18. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Julianna
C reed wakes me at dawn. Not with a shake or a whisper, but with the click of a mug set on the windowsill and the rustle of hiking boots on the plank floor.
I roll over, half-dreaming, half-aware, and the first thing I see is him tying the laces, methodical, the way a man ties up loose ends for a living.
His rapidly growing hair is slightly mussed on top.
“Get up, kitten,” he says. “You’ll want coffee.”
It’s not a suggestion. I drag myself out of the warm bed and into a day that’s so cold I expect the air to shatter around me.
My body is a catalog of bruises, bites, and dull, pleasant aches.
I can’t decide if I’m proud or horrified.
Both, probably. I wrap myself in whatever Creed has left hanging on the chair, a faded flannel and an old army-green sweater that smells like last night’s fire and a little like him.
We don’t talk while we get ready. There’s no need. Everything worth saying is already written into my skin. I follow him outside, mug cupped in both hands, drinking quickly before setting the mug on the railing and we start down the trail toward the main lodge.
The woods at this hour are a different animal.
The trees huddle closer, the air is viscous with silence, and the only things awake are the insane birds who have no respect for human suffering.
The ground is wet, the mud sucking at my boots with every step.
I almost slip twice, but Creed is a shadow at my back, quick to make sure I never lose my footing.
After a mile, the woods thin and the trail opens onto a clearing.
The main lodge sits at the far edge, massive and beautiful, windows aglow with a light so yellow it hurts my eyes.
There are heat lamps strung along the beams, burning a dull orange, and the smell of bacon is so thick I consider inhaling it for breakfast.
We step onto the deck, and I take a deep breath as we walk inside.
They’re already here, the whole deranged wolfpack.
Three couples, each pair a study in opposites.
At the nearest table, a woman with wavy brown hair and high cheekbones is slicing a grapefruit She glances up, eyes warm and inviting, then nudges the man beside her.
His gaze flicks over me, then lingers on Creed, some alpha-male Morse code flashing between them.
Across from them, a second couple: a tanned woman with wild, uncombed hair and a nose that’s just a bit too big for her face, which only makes her look more cute.
She’s laughing at something her man said.
He’s sprawled in the chair like it’s a throne, legs kicked out and shirt untucked.
He’s got the hands of a brute, the eyes of a serial killer, and a smirk that would get him punched in any decent city.
The last couple sits further down, almost outside the ring of heat.
The woman is a bombshell, all curves and lashes and lips painted the color of fresh strawberries.
She’s feeding her man a bite of waffle, and he’s letting her, which tells me everything I need to know about their dynamic.
He’s the biggest guy here, even bigger than Creed, arms like a tree trunk, tattooed from wrist to elbow, eyes black and blank as a shark’s.
They all stop talking when we enter. I don’t blame them. Creed is a walking disturbance in the force, and I’m… Well. I’m the new toy.
He sets his hand on the small of my back, guiding me past the tables. There are more people here than I expected, staff, maybe, or other guests, but I can feel the real center of gravity, and it’s this group.
Noah is the first to stand, judging by the nametag on his shirt. He’s tall, but not as tall as Creed. His handshake is warm, brief, perfunctory. “Glad you guys came out,” he says.
Creed nods. “Yep.”
“You take care of our little issue?”
Creed grunts in response.
Noah’s girl stands, smoothing down the skirt of her dress, which is pale blue and looks custom-made. It’s loose, but there’s a slight tugging around her midsection. “You must be Julianna,” she says, extending a hand.
I take it. Her grip is firm, but not crushing. “Cassidy,” she says, a wide grin spread over her cheeks.
“Jules,” I reply, because I can.
Cassidy’s eyes flick down to my neck. She sees the collar, her lips twist up.
Harbor and Gianna are next, moving in together like a coordinated assault. Harbor is all motion, animated hands, eyes that miss nothing. “Hi,” she says, grabbing my shoulder before I can react, “you’re even prettier in person. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy. I have a weird filter.”
“Writers,” Gianna says, rolling her eyes. “We’re all like this.”
Harbor bumps her with a hip. “You say that, but you’re the only one here who can make a man kneel in public.”
Gianna shrugs, a giggle escaping her. “It’s a skill.”
Behind them, the men have formed their own perimeter, Creed at the center. They are talking in low voices, but I hear my name anyway.
Cassidy leans in, voice gone softer. “Don’t worry. They’re just doing their ‘who’s dick is bigger’ ritual. Give it five minutes.”
I want to laugh, but I don’t trust myself not to crack in half. Anxiety claws at my insides. I’ve never had girlfriends before, so this feels foreign.
Terrifying.
Harbor tugs me toward the bar. “Come on, we’re doing caffeine, but the fun, delicious kind, while the men figure their shit out.”
The bar is unmanned, but Harbor hops over the rail and starts pulling down mugs like she owns the place. Gianna moves behind, grabs a carafe, pours out a black tide.
I catch Cassidy watching me, eyes narrowed in a way that’s less hostile, more… curious.
“I like your collar,” her lips downturn in a pout. “Noah won’t get me a new one.”
“It’s the only thing keeping my head on,” I deadpan.
She laughs. “You’ll do fine.”
They sit me between them, like they’ve already decided I belong. I’m not sure if I want to bolt or bask in the warmth, so I split the difference and drink my coffee.
Harbor is first to interrogate. “So, tell us. What did you do before Creed ruined you?”
I choke on my sip, splutter, then catch Gianna smirking.
“Surgeon,” I say. “Cardiothoracic.”
“Holy shit,” Harbor says. “I thought you’d be an art girl. You look like you could seduce a gallery.”
Cassidy arches a brow. “Heart surgeon, though. That explains the hands.”
I glance down. My nails are bitten raw, half-moons of black under each tip. “They used to be prettier,” I admit.
Harbor clinks her mug against mine. “Same. I write dark romance novels for a living, so I know all about shaky hands.”
They laugh, all of them, like they’ve been doing this forever.
I glance over my shoulder. Creed is watching me from the men’s table, his expression unreadable, but there’s a possessive tension in the line of his jaw. I wonder if he regrets bringing me here, then realize it’s more likely he’s plotting how to lock me down tighter.
“You get used to it,” Cassidy says, voice suddenly gentle. “The not knowing what’s next.”
Gianna leans in, voice low. “We have a rule: no secrets, no shame. If you’re scared, say it. If you want to run, do it.”
Harbor slaps the table. “The only major one… if you want to fuck someone else, don’t do it. They’re all very possessive. You’d never make it out the door. And would probably wake up with a dick on your porch, right Cass?”
Cassidy nods, giggling. “They’re not like other men.”
“No,” Gianna agrees. “They’re much, much worse.”
The girls all dissolve into laughter again, and something inside me unclenches. It’s so simple, the way they accept me. No tests, no posturing. Just a seat at the table, and the right to tell my own story if I want to.
Harbor leans in, conspiratorial. “Tell us about the first time Creed fucked you. Was it good, or just a claiming thing?”
The question lands with a thud, but it doesn’t hurt. I stare into my coffee, then answer.
“Both,” I say. “It hurt. But it was so good, too. Maybe he knew that’s what I needed.”
Cassidy shrugs. “That’s all any of us want, honestly. A man who gets us before we get ourselves.”
Gianna sips her coffee, eyes gone dreamy. “The pain is what makes it real. The rest is just noise.”
They nod, each in their own rhythm.
Cassidy glances over her shoulder at the men, then back at me. “Are you okay?” she asks. “I know this takes bit of getting used to, but once you do, I promise Creed will give you the world. They’re all just big sucks for us at the end of the day.”
I think about it for a second. The woods, the collar, the scars and bruises. The fact that my life is now an open wound and these women are the salt and the balm.
“I think I am,” I say, and I mean it.
Harbor grins. “You’re going to be just fine, babe.”
Cassidy laughs. “Creed picked good with you.”
Harbor nudges Gianna, almost knocking the whipped cream from her mug. “Tell the story about how you met Knox.”
Gianna rolls her eyes but her lips curl at the edges. “There was a thunderstorm. My car wouldn’t start, and I trudged around until I found the cabin. I thought he was a Good Samaritan.”
“And he was?” I say.
“Oh, he was good,” Gianna says, “but not a Samaritan. He used the opportunity to fuck me in my sleep and keep me captive until I realized I wanted him.”
Harbor grins. “Kairo would have just let you out and kidnapped you the old-fashioned way.”
Gianna smirks. “He has no patience for the art.”
Cassidy chimes in, voice lower, more thoughtful. “Noah tracked me for a year. I didn’t even know until I happened across an invite to Pine Ridge and there he was. Guess he is softer than your guys’ men, but I love him all the same.” She smiles, her hand running over her belly.
“That’s sick,” Harbor says, admiring. “Respect.”
They look at me, waiting for my confession. I twist my coffee mug, searching for the lie that won’t make me sound like an idiot. But the truth is always less interesting than the myth.