” I tug and tug at the zipper to no use and stomp my foot. “Would one of you—”
The curtain pulls back to reveal Irina, her vibrant green eyes swirling with emotion. She hands me my glass of sparkling wine and fiddles with the zipper. It acquits to her persuasion.
“You’re right,” she says carefully, “but you’re both guilty of wrongdoings that night.” She coerces the zipper down as I finish off the glass of sparkling wine in two unladylike swallows.
I give a little nod, passing the flute back to her, my hands awkwardly holding the dress to my body. “Ryatt changed the entire course of my life with his decision,” I tell them flatly, memories of my less than stellar childhood simmering to the surface. I had grown used to making my own choices and decisions young, both easy and hard. I didn’t need anyone else doing it for me now. A rasp of laughter falls from my lips before I continue. “I have every right to be mad.”
“So there’s no hope you’ll forgive him?” Irina asks sadly. My heart gives a little quiver at the thought.
“Xander and I had a rough start as well,” Zoelle continues, standing up to join our small gathering. “Actually, it was Ryatt who saw my soulmark first and brought Xander into the picture.”
“Ah yes, the little tête-à-tête in the forest,” Irina murmurs.
“Ryatt chased me down with Keenan and Dominic, both in their wolf forms.” Wolf forms? I hold back my eye roll then cock my head to the side.
“Did they put you in the creepy family dungeon?” Both women color.
“No, but I was tied up rather savagely. Xander sealed the mark without my having a clue as to what was going on. I had no idea I was a witch and had no explanation for what I had witnessed in the woods. My entire world was flipped. I was scared and angry, but I was also…intrigued. There was a pull tugging at my very core towards Xander that I couldn’t escape. After a while, I didn’t want to ignore it.”
“He wouldn’t let you ignore it,” Irina corrects.
Zoelle gives a short shrug, “I think it was a bit of both. It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing after we completed the soulmark. We had a lot of things to work out, but after a lot of talks—“
“—and a lot of sex.”
Zoelle blushes, “—we were able to find a happy place.”
“By ‘happy place’, she means they are annoyingly happy. All the time.” Irina tells me candidly. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what everyone wants? Love? Disgusting, nauseatingly sweet love?”
I guffaw, “Don’t you think it’s weird that some cosmic force has split your soul and placed the other half in your ‘soul mate.' Then doesn’t even guarantee you find them? And when you do—if you do—your whole life suddenly reroutes to revolve around this one person, and if you resist…you go crazy. That’s fucked up.”
Irina huffs, “It’s ‘fucked up’ to you because you’re just a human. Soulmarks are well known in the supernatural community. For us, finding our soulmark is like skipping the whole awkward dating phase.”
“What part of having your life turn upside down is not awkward?”
“It’s called love, Quinn. Honestly, there’s no need to be such an old shrew about it.”
“I am not an old shrew!” I shriek.
“You guys, would you calm down?” Zoelle gently pushes me back inside the dressing room to finish changing. “Irina—”
“I’m only trying to be helpful,” she whines. “Why none of you can see that is beyond me. I thought gaining a sister meant having someone to take my side, Zoelle. But you’re just as bad as Xander. Maybe being Alpha has gone to your head.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, slipping the blue gown on.
“It’s a family thing,” Zoelle sighs. Irina makes a noise of protest.
“Excuse you,” she rebuffs. “Here I am, once again trying to mend bridges on behalf of my brother, and what do I get? Impudence? Unbelievable! I’ll have you know, Zoelle, you’re just as stubborn as Xander. And you!” The curtain yanks open and I give a small yelp. Irina’s finger points accusingly at me, “Are just as bad, if not worse, than Ryatt with your theatrics. Don’t think for a moment you two aren’t meant for each other. Honestly.”
Irina crosses her arms over her chest while Zoelle and I stare back at her, mouths agape.
“So dramatic,” I say, shaking my head lightly. Zoelle lets out a giggle, one that is dangerously contagious until all of us unravel in a fit of laughter. Catching my breath, I give a twirl, the chiffon flaring out. Point to Zoelle and me.
“I think I’ll get this one.”
+++
As shopping hadn’t taken nearly as long as Irina anticipated, we go for a late lunch at some American-French bistro and stick around for happy hour. Of course, I am easily able to persuade Irina into continuing our certified “girls’ day” into a “girls’ night.” Irina, in turn, is able to guilt Zoelle into continuing as well. Which is why when we return around midnight—very much intoxicated—I begin to hiccup from the butterflies flying around my stomach.
Not that I had any reason to be nervous. Chances were slim that Ryatt was even in the bedroom. Chances were—my eyes alight with sudden hope—I could make my getaway!
Hiccup.
My drunken knees wobble as I dip into an uneasy crouch, arms out to balance myself. Stupid heels. My eyes skirt nervously from left to right, doubling back when I see a shadowed figure at the end of the hallway. I let out a quick shriek, but a hand is even quicker to clamp over my mouth. Wide-eyed, I stare in alarm at Keenan and his ever-present frown.
“Don’t do that,” I whisper-yell at him once his hand is removed. “I could have had a heart attack!”
“You should go to bed,” he suggests, humor tinging his voice. My eyes narrow upon him.
"You’re not my mother," I tell him with a sneer, poking his chest to drive my point home.
Keenan gives pause. “Bed,” he deadpans, taking a step forward, all pleasantness dropping. Point to Keenan. I let out a small “eep” and launch myself inside the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Lord, that man was frightening, but at least he got rid of my hiccups.
“You’re back late,” Ryatt says, signature smirk in place as he exits the ensuite bathroom. He is bathed in light, steam slowly billowing out of the doorway around him. I gulp nervously, butterflies fluttering into a frenzy at the sight.
Stay cool, Quinn. “…Yep.”
“How was your night?”
Good, I think to myself. Better than expected.
I had never had real girlfriends growing up. Never a mother to confide in. M was the closest thing I had, but all she had ever taught me to do was steal hearts and money. M’s influence had been quite clear tonight, as I drunkenly attempted to swipe both Irina and Zoelle’s phones and wallets some point after Mai Tai number four. Old habits die hard, I guess.
Yet, rather than be mad, they had laughed at my drunken attempts and scolded me, attempting to persuade me from my life of crime with promises of Zoelle’s delicious cooking and a free pass to Irina’s closet. It was a tempting offer, with the underlying promise of sisters and a large family encompassed in their words. Their playful yet sincere nature had done a number on the wall around my heart, leaving it battered and bruised. And a tad too vulnerable for my liking.
“It was a good time,” I tell him, cringing as my words slur at the end.
His eyes widen in delight, running a towel over his hair briskly, muscles rippling enticingly at the simple action. “Are you drunk?” he asks casually, though I most certainly detect traces of humor to it. Much like Keenan.
“No.” My head shakes firmly, side to side, causing an uncomfortable wave of dizziness to overcome me. Maybe I should take off my heels? “Definitely not," I reply smoothly, no trace of a slur to my words whatsoever. "Super sober girl over here.” Yep, that was me: super sober Sophie. She was a new character to add to my collection.
“Is that so?” He tosses the towel carelessly behind him onto the bathroom floor and readjusts the one around his waist.
“Why are you all wet? I mean—” a swell of heat rushes to my face “—why are you taking a shower. At midnight?”
“I was patrolling the borders with a few others. Without the full power of the crystal, we have to take extra precautions. Ergo, running longer patrols in larger packs.”
“Uh huh.”
My eyes watch as the few remaining water droplets make their way down his pectorals and sculpted abs. Why did he have to be so good looking? Everything about him was the epitome of lithe and dangerous. Absolutely sinful. And he knew it. Worse still, he knew I knew it. I chew on my lower lip, gazing at his torso thoughtfully as I toe off my heels.
It wasn't fair. My heart and body were teaming up against my head. I knew very well that falling into a relationship with the lycan meant trouble with a capital “T”. Yet my heart wanted quite desperately for me to give him a chance, and my body agreed. The soulmark was also putting my hormones into overdrive. I had never felt so riled up by one man. Zoelle had been extremely flustered and confused at the almost ravenous state I described when in close vicinity with the lycan. Irina disgusted.
“Scoundrel,” I mutter irately.
“Excuse me?” he asks, stepping forward, his towel slipping an inch.
“Hmm?”
“Did you say something?” he asks coyly.
Did I? “No,” I say, fairly certain I hadn't. Or had I? His head cocks to the side, a hand running absentmindedly over his abs. “I, uh, I didn’t say anything. You must be hearing things.”
“Are you sure you didn’t say ‘scoundrel’ a moment ago?” Shit. Think, sober Sophie!
“Keenan is actually out in the hallway,” I tell him seriously. “I think you must have heard him. He was in quite the mood when I bumped into him.”
“The scamp,” he replies wickedly. “I always knew he had a thing for me.” My mouth runs dry as I watch his fingers trail the swimmer’s V he possesses. Almost teasingly.
I gasp in dismay.
“You’re doing that on purpose!” I shout, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Put some clothes on,” I hiss. “You are a scoundrel.”