Chapter 3 A Sequoia Fell in Love with a Mayfly…
Chapter Three
A Sequoia Fell in Love with a Mayfly…
— Sunday —
Kissing Grayson feels like falling—plunging from a thousand-foot cliff only to catch a thermal draft that lifts you higher and higher, the world blurring beneath you. It’s like flying too close to the sun and daring your wax wings to hold as you surrender to the heat.
“I’ve missed you…” His voice is a low vibration against my skin, threading through me. I meet his eyes and find a simmering hunger there that matches my own.
He traces the curve of my spine, pulling me closer, our bodies melding as if they were always meant to fit. My breath catches when his fangs brush my lower lip—a whisper of pressure, a promise of what’s to come. The approaching dawn ticks at the edge of my mind tightening the urgency between us.
Suddenly impatient, I push him back onto the bed and straddle him. My fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. I lean down, my breath hot against his skin. A rush of exhilaration surges through me as I take charge and feel the satisfaction of him yielding beneath me.
But then, doubt creeps in, unraveling my bravado. The versions of him in my mind collide. Alexander would fight back—tease and taunt, pushing me to the edge until we both shattered. But Grayson… will he welcome this kind of boldness, or will it drive him away?
I pause, suddenly unsure. “Do you remember? The dreams, I mean…” My voice falters, and I look away, my words tangling together. “I wasn’t sure how they worked… or what they meant, to you, at least.” I know what they meant to me. They were everything to me.
Like the heat before a summer storm, the question stretches between us, waiting to break and unleash a deluge.
“I do,” he replies softly. “They sustained me. They were the only thing that kept me sane. I looked forward to dying every dawn… because it meant I might wake with your taste on my lips, your scent in my nose, and a few moments of blessed clarity.”
His words settle over me, heavy and tender all at once. There’s a fragile, human vulnerability in his voice—unexpected and achingly beautiful. It touches something deep inside me, a part of myself I’m not sure I’m ready to show. My body stiffens, chest tight, stomach clenched with the instinct to protect what suddenly feels exposed.
I fumble for a shield, and humor rushes in like a reflex.
“Well, I about pushed Tomas to the edge of reason,” I laugh softly, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. “Coming back from dreamland smellin’ like you.”
Grayson’s smile is slow and knowing, a flicker of amusement curling at the corner of his lips. But as his gaze finds mine, something in his expression shifts—like he can feel the tension I’m trying to mask. Instead of retreating, he leans into it, offering me something raw and unguarded in return.
“You and Tomas… you’re closer than you were before I was recalled,” he says, his voice quieter now, a thread of uncertainty woven through the words. His gaze flickers, landing just past my shoulder, as if unsure whether he’s ready to meet my eyes.
A small breath escapes me. “I like him. A lot. He does something for me. I can’t really explain it, but it’s like… there’s a part of me that’s been waiting for him. We just fit.”
The space between us fills with something quiet, undefined. Not tension, but a web of unexplored connections and unspoken truths. The moment feels fragile, words delicate, as if they might shatter whatever tentative understanding we’re building.
I search his eyes for doubt, for cracks I might need to mend, but all I find is patience. And when I reach for our bond, I feel it—a sad sort of acceptance, soft and unresisting, settling between us like it’s waiting for us to untangle it in time.
I push through the unease. “We fight sometimes,” I admit, my voice softening. “I’m stubborn, and he can be… overbearing.” Then I lift my chin, letting the truth land between us. “But I love him, Grayson. And I think he feels the same.”
He chuckles, a glint of something sharp and knowing in his eyes. “Oh, I’m well aware of Tomas’ many strengths… and yours as well.”
His gaze flickers away, and for a moment, I catch the shadow of something unspoken. Then he adds, almost to himself, “For the longest time, I thought…”
“You thought what?” I press, anticipation rippling through my chest, sharpening my focus.
He hesitates, his eyes shifting as if trying to escape a memory too stubborn to fade. Finally, he shakes his head and offers me a crooked smile. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m happy for you both.”
The change in his tone betrays him—there’s more to it, but I let it rest. For now
Then his hands find my hips, flipping us over in a blur of motion. He’s above me now, his body a solid, unyielding weight pinning me down. His heartbeat is slow and steady, a soothing counterpoint to my racing pulse. The temptation is too much—I arch up, my teeth grazing his Adam’s apple. When I bite down gently, I’m rewarded with the vibration of a near sub-audible growl.
“You’re playing with fire, Lover,” he murmurs, his fangs fully extended, the sound of my name giving his words the slightest lisp. I wouldn’t dare call it adorable to his face, but it’s enough to make me smile.
I smirk, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “And I’m ready to burn again, it seems.”
His brow furrows, a flicker of something between concern and exasperation crossing his face.
“Too soon?” I tease, arching a brow.
Grayson huffs—a sound caught between a sigh and a laugh—then shakes his head. “Perhaps you could give us all a day or two to recover before you start joking about your death.”
Then his mouth crashes down on mine, restraint shattering. Our teeth clash, tongues tangle, and our breaths merge. It’s messy, desperate, consuming. His hands roam my body, leaving trails of ice and fire. I arch into him, needing more.
He breaks away, trailing kisses down my neck. I feel the sharp promise of his fangs.
“Grayson,” I gasp, tilting my head to give him better access.
He sinks his fangs into me, and the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of sensation. Pleasure and pain fuse, each amplifying the other, a symphony of exquisite agony reverberating through every fiber of my being. I feel him—not just his body, but his essence, his soul—merging with mine in an ancient, intimate dance.
The boundaries between us dissolve. His venom courses through my veins, igniting every cell in my body. I’m drunk on pleasure, dizzy and desperate. Every touch, every word from him is a hit of pure ecstasy, and I crave more.
My hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer. “Fuck,” I moan, the word thick with need. He responds instantly, his lips finding my neck. He bites down again, lightly but deliberately, his fangs sinking deeper. A rush of venom floods my veins, igniting a wildfire that burns through me, consuming every thought, every breath. My body shakes, muscles clenching and trembling under the weight of desperate, aching need.
Grayson chuckles, dark and low, the sound sliding over my skin like silk edged with steel. It’s not just the sound—it’s the way he owns it, the dangerous, commanding edge curling through his voice. I’m drawn to that darkness as much as I am to Ben’s brilliant light, Shadow’s unpredictable chaos, and Tomas’ steady, moonlit glow. Each of them is a piece of me, and I need every last one of them.
“So eager,” he taunts, his voice husky with the same need that’s tearing through me. He kisses his way down my body, untying my robe with a single, deliberate pull of the sash. His fingers trail along my skin, teasing, avoiding the place I need him most. I’d almost forgotten how Grayson does this—how he edges me until I’m a quivering mess, until I can come undone from just the whisper of his breath on my skin.
A whimper escapes me, my hips bucking toward him. “Please,” I beg, the word barely coherent, broken by need.
His eyes meet mine, glittering with his own hunger. He holds my gaze, a predator savoring his prey. “Please, Grayson,” I whisper again, the words trembling on my lips like a prayer.
He finally gives in, just a little, his fingers slipping between my legs, finding me wet and ready. My breath catches as his thumb circles my clit, maddeningly slow, never quite touching it directly. I wriggle, desperate to get closer, but he laughs softly, pressing his forearm across my hips to hold me still. The room tilts as I climb higher and higher, teetering on the edge but never allowed to fall.
“Are you ready to come for me, Lover?” His voice is strained, his eyes fixed on mine, tracing every flicker of pleasure that crosses my face. “Gods, you like it when I call you that, don’t you? You smell like heaven… so gods-damned tight and soft and wet. I want to taste you, fill you…”
He stops teasing my clit and presses a long finger inside me, stretching me with deliberate slowness. “Would you like that, Sunday? Tell me where you want me.” A second finger follows, filling me perfectly, as his thumb resumes its maddeningly slow circles.
Words are beyond me now—I can only whimper, my hips bucking against his restraint.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes. “I thought I’d built you up in my mind, turned you into an impossibility.” His fingers thrust deeper, harder, drawing a cry from my lips. “Tell me how this feels. Always tell me what you need, Lover—harder, faster, more. I exist to worship you.”
He sure knows how to say all the right things. I almost want to tell him, You can stop now, we’re at peak feelings , but I don’t. Because part of me needs this—needs to hear it, again and again. There’s a part of me that will always wonder if I’m enough, if I truly deserve this kind of devotion. And that part? It’s endlessly greedy—for his words, his touch, the reassurance he delivers so beautifully.
But then Grayson pushes me further up the bed, and his mouth joins his fingers. His tongue swirls around my clit, and I lose track of everything—my thoughts, my worries—dissolving into pure sensation. Heat rolls over me in a slow, lazy wave as he laves venom onto me, drenching my clit in a slippery, psychoactive haze. Maybe there’s blood, too, but I can’t find a single thread of concern to pull at. My body tightens, pressure building, the orgasm rising and churning, a dam ready to burst.
“Grayson,” I cry out, my voice hoarse and raw with need. “I’m so close, baby. Please, just a little more.”
He pulls back, his eyes gleaming with near-sadistic satisfaction. “Not yet.”
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers sliding through me fill the room as he keeps me balanced on the edge, impossibly close but never enough. My cheeks flush hot, and I resist the urge to hide my face when he swipes through my slick folds again and again, drawing out my desperation.
I start begging in earnest, shameless now. “Please, I need it so badly. Let me come, please. I’ll do anything…” And in this moment, I would do bad things for an orgasm. Need rides me hard, shoving reason to the furthest edges of my mind. “Anything, Grayson,” I whine, my voice loud and broken against the filthy sounds of his touch.
“You can take it a little longer. I know you can.” His voice drips with dark promise, each word sending a shiver through me. “Just think about how good it’s going to feel when I finally push myself inside you.”
But he isn’t pushing anything inside me right now, my inner brat pouts, and it’s infuriating.
A shudder rolls through me, his words unraveling what little control I have left. My breath falters, and I clench around the emptiness, desperate for the fullness he’s withholding.
He inhales deeply, dragging his nose up the curve of my neck while his fingers continue their maddening dance, touching everywhere except where I need him most. Then he pauses to yank off his borrowed sweatpants, and I take a moment to savor the sight of a completely naked Grayson Marchese.
My golden god, all smooth skin and sculpted muscle. Out of all my mates, Grayson’s the one with an eight-pack and those V-shaped grooves that dip from his hip bones to his lower abs—an Adonis belt I want to trace with my tongue, all the way down to his perfect, perfect cock.
For a fleeting second, I imagine a Franken-mate : Ben’s broad shoulders, Tomas’ powerful legs, Shadow’s ridiculously perfect ass, and Grayson’s god-tier abs. They call this objectification, right? Good thing it’s all happening in my head, where no one can see what a basic bitch I’m being.
He climbs over me, dropping a knee between my legs as his hand grips his cock, dragging it through my slickness. Then he pushes inside me at a snail’s pace—slow and deliberate, the most excruciating torture.
“Look at me, Lover,” he commands, his voice low and thick. “I want to watch your eyes go hazy, the way your mouth falls open…”
He slides in, inch by glorious inch, until he’s fully seated. The curve of him—my God—it’s perfect. Just the right stretch, hitting places inside me I didn’t even know existed before him. My Goldilocks cock.
His eyes glow now, a glint of red flickering in the hazel one. He isn’t trying to glamour me, but the venom’s already making me dizzy, and the urge to bite him becomes overwhelming. An itchy pressure builds in my mouth.
Shit . The fangs picked one hell of a time to show up.
I lunge for his arm, the one braced beside my head, but he just laughs, dodging me with that dark, amused grin. His voice slides through the tension like a breath of smoke.
“Do you want to bite me, then? Is that what you want, Lover? Do you want to be mine, bonded in this life and the next?”
The words catch me off guard. They slice through the electric, wild pull between us, and my body stills. My heart hammers, but my breath stays slow, controlled. I steady myself, my voice barely a whisper.
“Do you want this?” I ask, my eyes locked on his, daring him to show doubt. My voice steadies, clear and certain. “Because I do. I want to be yours—every time, every life. There’s nothing I want more.”
His expression shifts, something heavy passing through his eyes—hesitation, or maybe the weight of too many lifetimes. He shakes his head, not in denial, but as if untangling thoughts too deep to speak aloud.
Then, with a tenderness that makes my heart ache, he captures my mouth with his. When he pulls back, his lips brush mine in a soft sigh.
“Sunday…” His voice is quieter now, like it’s carrying the burden of a hundred lifetimes. “You need to understand before you make this decision. I can’t force you into this. I’ve lived long enough to know what it means to choose this path—to bond, fully and irrevocably. When I give you my blood this time, there’s no turning back. You’ll feel everything—every part of me—as long as you live. Our memories, our hearts, our pain… stretching out over the years, intertwining with every moment. And after this, I can never be your Maker.”
He pauses, his fingers brushing my cheek, searching my face for understanding. “With frequent blood exchanges, you’ll begin to age very slowly. But you will age. You’ll live for a very long time—longer than you can imagine. But while you change, I won’t. I’ll stay exactly as I am.”
I blink, the weight of his words crashing down on me. The implication is clear. He isn’t just talking about the physical differences—it’s the emotional ones, too. As he looks into my eyes, I feel the truth sink deep and cold within me. How will I cope, watching everyone I love fade away while Grayson remains, untouched by the years?
I swallow hard, trying to process the magnitude of it. I’d be the one who changes. I’d watch my skin wrinkle, my hair gray, my bones weaken with time. And all the while, he’d remain… a beautiful, unchanging twenty-seven-year-old. Would it hurt? Would I resent him for not aging with me? Would he resent me for growing frail, a constant reminder of my mortality and his immortality?
A darker thought creeps in: if I take this step, I’ll outlive them all—my mates, my family, everyone I hold dear. And it will hurt. God, it will hurt to watch them go. To keep living when they can’t.
Rurik’s words slither back into my mind:
When you are two thousand years old, the events of this night will be one of a million memories of your human life. Your attachment to those shifters will be a fond, somewhat bittersweet memory. The people who will matter are the immortals you choose to surround yourself with.
It must be like a sequoia falling in love with a mayfly. The thought steals my breath, and suddenly, I have so much respect for Grayson—his willingness to keep loving, keep losing, knowing how much it costs him every time.
I look up at him, my heart catching in my throat. I can’t think about two thousand years from now—not when the future feels so impossibly far away. “I want to be your partner,” I whisper, the words trembling but steady. “Now and for as long as I can.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, and doubt snakes its way into my chest. Maybe he was hoping I’d turn him down, that I’d find a way to walk away from this path. But then his lips curve into that sad, knowing smile, the one that holds a thousand lifetimes of joy and grief. He leans in, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead.
“Then I’ll give it to you, my love. Because I will greedily hoard every moment you give me.”
And with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, he captures my mouth with his. His kisses are firm, edged with something like finality, as though he’s sealing this moment into memory. Still, he carefully avoids my teeth, even now—always mindful, always in control.
He pulls out of me and sits back on his heels. I’m about to wrap my mouth around his pretty cock when his voice cuts through the haze, commanding and firm: “Hands and knees. I want to be able to touch every part of you.”
I scramble, awkward and eager, flipping over and trying to decide how far apart he wants my knees. Before I can figure it out, he’s behind me, his hand pressing firmly into the small of my back. His palm sweeps over my ass, more a massage than a teasing brush of fingers.
“Calm yourself, Lover. All in good time.”
I glance back over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “We are flirtin’ with daybreak here.”
He ignores me, his fingers exploring with wicked intent—gliding across my skin, teasing my holes, leaving me trembling and desperate.
Finally, finally, he slots himself against my pussy. I spread my knees wider, sinking into what feels like a perverse prayer position. He curses softly, then pushes inside me, filling me with that perfect stretch. I push back against him, giving a little wiggle, because I know I’m insufferable.
In my head, I’m chanting, I’m gonna get to cuuuum, I’m gonna get to cuuuum . The sharp crack of his hand against my left cheek snaps me out of it. As if he heard me bratting in my head—or, more likely, just learned to recognize my telltale signs of my mischief.
A wave of heat pools low in my belly, tightening as I teeter on the edge. He moves again, steady and relentless. His fist tangles in my hair— fuck yes, pull my hair —and then my back is flush against his chest. His muscles ripple against me as he tilts my head, his lips brushing my neck… and no, he hasn’t stopped absolutely railing me for even a second.
His voice wraps around me, crushed velvet, pulling me under as he speaks between each kiss.
“I never dreamed of giving myself to someone like this.” His lips skim my skin, leaving heat in their wake. “I didn’t wish for it.” Another kiss, slower, more deliberate. “I couldn’t imagine it, because I couldn’t envision you.”
He pauses, his breath warm and teasing against my neck. “Twenty-four hundred years, and never once…” His fangs graze my shoulder, sharp and thrilling, sending a shiver through me before his mouth moves to that devastating spot just beneath my ear.
“Did I anticipate you: a soulmate, a playmate, a force of nature I can’t resist.” His tongue trails along my collarbone, igniting prickles of warmth that race down my spine. His next words come as a growl, raw and pleading.
“Bite me, Lover. Show me what I’ve been missing.”
That’s a pretty good argument—very persuasive, in fact. My tongue darts across my teeth, feeling the sharp newness of them, a vivid reminder of just how very much I’ve changed. I hated them before, these foreign things dropping down without warning and disappearing just as quickly. But now…
Now, they’re not a curse. In this moment, they’re exactly what I need.
Leaning my head back on his shoulder, I let myself savor how he surges into me, the perfect rhythm, his fingers moving in tandem, lifting me higher and higher until the air gets thin, until I’m gasping for breath in the transcendent altitude he creates.
I know it’s time, though no words are exchanged. Our bond lies wide open, and I feel his monster calling to me, aching for the incomplete tie to be made whole. It’s a silent plea, a desperate request to take from him one last time and make us inviolate, irrevocable.
I answer, finding his throat. The salt of his skin meets my tongue, and my mouth floods with saliva, anticipating a decadent treat. I bite down, his flesh yielding beneath my teeth. The puncture wounds open, and his blood pours into my mouth. He moans—a desperate, keening sound, raw and unguarded, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
He tastes better every time—complex and dark, like aged scotch. Deep layers of cedar and figs mingle with a smoky, woodsy bite that is uniquely him. It’s not just blood; it’s history, time, the weight of everything he’s endured, distilled into this intoxicating essence. My tongue laps at the wounds, greedily gathering every drop before they seal shut again.
The bond explodes, no longer a golden thread but the very air we breathe, the ground beneath us, the pulse in our veins. It’s everywhere, woven into everything, binding us not just to each other but to the universe itself. It’s me and him— infinite and immutable —caught in a moment of timeless connection.
The orgasm that follows becomes almost secondary—an epilogue to an epic saga, a dessert wine after a grand feast. It’s lovely, consuming, but it’s not the thing . The thing is this new level of intimacy, this connection that eclipses everything else.
My world has expanded, vast and boundless, as if I’ve stepped into something unending. And it feels like it could keep expanding forever—limitless, eternal, stretching into the infinite.
I’m feeling a little high, to be honest. Between the venom, his blood filling me with magic, and the sex on top of it, I think I’m running on about ninety percent endorphins right now—and he’s not done.
I blink, and suddenly I’m on my back again. Grayson pulls my legs up over one shoulder, his gaze dark and intent, his knees planted firmly on the bed. It’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
The bond shifts my perspective, and suddenly it’s like I’m feeling for two. I’m not just aware of my ankles wrapped in his hands—I can feel his hands holding them, too. It’s as though I exist in two places at once, every sensation doubled, layered, amplified. His touch isn’t just skin-on-skin; it’s the pulse beneath, the warmth of bone, the tension of muscle. It’s raw, visceral, and so deep it takes my breath away.
When my head clears, I’m still panting, Grayson’s weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth trailing lazy kisses along my neck. That was amazing. His blood is zipping through me, making my whole body tingle and buzz.
I give it a minute to be polite—I mean, that was a hell of an orgasm, and I can’t blame him for being a little peckish.
“Baby? Can you give me a little room?” I mumble into his shoulder, trying to wiggle free. His face is still pressed into my neck, his hands tangled in my hair. I shift slightly, attempting to turn my head, but he’s as immovable as a damn statue.
“You’re heavy, Gray. Roll over .”
Silence.
A trickle of panic threads through me.
“Grayson Alexander Marchese,” I hiss, my voice rising in pitch, “move your heavy ass off me this minute!”
Nothing.
Oh shit. He’s not just out of it. He’s dead.
My head falls back against the pillow with a frustrated groan—and I cry out in pain.
Fuck. His fangs are still embedded in my neck, anchoring me in place like some kind of supernatural thumbtack.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to stay calm. Well, Sunday, how are you going to handle this? Scream at a dead man or figure out how to move him?
I exhale a huge sigh, gathering what strength I can muster to push him off me. Just channel a little Ben or Shadow, I think, and I’ll have him off me in no time… and out of me . This is getting seriously uncomfortable. My toes are tingling, and I’m starting to miss the feeling of a full breath.
On three . I shove with all my might… and achieve absolutely nothing. In fact, I’m pretty sure more of him is now lying on top of me than before. Does being a vampire turn your bones to lead? How can he weigh this much? And how the hell did sunrise sneak up on us?
Weak sunlight streams through the gauzy curtains, warming my skin and making the dust motes swirl in lazy patterns. I curse under my breath, craning my neck to check his exposed skin for smoke trails.
“Baby, I really hope you’re still sunproof,” I mutter, a hint of panic creeping into my voice, “because we never did get around to blocking the windows or closing the drapes.” My lips twist in a grimace. We were idiots. Horny idiots.
“Okay, focus.” No phone within reach, and I’m definitely low on pockets right now. Bond call it is. But who? Ben or Shadow? They’d both think this is hilarious, but Shadow’s here with Gray, so they’re probably the best bet for getting this naked vampire off me.
I close my eyes and focus on my bond with Shadow. A light mental nudge confirms they’re still sleeping. I project a gentle, non-emergency call for help. No need to panic anyone—there’s been enough of that lately.
Ten seconds later, I feel a curious ping followed by an answering on my way. And then, lust.
Great. This is going to be such a disappointment for them.
A minute or two passes before I hear the door creak open and the telltale clink of the chain stretching taut. A shimmer of darkness resolves into Shadow, standing beside the bed, their head cocked with obvious amusement.
“You rang?” Their voice, laced with amusement, cuts through the room. “He brought you to our old room. That’s really… sweet.”
I try to turn toward the sound, but Grayson’s weight keeps me pinned. “I know. He told me. Could you help…”
“Is he dead?” Shadow’s voice is closer now, tinged with both concern and excitement. “Goddess, tell me he got you off first.”
“Spectacularly,” I grumble. “But, uh, I’m not sure that he did… or it doesn’t feel like he did?”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I can hear the grin stretching across their face.
“Stop sounding excited about it,” I snap. “He’s heavy as hell, and I need to pee.”
A long silence follows, and I can feel Shadow’s gaze roaming over Grayson.
“I swear to God, if you’re staring at his ass while I’m being crushed half to death…”
“I’m not! I mean… just a little,” they admit, sheepishly. “I’m covering the windows first.”
“Good idea,” I say, relieved. “Yeah, do that.” A beat passes. “He might also have his fangs in my neck.”
I feel a warm puff of air against my skin as Shadow leans in closer. “You don’t know?”
“Well, it stings when I try to turn my head,” I explain. “Maybe his fangs retracted a bit when he died. He’s not tapping a vein. So, if you could just lift his head and slide him up a bit…”
Before I can finish, a low growl rumbles through the room. The door creaks, cracking open slightly before stopping, the chain straining under a massive weight.
“ Imbéciles ,” Shadow mutters, moving away from the bed. “More muscles than brains. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, take your time,” I retort dryly. “Maybe see if anyone else wants to join us. I’m naked again, so there’s bound to be a crowd.”
The chain groans, stretched to its limit, and we both brace for the inevitable snap.
The flimsy door bursts open, slamming into the wall with a bang that makes me jump—or more accurately, wiggle—under my leaden vampire. A warm, wet tongue licks my hand. I try to pet the wolf pushing against it, but all I manage is a pathetic back-and-forth motion.
“Tomas, I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Grayson’s okay too.” I attempt to turn my head toward his nuzzling, but the fangs keep me pinned in place. Of all of them, I can’t believe Tomas is the one who lost it and shifted. He’s always so disciplined. A pang of guilt hits me—maybe if he had a bond with Gray or me, he’d have felt more secure. He’d have known this wasn’t a full wolf emergency.
Ben arrives last, his expression one of calm exasperation, but by now, I’m dizzy and dangerously close to wetting myself. I can’t even cross my legs.
“Guys,” I groan, my voice strained, “can we please focus on the sunlight in this room and my alarmingly full bladder?”