52. Isobel
I don’t remember much of last night. I know Simon ended up carrying me into the shower, washing me gently with Quin’s help before they dried me and tucked me into the bed wearing nothing but one of Quin’s old t-shirts. I didn’t wake for Arina’s next two feeds, but that’s probably because Simon knows where to find my stored breast milk.
The pain from my engorged and leaking breasts wakes me, not to mention the heaviness of a full bladder. I’m buried beneath blankets and bodies, surrounded by both Simon and Quin. I take a moment to simply luxuriate in the absolute rightness of what we have. My bonds hum happily, both of my mates relaxed and content to have me nestled in their arms. As much as I want to revel in my happiness, my body has other plans.
I wriggle out from between the two, a bittersweet pang spearing my heart as both Quin and Simon clutch at the sheets that still hold my warmth but make no move to snuggle into each other.
I scurry to the toilet, the relief as my bladder empties immense. I don’t bother with another shower, instead opting to dress and get started on breakfast. A quick glance at the clock shows that Paw Paw will be arriving in the next hour or so if I don’t warn him off, so after I pull on panties, a nursing bra, sweats, socks, and my faithful flannel, I reach for my phone, firing off a quick text to my family not to bother turning up at the house today unless it’s unavoidable, and to call first if that’s the case. There are things that Quin, Simon, and I need to deal with before the Calhoun horde descends en mass, and I also need to prepare my family for Quin’s return.
I check in on Arina as I pass her nursery, but she’s fast asleep. Her little tummy is rounded and she’s wearing a different onesie than what I had her in last night, so she’s obviously sleeping off a feed.
Empty bottles drying on the draining board confirm my suspicions that my men—my men!—did, in fact, feed her bottled breast milk while I slept. I’ll need to replenish my stock of frozen milk before I can start cooking breakfast, if the pressure in my chest is anything to go by.
I have a new appreciation for bovine shifters and actual cows as I pull out my dual pump and set it up with sterilized bottles and horns, then get comfortable in my recliner in the lounge. The relief as my milk lets down is on the same level as how I felt when I peed this morning, and despite how gross that may sound, it’s true.
A shuffle of footsteps garners my attention, and a sleep-tousled Simon appears in the doorway, his feet and chest bare, a pair of gray sweats hanging low on his hips.
I bite down on my lip and swallow the moan creeping up my throat at the sight of him. My libido stirs, the greedy hussy seemingly willing to overlook how much I ache after last night’s exploits. I mentally slap her down, needing another few hours to recover before I’m ready to take on either man, let alone both.
“Mornin’, sweetheart. How are you feeling? Need me to start breakfast?” Simon rasps, his voice still thick with sleep. He turns away and heads into the kitchen to do just that, not even waiting for my response.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, the clatter of pans and rattle of utensils punctuates the quiet over the hum of my pump. Once I’m done, I seal the bottles and tuck myself away before carrying my haul back into the kitchen. I write the date and time with erasable marker on the bottles before storing them in the freezer, and the silicone horns go into the sink to be washed and then sterilized. The rest of the pump goes back in the cupboard, luckily not requiring anything more than a wipe-down.
“Is Quin still asleep?” I ask as I head over to the coffee pot. I need something a little stronger than tea this morning, and I don’t think I’m the only one, either.
“Yeah, he was snoring away when I got up. I think he needs the sleep. I can only imagine what he’s been through these last couple of months. One thing’s for sure, though. Once he’s awake, we need to hash out where he was, who all was with him, and who we need to call in to stop this shit once and for all. I know quite a few people who will be here in a heartbeat should I call them in, and these are people ready, willing, and able to tear Quin’s parents and their fucked-up organization down to their foundations.”
I use the time while the coffee brews to think on Simon’s suggestion. I then make an executive decision.
“Call them. Don’t bother waiting for Quin to wake up. We need help, and we need it yesterday. Now that he’s home with us, we need to protect you and him both. Having your contacts around as back-up can’t hurt, even if nothing comes of it. Besides, unless they’re close by, it’ll take them time to get to us.”
Simon nods but doesn’t move away from the stove. The delectable scents of frying bacon and sausages mingle with the heady, bitter fragrance of coffee, and my stomach lets me know in no uncertain terms just how hollow and empty it is. I pour us both a cup of coffee, leaving Simon’s alone while I add sugar and cream to mine. I know he likes his black and bitter first thing in the morning. I then get back to work making us all toast. If Quin still isn’t awake by the time breakfast is ready, I’ll try to wake him.
The man can sleep like the dead. Or, at least, he used to.
Sure enough, Quin still hasn’t appeared by the time breakfast is just about ready, and I leave Simon alone to move everything to the table to go wake Quin. Looking down at his face as I stand at the side of the bed, a wave of longing for all the moments he’s missed sweeps through me. Well, no more.
“Quin,” I call quietly, reaching down and gently shaking his shoulder. I don’t expect his reaction, although perhaps I should have after learning from Simon what their life was like in captivity.
A band of steel—otherwise known as Quin’s hand—clamps around my wrist and yanks me down onto the bed. I land hard, the breath momentarily knocked out of me, and stare up at the infuriated face hovering menacingly above me. His eyes are fully amber—although they’re hazy with sleep or memory—his nose has flattened out somewhat, and the teeth inside his mouth aren’t human. A wicked snarl rattles in his chest, and a shaft of fear momentarily pierces me.
What did they do to my Quin?
I reach inside me for the thread binding us together, then pour an abundance of love and concern down it, waiting with bated breath for it to take effect. I reach up with my free hand, cautiously palming one sharp cheek, feeling the soft bristle of fur under my palm. It feels like Quin is mid-shift, but I’ve seen his tiger before, and this is not how his changes usually begin.
“Quin, it’s me, Izzy. Come back to me, Quin. You’re home, and you’re safe.”
My words seem to reach him, either that or the emotions I’m pushing down our bond finally snap him out of his daze. His eyes clear and widen as he recognizes me, and I watch with fascination as his features return to normal.
It takes another moment for him to realize he’s essentially holding me hostage, and the alacrity with which he rolls off me and jumps from the bed would be amusing, if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. I speak up before he can utter a word, reassurances pouring from my lips.
“It’s okay, Quin. You didn’t hurt me, not at all. I simply didn’t think. I have no idea what you’ve endured, not only in the time since you were taken from me, but throughout your entire life. There’s going to be mental scars and triggers there. It just means that going forward, we’ll all need to be made aware of them and then work our way through them. Together.”
The creak of the bedroom door announces Simon’s arrival, his very presence soothing and protective. He comes to join us on the bed, sitting on the edge closest to Quin and reaches over to grasp Quin’s shoulder in his beefy fist.
“Bro, I get it. You’ve been either on the run, or on edge waiting for O’Hare to come collect you for most of your adult life. It’s gonna take you a while to come to terms with that and be able to relax enough to not react when something or someone startles you. That’s best-case scenario. Worst case? You never move past that, and we learn to work with and around your new triggers. That’s what a family does. You guys are my family now, and I’m never gonna leave you behind.” Simon slaps his hand on Quin’s shoulder, staring down at him sternly.
“Now, I know you’re tired, but you need to get your ass out of bed and into the kitchen so we can all eat breakfast while it’s still hot. Arina will be awake shortly, and we’ve got a lot to discuss before our little angel wakes up wet, hungry, and cranky to boot. I also need to fill you guys in on the calls I just made.”
***
It’s another hour before we all sit down to have our serious discussion. We couldn’t during breakfast, partly because we were all so ravenous that food took priority. It also didn’t help that both Simon’s and my phones kept pinging away from all the texts. Mine was due to my family demanding to know why they were banned from the house for the next twenty-four hours. I have no clue who kept interrupting Simon’s breakfast, but I could hazard a guess or two.
As though she has an internal alarm letting her know the moment my stomach is finally full, Arina wakes just as I finish my last gulp of coffee. Her cries begin soft, then become more strident when she isn’t immediately picked up. Quin motions for me to take a seat in the lounge as he heads into the nursery to change Arina and bring her to me. By the time they are both back, Simon has dealt with the breakfast dishes and is walking in with a tray of drinks. He waits until we are all settled and Arina has latched on before asking the dreaded question:
“Okay, who wants to go first?”