Chapter Eight
The tavern bedroom door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the noise from down the hall. Familiar territory. Jared had stayed in this exact room a week ago when Miguel kept watch over him. Back then, it had felt like an interruption to his life. Now it felt like sanctuary.
He stumbled in after Miguel, fatigue hitting all at once. “I need a shower,”
he announced, dropping Miguel’s leather jacket onto a nearby chair. “I feel like I’ve been dragged behind your motorcycle.”
“Take your time.”
Miguel sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Not like we’re going anywhere tonight.”
Inside the bathroom, Jared flipped on the light and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Finger-shaped bruises circled his throat like a macabre necklace. His chin displayed an angry purple mark where it had connected with the floor. A stranger stared back at him, wide-eyed and battle-worn.
Turning away from his reflection, he stripped out of his jeans and Miguel’s borrowed shirt. Bruises were already blooming across his ribs, purple-blue against pale skin.
“Jesus,”
he whispered, looking at the mirror to examine a series of scratches down his back that he didn’t even remember getting.
Jared turned the shower on, waited until it became hot, then groaned as he stepped under the spray. Dried blood and sweat swirled around the drain in pale pink spirals. He tipped his head back, letting water sluice through his hair, over his face, down his chest.
For several minutes, he just stood there as heat seeped into his body, loosening knots he hadn’t realized were there. His muscles ached from the fight, from being thrown against walls and floors, from the desperate struggle to stay alive.
His hands trembled as he worked shampoo into his hair, fingertips finding tender spots on his scalp where he’d hit something—the floor, maybe, or the wall during the struggle.
“Bet the brochure for ‘Being Mated to a Wolf’ doesn’t mention armed home invasions,”
he muttered, rinsing soap from his eyes.
A hysterical giggle bubbled up in his throat, quickly swallowed back down. Not the time for a breakdown. Later, maybe, when he wasn't standing naked in a shower at a wolf tavern with his newly-minted mate waiting outside.
Images flashed behind his eyelids—the hyena's weight pinning him down, the gun barrel cold against his neck, the sick satisfaction when his fist connected with the man’s face.
He braced a hand against the tile wall, breathing through the rush of delayed terror. That hyena had almost killed him. Would have, if Jared hadn’t fought back with everything he had. The enormity of it hit him suddenly, making his knees weak. He’d taken a life. Not in cold blood. The hyena would have killed him, would have taken him for whatever horrific experiments they were conducting. But still. He’d ended someone’s existence.
“I fought a hyena,”
he muttered to himself, the words disappearing into the steam. He was half-laughing, half-horrified. “I actually fought a fucking hyena.”
Not just fought. Won. Somehow his skinny ass had taken down a shifter twice his size.
What amazed him most was how he hadn’t frozen. When the hyena had lunged at him, something primal had taken over, a strength he hadn’t known existed within him.
“He would’ve killed you,”
Jared reminded himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he scrubbed at his scalp. “Would’ve killed Miguel.”
He’d gone from attempting to make an omelet to fighting for his life in the span of hours. It felt more like days. “And now I’m mated. To a wolf. Because today wasn’t complicated enough.”
His mate. Miguel. The reality of it hadn’t fully registered until now, standing alone with his thoughts under the pulsing water. His cheetah had chosen a wolf—a scarred, beautiful wolf with hands that could kill or comfort with equal skill.
A soft knock on the bathroom door broke through the steam. Jared startled, droplets flying as he turned toward the sound.
“You okay in there?”
Miguel’s voice carried through the door, concern evident in his tone.
“Yeah, I’m—”
His voice caught. Was he fine? Not really. Not after everything. “I’m just...processing.”
The door creaked open, admitting a rush of cooler air. Miguel stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bedroom light. “Mind some company?”
Jared hesitated, then nodded, suddenly self-conscious about the bruises mapping his body like territories claimed by violence. “I’d like that.”
Miguel stripped, dropping clothes in a pile beside Jared’s. Each scar on his body told a story Jared wanted to learn—the jagged one across his abdomen, the smaller marks dotting his shoulders, the long streak down his thigh. Battle wounds that hadn’t dimmed his beauty.
The shower door opened, bringing Miguel’s fully naked and gorgeous presence into the steam-filled space. He stepped behind Jared, close enough that heat radiated between them without touching.
“I’m a mess,”
Jared admitted, gesturing at the marks blooming across his skin.
“You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
He worked the lather through Jared’s hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, careful to avoid the sore spots. The gentle pressure coaxed a sigh from his lips.
Miguel massaged in slow circles, each touch soothed rather than ignited, caring instead of demanding. The simple act felt strangely intimate—more so than what they’d done on Miguel’s couch.
“Tilt back,”
he directed, guiding Jared’s head under the spray. Water cascaded over his head as Miguel rinsed the suds away, one hand shielding his eyes from the spray. The care in that simple gesture nearly undid him.
Their bodies brushed together—a knee against a thigh, an elbow grazing ribs. Each point of contact sparked awareness through Jared’s skin.
“You fought like hell tonight,”
Miguel murmured, voice low beneath the patter of water as he reached for the conditioner, working it through Jared’s tangled hair with practiced ease. “Most people freeze their first time.”
Jared’s laugh came out brittle. “Is there supposed to be a second time?”
“Not if I can help it. Tilt your head back a little more,”
Miguel instructed, hands cradling the base of Jared’s skull.
Water sluiced through his hair, carrying away conditioner and the last traces of dried blood. Miguel’s thumbs traced the hinge of his jaw.
“I keep seeing his face,”
Jared admitted suddenly. “When I close my eyes.”
Miguel’s hands stilled. “That doesn’t go away quickly.”
“Does it ever?”
“No.”
The honesty in that single syllable hung between them. “But you learn to live with it.”
His mate reached for the body wash, his soapy hands moving across Jared’s shoulders, down his arms, and across his chest, careful around each bruise—cleaning away the last traces of the night’s violence. Each touch lingered, half-practical, half-something else.
“Scared the shit out of me tonight,”
Miguel murmured, palms skimming over bruises with extra gentleness, as if he could erase them through sheer force of will.
“Scared myself too.”
The admission slipped out before Jared could stop it. He leaned back, allowing Miguel to take some of his weight.
Miguel’s arms encircled him from behind, careful to avoid the worst marks. “Anyone ever take care of you before?”
Jared shook his head. “Not like this.”
“Turn.”
Jared complied, facing Miguel for the first time since he'd entered the shower. Water streamed down his mate’s face, catching in his eyelashes, tracing the scars on his cheeks. For a moment, they just looked at each other, water streaming between them, steam rising in lazy curls.
Then Miguel pulled him close, arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Jared melted against him.
His lips found Jared’s, tasting of mint and whiskey. The kiss deepened, tongues sliding together as water cascaded over them both. Heat bloomed between them, different from the steam enveloping their bodies.
“You’re beautiful,”
Miguel murmured against his mouth, hands gliding over wet skin.
Jared laughed softly. “Says the guy who looks like he was carved from marble.”
Miguel’s thumb traced the bruise on Jared’s jaw, eyes darkening. “Marble doesn't bruise.”
“Neither does it bite,”
Jared countered, pressing his lips to the scar on Miguel’s collarbone.
A hitch in Miguel’s breath, followed by a low growl that vibrated against Jared’s chest. “Shower’s getting cold.”
Strong arms reached past him to turn off the water, leaving them dripping in sudden quiet. Miguel guided him out, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack. Rather than handing it over, he draped it around Jared’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“Let me,”
Miguel said, voice rough as he began to dry Jared’s hair with gentle motions.
The soft cotton absorbed water from his skin as Miguel worked methodically down his body. Every touch lingered, careful around each bruise, each scrape. When the towel brushed over particularly tender spots, Jared winced.
“Sorry,”
Miguel murmured, easing the pressure.
“Worth it,”
Jared replied, watching droplets trace paths down Miguel’s chest, catching on scars before continuing their journey. “You’re still wet.”
Miguel shrugged. “You first.”
The tenderness in those simple actions, drying between his fingers, behind his ears, the hollow of his back, felt more intimate than any kiss. Miguel knelt to dry Jared’s legs, looking up through damp lashes, his expression unguarded. The position should have felt submissive, but Miguel somehow made it look like claiming.
“Getting the royal treatment here,”
Jared quipped, trying to mask how deeply the care affected him.
Miguel’s mouth quirked. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
Jared ran his fingers through Miguel’s wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
“Turn,”
Miguel commanded softly.
Jared did, feeling strangely vulnerable with his back to his mate. The towel traced his shoulders, down his spine, across the small of his back. When Miguel’s lips followed the same path, Jared’s breath caught in his throat.
“My turn.”
He took the towel, stepping behind Miguel to dry broad shoulders, tracing each scar with careful attention. Miguel stood still, allowing himself to be pampered—a concession that seemed significant.
“These tell stories,”
Jared murmured, fingers tracing a particularly jagged mark across Miguel’s shoulder blade.
“Not good ones.”
“Still yours.”
The towel followed the curve of Miguel’s spine, absorbing moisture as it went. “Still part of you.”
Miguel turned, capturing Jared’s wrist. For a moment, they stood facing each other, naked and vulnerable in the harsh bathroom light. Then Miguel pressed his lips to the inside of Jared’s wrist, where his pulse jumped beneath thin skin.
“Come on.”
Miguel took his hand, leading him toward the bed. The sheets looked clean and cool, a welcome sight after the heat of the shower. “You need rest.”
Despite Jared’s exhaustion, sleep was the last thing on his mind.
“Not sure I’m tired yet.”
Jared reached up before Miguel could pull away, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward with surprising strength. Miguel tumbled onto the bed, a startled laugh escaping his throat as their bodies collided.
“Careful, carino ,”
Miguel warned, bracing himself above Jared. “You’re still—”
“Still what?”
Jared challenged, arching up to capture Miguel’s mouth. The kiss turned hungry instantly, teeth grazing his lower lip. Although Miguel’s lip was busted, he didn’t complain. In fact, he was the one who turned it hungry.
Miguel’s weight settled more fully against him, not crushing but present and solid, anchoring him to this moment, to this bed, to reality. His mate’s hands found Jared’s wrists, pinning them gently beside his head. The position should have frightened him after being restrained by the hyena, but instead, it felt like safety.
“Still injured.”
A soft growl rumbled from Miguel’s throat, vibrating against Jared’s lips.
Jared laughed, the sound bright and clear until their cocks brushed against each other. The laugh transformed into a deep groan that turned into a purr.
“Does my kitty need to get fucked?”
Miguel asked, voice rough against Jared’s ear.
Heat flooded Jared’s face even as desire pooled in his belly. “Yes,”
he breathed, arching up to meet Miguel’s body. “God, yes.”
Jared didn’t care how desperate he sounded. After tonight—after fighting and killing and nearly dying—he needed to feel alive, needed to feel Miguel claiming him completely.
Miguel’s eyes flickered with amber fire, pupils narrowing to slits as his wolf pushed forward. A soft growl resonated against Jared’s chest, vibrating through both their bodies.
Miguel moved like a storm in slow motion—intentional, heavy, his eyes never leaving Jared’s. When he straddled Jared’s thighs, the towel was gone like it had never existed. Jared’s breath hitched.
“You’re dangerous,”
Jared whispered, voice thick.
Miguel dipped his head until their mouths nearly touched. “You’re the one purring, kitty.”
Jared’s breath caught at the possessive edge in Miguel’s voice. Their bodies aligned perfectly, hard muscle against lean strength. His fingers tangled in Miguel’s damp hair, tugging him closer for another kiss.
Miguel’s smile turned predatory, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath Jared’s ear. His mouth curved into a wicked smile against his neck. “Say it again.”
“Need you to fuck me,”
Jared repeated, heat blooming across his face at the raw honesty in his voice. “Please.”
Miguel’s teeth scraped against the sensitive juncture where neck met shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make Jared gasp. “Anything for you, mi solecito .”
Heat flooded Jared’s face, pooling low in his belly at the possessive words.
Miguel’s hands traced the contours of Jared’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows there. “Turn over for me,”
he commanded softly.
Jared complied, rolling onto his stomach. The sheets felt cool against his heated skin, a contrast to the warmth radiating from Miguel above him. Gentle fingers traced the line of his spine, following each vertebra down to the curve of his ass.
“Wait,”
Jared said, turning his head to glance back. “I want to see your face.”
Miguel’s expression softened. He helped Jared roll onto his back, their gazes locking as Miguel settled between his thighs. “Better?”
“Much.”
Jared’s breath caught as Miguel slid his hands beneath his thighs, lifting them slightly to align their bodies. Every point of contact between them radiated heat that chased away the chill of the room.
Miguel positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Jared’s ring of muscle. Their eyes locked, Miguel’s burning with an amber glow that made Jared’s heart stutter.
“Ready?”
Miguel asked, voice rough at the edges.
“Yes.”
Jared felt his mate’s precum spurting against his entrance, lubing and relaxing the muscle.
Then Miguel pushed forward, breaching him with exquisite slowness. The initial pressure made Jared gasp, his body tensing involuntarily.
“Breathe,”
Miguel murmured, voice rough with restraint. “Just breathe through it.”
Miguel paused, giving him time to adjust while pressing soft kisses along his collarbone.
Jared exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to relax. As he did, Miguel pushed deeper, the stretch burning in the most exquisite way.
Jared forced air into his lungs, focusing on the sensation of Miguel gradually filling him inch by slow inch. The stretch bordered on painful, then transformed into something else entirely as Miguel sank deeper.
“Fuck,”
Jared hissed, his back coming off the mattress at the intense pleasure. “That’s—”
“Too much?”
Miguel stilled immediately, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
Jared hooked his ankles behind Miguel’s back to pull him closer.
A half-smile curved the man’s lips as he pressed forward again, sinking another inch into Jared’s tight heat. “Bossy little kitten.”
His body pulsed around the intrusion, adjusting to Miguel’s size.
“You feel fucking perfect,”
Miguel growled, his thumbs pressing into the hollows of Jared’s hips.
The first tentative thrust nearly unraveled Jared completely. His fingers clutched at Miguel’s biceps, muscle flexing beneath his grip. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure radiating outward from where they were joined.
Miguel established a rhythm, controlled and deep, his gaze never leaving Jared’s face. Something about that eye contact—the raw vulnerability of being seen while being taken—made Jared’s chest tighten with emotion he couldn't name.
“Right there,”
Jared gasped when Miguel shifted slightly, hitting a spot that made his vision blur. “God, right there.”
Miguel’s pace quickened, the bed frame creaking a protest beneath them. Sweat beaded on his forehead, catching in his eyelashes as he drove into Jared with increasing urgency.
Jared’s hands roamed Miguel’s back, tracing scars and muscle, memorizing the landscape of his mate's body. When Miguel’s cock hit that perfect angle again, Jared’s nails dug half-moons into his shoulders.
“Harder,”
Jared demanded, voice cracking. “Need more.”
Miguel complied, driving into him with enough force to slide them up the bed. Jared’s fingers scrabbled for purchase against Miguel’s back, feeling muscles flex and contract with each movement.
Each thrust built upon the last, creating a rhythm that sent electricity racing along his nerves.
“Wanted this since I first saw you,”
Miguel confessed, voice strained with effort and restraint. “Wanted you like this.”
Jared couldn't respond, could barely think past the sensation of Miguel filling him, claiming him. His thighs trembled, heels digging into the mattress for leverage as he met each thrust.
“Look at me,”
Miguel commanded, voice thick with desire.
Jared’s eyes, which had drifted closed in pleasure, snapped open to meet Miguel’s gaze. The connection between them intensified, something primal and ancient passing between them as their bodies joined.
Miguel shifted, angling his hips, and suddenly stars exploded behind Jared’s eyes.
Miguel drove into him relentlessly, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. Sweat beaded on his forehead, muscles straining as he maintained the pace. The room filled with their mingled breaths and the sound of skin against skin.
“Not gonna last,”
Jared admitted, feeling pressure building at the base of his spine. Every nerve ending felt alive, electric.
“Then don’t.”
Miguel wrapped his hand around Jared’s neglected cock. “Come for me, solecito .”
Jared couldn’t think straight long enough to obey.
“Mine,”
Miguel murmured, nuzzling Jared’s neck. “ Mi solecito . Mi elegido .”
He sank his canines into Jared’s shoulder, making him cry out, his orgasm shattering him.
The sharp pressure at Jared’s shoulder lessened as Miguel retracted his canines free, licking the wound.
Jared leaned forward, lips brushing Miguel’s throat. The salt of sweat mingled with something uniquely Miguel—earthy and rich. His canines found the junction between neck and shoulder, canines lengthening as his cheetah surged forward.
“Do it,”
Miguel groaned. “Claim me, kitten.”
With a vibrating purr, his canines sank into Miguel’s flesh, breaking skin with surprising ease. Copper flooded his mouth as Miguel’s blood hit his tongue—hot, alive, sacred.
Mine! The bond formed instantly, clicking into place like a key finding its lock. Jared gasped against Miguel’s neck, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of connection—emotions not his own cascading through him. Desire. Protection. Belonging.
Miguel’s body tensed above him, a guttural sound that was half-growl, half-gasp escaping his throat. His hips jerked forward once, twice, his cock pulsing deep inside as he came. The physical sensation combined with their mental connection created an intensity that stole Jared’s breath.
Carefully, Jared released his bite, tongue instinctively lapping at the puncture marks to seal them.
“Fuck,”
he whispered, trembling as the aftershocks rippled through him. His mind buzzed with the newness of their bond, like discovering an extra limb he never knew he had.
Slowly, Miguel eased himself free, both of them hissing at the oversensitivity. A trickle of warmth escaped Jared as Miguel rolled to his side.
He studied Miguel’s profile in the dim light. His mate looked wrecked in the best possible way—hair wild, lips swollen, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his scarred skin. The bite mark on his neck stood out stark against his tan skin.
“Feel different?”
Miguel asked, turning to face him.
“Like someone rewired my entire body.”
Jared’s fingers traced the mark he’d left, feeling strangely possessive. “I can feel you. Inside my head. You?”
“Like you’ve crawled inside my head and made yourself at home.”
Miguel pulled Jared against his chest. Their bodies slotted together perfectly, Jared’s back against Miguel’s front, strong arms encircling him. One hand splayed across Jared’s stomach, anchoring him in place. “Bossy even in my thoughts.”
Jared snorted, then he closed his eyes. “Xavier’s going to lose his mind.”
“Let him.”
Miguel’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Jared’s hip. “You’re mine now.”
The possessiveness in those three simple words sent a thrill through Jared. “Yours,”
he agreed, linking his fingers with Miguel’s. “And you’re mine.”