by Fel Fern
“Then you should reward me for my good behavior.” Rafe growled softly against him, when Scott turned him so their chests touched. He slipped his hand down the visible bulge in Rafe’s jeans.
“Maybe I can take care of your need, baby.” Scott pulled him deeper into the hedges, until they were out of sight. With the exception of the estate staff, their men and the Vivaldi, the garden was empty and perfect for them to indulge in a little break. He pushed Rafe against a tree, making sure he scented no one in the vicinity, before kneeling.
“I should grumble more often, if it can get you to suck me,” Rafe murmured. He fisted Scott’s hair as he tugged his jeans down and unveiled his thickening member.
“Don’t get used to it,” Scott warned.
To wipe the cocky look off Rafe’s face, he put his lips to work, licking at the pre-cum glistening at Rafe’s tip. Given he might not be as talented as Ragan, he had to make do. Fuck, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and Scott had a feeling Rafe couldn’t either.
Scott grunted when Rafe tightened his grip on his hair, the pain sharpening his focus on his mate. He looked up, enjoying the delicious and hard planes of Rafe’s body hidden under the folds of his shirt. Fuck. If they had all the time in the world, Scott would rather have Rafe undressed. Well. They had to make do.
“Fuck, Scott. You know it makes me hard when you look at me like that, even after all these years.”
Scott flicked his tongue across Rafe’s veined length, teasing him on purpose. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m the finest piece of meat you’ve ever seen?” Rafe suggested.
Scott chuckled. “You should leave the poetry to me, baby.”
“Well, you like me crass and crude,” Rafe drawled.
To shut him up, Scott took Rafe’s shaft between his lips, sheathing him, sucking, and enjoying the taste of Rafe as he thickened under his care.
“Fuck yeah.” Rafe groaned above him, tugging at his hair to the point of exquisite pain. Scott gripped his legs, bobbed his head up and down, glad for the support of the tree behind them. Not long now, before Rafe came. Scott took him again, feeling Rafe shudder once. He pulled out, got out of the way, so Rafe could dislodge his load. After, Scott rose up to shove his mate against the tree, kissing him hard. Rafe’s hands gripped his shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders.
After Scott released his lips, Rafe panted, eyes still half-lidded with pleasure. “Time to return the favor.”
He palmed Scott’s throbbing erection. “Want to ride me, baby?”
Scott grinned. “How convenient. I brought lube along.”
Rafe snorted. “You always bring lube and wet wipes along.”
“Only because I can’t get enough of my mate.” Scott nodded to the grass. “I think I want to fuck you there.”
Grinning, Rafe went over to the position he pointed to, dropping his jeans and boxers along the way. Scott couldn’t get out of his own pants fast enough. He fished out the lube in his back pocket. Scott was damn glad shifters didn’t need protection because they couldn’t catch anything. He didn’t have the patience. Scott needed to have his mate now. Not a second later.
Rafe waited for Scott in his favorite position, on his knees, offering up his ass for Scott’s use. Since both of them were Doms, they sometimes switched positions. Too bad Scott didn’t have enough time to tie Rafe up before fucking him.
Scott positioned himself, drizzling a generous amount of lube down Rafe’s crack and his fingers. He pushed one, then a second digit in Rafe’s hole. Rafe’s needy moan did wonders to his strained cock. He scissored his way, making sure Rafe was ready. Scott couldn’t wait to add Ragan to the mix. He fantasized about the numerous positions he’d like to try. Rafe could be damn creative, too.
“Scott,” Rafe gritted out, tone filled with want.
“Say ‘please,’” Scott teased.
“Please, bastard.”
Good enough for Scott. Knowing how Rafe liked it, Scott slid in all the way to his hilt, satisfied by Rafe’s loud groan. Certain Rafe was used to the size of him, Scott began to move, strokes hard and unrelenting. He gripped Rafe’s hips, slowing down, taking his time and ignoring Rafe’s frustrated cries until he hit Rafe’s sweet spot. Rafe gasped, panting and pleading. Scott aimed for his prostate over and over again, reaching below for Rafe’s prick, pumping Rafe’s half-erect shaft in tune with his fucking.
The sweet sounds of their mingling growls came together, filling the sticky summer air. Scott shuddered, emptying himself inside Rafe, senses reeling. One last snarl tore out of Rafe’s throat, before he settled himself on the grass, looking like one content wolf. Scott remembered the wet wipes in the pocket of his jeans. He swiped it, cleaning both of them off, before they put back their clothes on. They didn’t head back immediately. Instead they found a nice shady spot under the tree and lay on their backs on the grass, enjoying the afternoon sun.
Rafe leaned his head against his shoulder. Scott reached out, rubbing Rafe’s hand. “Feeling better, baby.”
“Much, you sneaky bastard.”
Scott grinned at the affection in his voice. “It’s nice to lie like this once in a while doesn’t it? Away from all the chaos and shifter politics of the city?”
“Even better if we have a warm kitten snuggled between us,” Rafe added.
“If all goes well, maybe we can go away for a while. Take kitten out for a trip,” Scott agreed. “Spoil her a little. Hell, she looked so beautiful when I found her just now, playing with a stray tabby.”
“We need to win her heart first,” Rafe pointed out. He rolled on his belly, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw, looking contemplative. “Not hard to do.”
“So confident?” Scott inquired.
“Hell yeah. Nothing can get in the way of what we want.”
Scott had to agree with that.
Chapter Seven
“I’m cooking in this tux,” Ren complained. After whining to Lance he wanted ice cream for their pup, he slumped into the pew next to Ragan in the tiny chapel next to the manor. Lance moved away, muttering under his breath as he walked out of the church. Ragan saw the tiny smile tugging at the corners of the large wolf’s lips though when Ren turned away.
Ragan offered Ren a cold bottle of water. “You were the one who insisted to wear your tux in dress rehearsal.”
“I want to see Lance in a tux. You can’t imagine how hard it is to see him look all spiffy,” Ren pointed out.
“He does look yummy,” chimed in Charity. She fanned herself with a wedding program and sat on Ragan’s left.
Ragan hid a secret smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun catching up with Ren and Charity. When London Scavos and his mate claimed Charity, Ragan thought she lost her sister forever. Ren’s wedding really did help them reconnect again.
“Putting aside how my mate looks awesome—” Ren began.
“Thank God. He never shuts up about that,” Charity interrupted.
Ren gave a little huff. Ragan couldn’t help notice the way he kept rubbing at his slightly distended belly. The growing pup, or cub there couldn’t know how important his or her birth was. The baby was a symbol. A change that would herald the end of the long feud between House Scavos and Vivaldi, not completely of course, but Ragan was an optimist. She hesitantly began to reach out, then pulled back, but Ren closed his fingers over hers and let her feel the life growing inside him.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Not long now is it?”
“Lance and the shifter doctor says it might only be two weeks, maybe even less,” Charity pointed out. “Male pregnancies sure are different from female ones.”
“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?” Ragan asked.
“Lance and I decided we wanted a surprise. Although a mini scowling Lance to fuss with would be nice.”
“Or a little Ren?” Charity teased.
“Hold on, we’re going off topic,” Ren pointed out. He wagged a threatening finger a
t Ragan. “What I really want to talk about is Scott and Rafe.”
“Those guys? What about them?” Charity frowned. “I don’t know them well, but London and Ferus trust them.”
“They’re helping with security, although when I found you three you seemed awfully chummy.” Ren squinted suspiciously at Ragan, who hoped her face looked neutral enough. “I mean I thought I had to go barreling in and defend your honor, but it seems the opposite.”
“Defend my honor?” Ragan burst out laughing. “Ren, you can’t be serious.”
“What? You think I can’t protect you?” Ren demanded, looking insulted.
“Lance would kill me if I risked you and the baby. Besides they didn’t mean any harm. Scott and Rafe would never hurt me.” Even to Ragan’s own ears she sounded defensive.
“How are you so sure of that? Weren’t you distrustful of all Scavos wolves?” Ren asked.
“Things change,” Ragan admitted.
“So something did happen. When?” Ren frowned.
Ragan shook her head. The last thing she wanted to talk about with her siblings was her own personal problems when they had other things to worry about. Unrest festered between their houses, and she had a sneaking suspicion after talking to her men something was bound to happen at Ren’s wedding. Some wolf or lion shifter would be foolish enough to try to stop their union, but pinpointing who the individual or group was proved impossible.
“Don’t worry about it, Ren. The last thing they want is to ruin your wedding.” By the way Ren continued to squint at her, she knew her twin saw past her lies.
“What did they want, then?” Charity asked, curiously studying her. “Oh my God, Ragan.”
Ragan’s lip twitched. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable in my life. I mean you always seem so together.”
I wish. The sound of wood breaking made her jump. Ragan twisted her head to see the chapel doors forced open, and a tawny beast burst through. She didn’t recognize the lion on sight, but what caught her attention was the thing strapped to its body. What the hell was that?
The werewolf guards by the door pointed handguns and rifles at the assassin. Before they managed a shot, more guns roared to life, carried by half a dozen masked men in black. By the way they moved, Ragan could tell they had done this before. How could no one report seeing them? Did they have a mole on the inside?
“Get down,” Ragan hissed at Ren and Charity. A shot barely missed Ren’s head by inches. The three of them dropped, crouching against the pews.
“We can get out of the exit behind the altar,” Charity suggested.
“Lead on. Ren, stay between us,” Ragan commanded, relieved Ren didn’t argue.
More gunfire erupted. Some of the men she posted inside joined the wolves in getting rid of the intruder. They broke into a run, heading for the back room behind the altar. Ragan risked a look. Both her men and the wolves were busy engaging the hired killers, but no one paid attention to the mountain lion quickly bounding toward them. The lion with the odd-looking backpack strapped on its back.
Seeing the red cylinders underneath the fabric, Ragan halted in her footsteps, heart thudding painfully against her chest. She had been horrified when Red suggested using the weaker lion shifters not just as bait, but suicide bombers. Could Red really hate the peace treaty so much to send a kamikaze lion against his own blood?
“Ragan, come on,” Charity shouted.
“Get Ren to Lance outside. He’s probably panicking and worried to death about Ren.” Ragan shared a look with Charity. Charity swallowed, tugging a protesting Ren with her.
Ragan was glad she wore a dress. Made it easy to pull off and shift. Never before had she been glad of being able to shift so quickly. It hurt to force her human body to suddenly make way for the lioness inside her, but she had no time. Once on fours, she barely managed to intercept the rampaging beast. They clawed and fought, a blur of claws and teeth. Ragan ignored the bomber’s teeth and claws sinking into the tender fur on her underbelly. She forced herself to work and bite the leather of the pack he wore.
Leather hissed, finally tearing loose from one shoulder. Ragan would’ve growled in triumph, but being bigger, the male tossed her off him. Her back hit one of the pews. Disoriented, she forced herself up, snarling when the beast came at her again. No time to dodge. The beast would maul her down. Maybe she could take it to death with her.
Ragan ignored the pain on her flank and belly and unsteadily rose on fours. An impossibly loud and feral howl made both her and her enemy pause for a fraction of a second. A twin howl followed the first. A large gray wolf rammed into the suicide lion, easily bringing it without effort. Ragan caught sight of her savior’s eyes—a familiar shade of drowning blue capable of bringing her to her knees. Rafe?
She began to walk toward him, but a second, larger wolf caught the fur on the back of her neck between his teeth, the way a mother would stop a wayward cub. Ragan growled at Scott, but he only swiped an annoyed paw at one of her ears. Stay still, kitten, she could almost hear him reprimanding her with his deep honeyed voice.
Pissed, Ragan twisted against him until Scott had to pounce on her, trapping her smaller frame with his heavy one. She snarled low in her throat. The furry bastard wouldn’t listen, so she shifted. Realizing it wasn’t fur he was sitting on, Scott got off her like she knew he would.
“The assassin—get the pack off him. He’s carrying a bomb,” she rasped. Scott didn’t need to be told twice. Neither did Rafe, who apparently heard her plea. Rafe held the assassin’s body down, while Scott ripped the back behind him in his jaws. Ragan could hear the ticking device now. She swallowed. “Scott, we need to get rid of it.” She began to reach for him, but Scott started running out the chapel doors. Rafe tore the assassin’s throat in one jerk, before padding to her.
Ragan clutched at Rafe’s fur. “Scott, he—”
Then a small explosion sounded outside. She pressed Rafe closer to her, suddenly gripped with mindless fear. Scott couldn’t die. Oh God. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t met Scott and Rafe in Collision last night, neither men would have developed protective instincts over her. Tears gathered in the corners of Ragan’s eyes. She wasn’t aware of Rafe shifting until he easily held her with familiar strong arms before she fell.
“Don’t cry, kitten. Hush.” Rafe kissed her tears away. Numbed, Ragan sunk into his embrace, seeking his warmth. He kept on stroking her hair, the gesture helping her think again.
“Scott—” Ragan began.
“He isn’t dead, love. If he were, I would feel it in our mate bonds,” Rafe assured her. He looked amused when she hastily wiped at her tears to glare at him.
“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
“Because you looked so damn addictive and sweet?” Rafe suggested. He chuckled when she pushed him away. Ragan felt Scott a second later, nudging his furry head against her thigh for attention. Rafe let her go, still grinning. Ragan turned to Scott, who looked less like a furry death machine and more like a gigantic dog with his panting tongue and wagging tail.
She knelt so they were at eye level. He whined when she tugged at his ears sharply. “That’s for worrying the hell out of me, you stupid reckless fool.”
Scott licked at her hand in reassurance. Ragan hugged him, forgetting where they were until she noticed the silence in the chapel.
Ren’s voice floated back in. “So something did happen.” Charity gave Ragan an apologetic look, but Ragan didn’t blame her. She knew exactly how stubborn Ren could be.
“That’s all you have to say after someone nearly tried to kill you?” Ragan asked in exasperation. “Ren, when someone tells you to run, you run.”
“How can I, when my twin sister is being a damn idiot? What if Rafe and Scott didn’t get to you in time?” Ren crossed his arms. “And stop changing the topic. When did this charming development happen, and why didn’t you tell me?”
Ragan began to move away from the t
wo wolves, but both Rafe and Scott trapped her between their bodies, a bad territorial move that made the other Vivaldi lions in the chapel hiss and growl. Clearly, both men were sick of hiding.
Scott insistently pressed his furry head against her chest, and the ice inside her heart melted. Ragan ran her fingers through his coarse fur and the longer she touched him, the calm in her grew. Their determination to stand by her side, by whatever this strange relationship they had between them that words couldn’t yet quite define, rubbed off on her. Only right she returned them the same courtesy.
Besides, she owed both men her life. Pushing them away would be a disservice.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Lance strode inside the church, looking pissed as hell. All he had eyes for was Ren. “Thank fucking God. Ren.”
Lance swept Ren into a tight hug, ignoring Ren’s protests.
“Exactly what I want to ask, what the hell is all this, Ragan?” Garrett came up to her, with Riso and Luca by his side. “The werebear we can understand, but these fuckers are Scavos wolves. The enemy.”
Her patience snapped. Scott and Rafe seemed to sense her mood, because they gave her space. Ragan rose, suddenly aware she had no clothes on. Thankfully, Rafe picked up the dress she discarded and handed it back to her.
“Thank you,” she told Rafe, fingers lingering on his hand.
The cheeky grin he gave her made her wary. “Only because I can’t stand anyone looking at what’s Scott and mine, especially when you’re naked.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“Go on, kitten. Put on your dress.”
“She isn’t your fucking anything, mutt,” Luca hissed.
“Shut up, Luca. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Garrett said.
Ragan tugged the fabric over herself, aware of the angry gazes of the other lions on her. Taking a deep breath, she faced Garrett and the rest. “I met Scott and Rafe last night at Collision.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this when I talked to you about taking mates among the pride?” Garrett asked pointedly.