by Bella Jacobs
“That’s why I’m here, Princess.” The tenderness in his voice transforms the taunt into something heart-breakingly sweet. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”
And then he kisses me, and every nerve in my body lights up. Flashes of light dance behind my closed eyes as his tongue strokes into my mouth and I taste him for the first time. He tastes like salt and pain, loneliness and regret, but also like the first berry plucked from a wild vine, tart but sweet and full of promise. We could have chosen to tear each other apart, but instead, we’re here, patching each other back together. Healing the hurt. Saving what was so close to being lost.
“So damned sweet,” he murmurs against my lips as he guides me toward the bed, his hands smoothing under my shirt to curl around my waist. The feel of his bare skin on mine is enough to make my head spin.
“You, too.” I sigh into his mouth, pulse spiking as the backs of my knees hit the mattress.
“I’m the farthest thing from sweet there is, Princess.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I grip the bottom of his shirt, drawing it up and over his head, baring his incredible chest. Heart in my throat, I trace a finger down between his pecs to the thick ridges of his abdominal muscles. “You look pretty sweet to me.”
His lips quirk. “Yeah? You into muscles and scars?”
I nod, lifting my gaze to his. “But mostly into you.”
An unspoken question flickers behind his eyes. I bring my hand to his face, fingers playing across the strong line of his jaw. “What?” I ask.
His fingers curl around my wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a jolt of awareness spiraling into my core. “I don’t love like the rest of them, Wren. It’s not going to be easy. I’m not easy.”
“I don’t want easy.” My heart hammers faster as he grips my other wrist, holding me captive. “I want you. I want you so much it’s hard to breathe. And I don’t just mean this. Tonight.”
“Just the sex?” He guides me back onto the bed, lengthening himself over me as he pins my hands to the mattress over my head.
“No, I don’t mean just sex. I mean everything. Every piece of you. Even the broken ones.” He nudges my thighs apart, settling between them, making my breath shudder out as I feel how hard he is behind the fly of his jeans.
“But you’re okay with the sex part?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he presses a kiss to my throat, where my pulse is fluttering like a butterfly on speed.
“I am so okay with that part.” I lift my hips, rocking against his thickness. “I’m sort of desperate for that part, actually.”
“You don’t know what desperate is, baby.” He strokes one hand down my arm to my ribs, my waist, to the curve of my hip, where he squeezes tight. “It’s been so fucking long for me, Princess. I’m going to be lucky to last five minutes.”
“Quality not quantity,” I say, my head spinning as he pops the button on my jeans and draws the zipper down. “And it won’t take me five minutes to get there. I’m already so wet.”
“Yeah?” He slips a hand down the front of my jeans, into my panties, groaning as he glides two fingers inside where I ache. “Damn, baby. I want my mouth on you so bad.” He drives his fingers deeper, the friction so delicious my eyes roll back in my head. “I want to get drunk on your pussy.”
Before I can express my enthusiasm for this plan, he’s already ripping my jeans and panties down my thighs. I claw off my T-shirt and sports bra and reach for him, gasping against his lips as he kisses me hard and deep while he touches me everywhere.
Absolutely everywhere.
I swear he must have three hands, four. He’s plucking my nipples, stroking my clit, squeezing my thigh, threading his fingers through mine—all at once. And then he’s sucking my nipples while he rocks the heel of his hand against the top of where I’m so wet, and suddenly I’m flying, falling, calling out his name as his mouth replaces his hand and he teaches me how fast I can recover. How fast I can soar off the edge of the world all over again, this time with his fingers pinching my nipples while he moans his appreciation and encouragement against my swollen flesh, making me feel like a hero for coming twice.
He does it again. And then again, and just when I’m sure my body can’t handle any more, he assures me that it can. I can.
We can.
“Look at me.” He pauses, the tip of his cock pressed lightly against my entrance. “Watch my eyes, Princess. I want you with me for this.”
“Yes,” I whisper, gazing into him as he sinks oh-so-slowly into me, each inch a revelation, a miracle, a gift I had no idea I was about to receive.
He is so open. So real. So completely here with me as we begin to rock together that tears sting into my eyes. “I love you.” I cling to his shoulders as he glides deeper, erasing every barrier between us.
“My life.” He threads his fingers through mine, holding on tight. “It’s yours, Princess. I belong to you, baby. God, I fucking belong to you. Can you feel it?”
I suck in a ragged breath, tears spilling down my cheeks as the mate bond folds over us like a blanket, wrapping us in love and belonging. “Yes. And I to you. Oh God, yes. Luke. Please. Come with me. I’m going to come, I’m—”
My release twists inside of me, clutching so hard that it hurts. But the hurt is sweet, as sweet as the shattered-by-pleasure expression on Luke’s face as his cock jerks against my inner walls. I cling to him and him to me, both of us riding out the bliss together until we lie—heavy and spent—in each other’s arms.
We’re quiet for a long time, so long I’m on the verge of drifting off when Luke whispers, “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I smile, my eyes fluttering open. “And we get to do it again. Whenever we want. How cool is that?”
“So fucking cool.” He rolls on top of me with a grin that makes me laugh. He laughs, too, a beautiful, hopeful sound that lights up every corner of my soul, and then he makes me cry again.
Because it’s just that good.
Him. Me. No clothes. All heart. All good.
We don’t sleep for hours.
Hours and hours and hours…and it’s absolutely fucking perfect.
Chapter 39
Luke
I wake up to a prickling feeling on my lids. It reminds me of being back in prison, when I’d open my eyes to find my first roommate, Bart, a dude as sweet as he was occasionally dangerously violent, perched on a stool by my bottom bunk, watching me sleep.
He said that I looked peaceful and it reminded him of watching his kids sleep.
It was still creepy as fuck.
But this? Opening my eyes to find a gorgeous woman propped up on one arm, smiling down at me like I fished the sun out from behind the mountains this morning, is pure sweetness. When I realize she’s still naked, I’m pretty sure I can’t get any happier.
“Good morning, sexy,” I murmur, keeping my mouth turned away from her out of respect for my possible morning breath even as I urge her on top of me.
“It is a good morning,” she says, summoning a groan from low in my throat as she straddles my hips. I can feel how hot she is against my already hard cock, even through my boxer briefs. I silently curse myself for pulling them on before I drifted off last night as she continues in a giddy whisper, “As long as I was touching you, I didn’t dream at all. Not a single thing. It’s like someone yanked the electrical cord out of the wall. My brain was a big blank, all night long.”
I arch a brow. “That doesn’t sound all that nice, but you sure look happy.”
“Oh, I am happy.” She leans down, pressing a kiss to my cheek before she whispers in my ear, “I’m in love with your vision-killing superpowers.”
I laugh. “I think the word you’re looking for is handicap.”
“No, it’s super.” She rocks against my erection, making me groan again. God, I want to be inside her ten minutes ago. “I feel so rested and amazing and—”
“Horny?” I ask, sucking in a shaky breath. “Please say horny.”
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She hums seductively. “Yes. That. And wet. Just smelling you makes me wet.”
Cursing softly, I roll over, pinning her beneath me, concerns about morning breath and anything else going up in a puff of smoke as she shoves my boxers down my thighs and fits me against her. And then my cock is gliding into her molten heat and her long legs are tight around my hips, and her eyes are sliding closed with a blissed-out cry that goes straight to my heart.
“Fuck, Wren, you drive me crazy,” I murmur, fingers digging into her fine ass as we begin to writhe together, going from sleepy good morning to hot, desperate, frantic fucking in seconds flat.
But that’s how it is with us. We’re fire and a room full of matches. The chemistry is fierce and wild, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I want to make you scream,” I say against her lips as we push harder, faster, slamming into each other with soft gasps and grunts. “I want to make you come so hard you can’t hold it in.”
“Yes. Oh God, yes.” Her lips part, and her features twist in prelude to release, and I lose the last of my thinly held control.
With a growl, I hook her knees over my elbows, spreading her legs even wider as I pump fast and deep, balls leaden weights dragging at my body until I feel her pussy lock tight around me. The second she comes—screaming my name loud enough to wake the entire hotel—I spin out. I bury myself to the hilt in her pulsing sheath, spilling every piece of my soul into her. My balls throb in the seam of her ass, and still, I want to be deeper, closer. I want to rip open my chest and pull her inside, keep her safe in the shelter of my skin and bones, where no one can ever hurt her again.
The mate bond isn’t anything like I imagined it would be. I was thinking sparks and fire, magic that would leave me feeling different than I had before.
Instead, I feel like…myself. My true self, the one I’ve had to keep hidden for so long just to stay safe and alive. But with Wren, I don’t have to hide. She sees me—every angry, wounded, sad, bitter, and secretly hopeful part—and she loves me. Not despite my scars, but because of them.
Because when she looks into my eyes, she knows that she isn’t alone. I’ve been where she’s been. I’ve known that kind of pain, and I know we can get past it.
Together.
“I love your nipples,” I say as she lies on the bed beside me, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. “I want to bite them.”
She turns to me, her lids drooping as she says, “Then bite them.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? Right now?”
“If you’re ready for round two, I am. I haven’t had nearly enough of you.” She cups her breasts in her hands, plumping them together in a way that makes my cock suddenly capable of Herculean feats of recovery and stamina.
I suck her tits, bite them, pinch them as I take her from behind with her fingers wrapped around the rickety spindles of the headboard.
We break three of them before we’re finished.
By the time Dust knocks on the door a little after eight a.m., we’ve already worked up a sweat. Three times. But there’s no time for a shower.
“We’ve got news and food and coffee downstairs,” Dust says, smiling over Wren’s shoulder at me when she opens the door. “And it looks like you’re ready to jump into some memory recovery this morning.”
“Whatever it takes,” I say, squeezing Wren’s hip. It’s still a little weird to me—that Dust doesn’t seem to care that we’re going to be sharing Wren.
It’s even weirder that it doesn’t bother me. In the past, I’ve been possessive with the women in my life. I didn’t want another man looking at them too hard, let alone putting his hands all over what was mine.
But with Wren…
She’s mine, but she’s also ours, and as crazy as it sounds, it feels right. Good. Like this is the way it was always meant to be.
So I don’t mind tugging on my shoes, grabbing our small bag of overnight things, and following Dust out the door and down the hall. There will be more time for Wren and me to be alone. Soon. But for now, we’ve got to work together to keep her safe.
And maybe pull the world back from the brink while we’re at it.
Chapter 40
Dust
We’re finally here, right where we need to be. A complete set, a Fata Morgana in full power, supported by her four mates.
It’s evident the moment that Luke, Wren, and I step back into the room where the rest of the crew are waiting for us. The energy sizzles with possibilities, like a wave about to crash against the shore—inevitable, beautiful, and dangerous.
“Wow.” Sierra’s eyebrows shoot up over the edge of her breakfast sandwich. “You guys…. Good luck blending in walking around like that.”
“Like what?” Wren grabs an egg and cheese sandwich from the pile on the bureau.
Sierra shakes her head, chewing thoughtfully. “Like…rock stars. Movie stars. Superheroes from another planet. Something like that. The kind of people who attract a lot of fucking attention.”
“She could have a point.” Kite wraps his arms around Wren from behind, cuddling her close, clearly glad to have her back with us. “I didn’t realize it would be this intense. I feel like I could run a marathon or something, and I haven’t even had any coffee yet.”
“I feel like I could eat two of those.” Luke motions toward the pile of sandwiches. “Is that cool? It looks like there are extra.”
“Go for it. I bought three more than usual,” Sierra says. “I figured you and Wren would be starving after the, um…workout. Sorry about being suspicious of your ass, by the way.” She shrugs. “I can admit when I’m wrong, and I was wrong.”
Luke nods as he unwraps a bagel with extra egg and cheese. “It’s cool. And who knows, you could still be right. Like I told them yesterday, I don’t remember what happened to me when I was a kid, or who was responsible. It could have been Highborn who turned me, I don’t know for sure.”
“Well…even if it was, it doesn’t matter now.” Sierra wads her empty wrapper into a ball. “He’s dead, and his institute is under investigation. It was on the news this morning. Sometime overnight, his Happily Ever After file was posted on Encyclo.com, and now everyone is losing their shit.”
“So much for the secure computer trip,” Creedence says with a grunt.
“Oh, and it gets better.” Sierra tosses her foil ball into the trash, sinking it clean. “The FBI stormed the Elysium Institute in the middle of the night, arrested eight of Highborn’s doctors, and started seizing shit. Either they didn’t know that the Department of Homeland Defense was in bed with Highborn, or they’re pretending they didn’t in hopes it will slow down some of that crazy.”
She motions toward the muted television behind me, where shots of protestors filling the streets in L.A. carrying “Shifters are citizens too!” and “We Welcome Supernatural Diversity” signs contrast sharply with chilling footage of a group of Doomsday Preppers on a farm in Wyoming. They’ve declared their property “Demon Beast Free” and are offering sanctuary for humans who need it and a chest full of bullets for any shifter who sets foot in firing range.
“It’s not only in the States, either.” I curl my fingers around my coffee, soaking in the last of the warmth. “There are protests popping up all over the world. Highborn’s file didn’t just leak the medical records of the shifters he’d tortured and the intelligence his people had gathered on Atlas. It also listed over a hundred high-ranking global power players he believed to be shifters, names he added to a hit list that started circulating the dark web a few years ago. In the time since his original post, sixteen of those people were murdered or mysteriously disappeared.”
“He was out of his mind,” Wren murmurs.
“Completely,” I say. “And now, for better or worse, the entire world knows it. They also know about us in numbers we’ve never faced before.”
“A lot of people won’t believe it,” Creedence says.
“But a lot of people will. The fall
out is going to be…massive.” Kite blows out a slow breath, shaking his head. “There are enough people in our own community who’ve been frustrated by being forced to keep our powers secret. Once you get enough of those coming out of the shadows, showing the world what they can do…”
“We’re going to have a hundred new Highborns on our hands,” Luke prophesizes darkly. “A thousand.”
He’s a pessimist, that one.
He’s also most likely right.
“Which means we’re probably not going to find a better time to make our move. The chaos is going to get worse before it gets better.” I draw out the map of Banff I liberated from the brochure stand downstairs and spread it open on the table beside Sierra. “Looking through the files last night, I noticed a pattern. Dr. Highborn’s people have been tracking Atlas for years, following his comings and goings, trying to locate his compound.”
“So they could bomb the shit out of it and not have to play his reindeer games anymore,” Creedence helpfully supplies, standing back to make room for Wren and Luke to stand on either side of me.
“Most likely,” I agree. “Though, it would have been difficult getting the Canadian government on board with a mission like that. Especially since it looks like Atlas is holed up somewhere in the middle of Banff National Park. He was tracked to these locations before the people following him lost his trail.” I point to the longitude and latitude points I marked on the map in red pen. “We’re thinking they’re portals to his realm.”
“Or damned close to one.” Sierra taps a finger on the mark nearest the highway. “This one is especially interesting. Atlas kept me on a leash outside his study for a while, back when I was too weak from the torture to be a flight risk. Sometimes he would go inside for hours and come out smelling like he’d been sitting in a restaurant. One time he even brought back a plate of this fancy ass poutine with a little egg on the side. At the time, I thought he must have a dumbwaiter or a secret passage or something in there. Because I knew I hadn’t seen any of his slaves coming or going while I was sitting outside. But look at this…” She waves my direction. “Show them, Dust.”