Chapter 22 Connall #2
For a split second, Connall’s mind blanks.
His body remembers what his soul has mourned for almost half his life.
His knees buckle, not from fear but from relief so sharp it’s agony—like blood rushing back to a long-numbed limb.
His every nerve ending is raw. He’s missed this man like oxygen, like sunlight, like the piece of himself he’d ripped out and buried just to survive.
He’s spun around, breath punched from his lungs, and finds himself staring into eyes he’s only dared to see in dreams.
Soren.
Older, harder, the white-blond hair now shorn close, jaw shadowed with stubble and exhaustion. The hopeful boy from the train is gone—replaced by a man carved from grief and survival.
Clawing at Soren’s shoulders, Connall’s fingers dig in, frantic, and Soren’s snarl is a broken thing—part warning, part plea.
His vision blurs, wolf brain howling: mine, mine, mine.
He wants to bite, to mark, to drag Soren down and never let him go.
He wants to beg forgiveness, to demand everything, to lose himself in the brutal, beautiful relief of being found.
Soren’s grip is bruising, but Connall arches into it. “Soren,” he gasps, voice nothing but a rasp. “Goddess—Soren—”
There’s no restraint left. They crash together.
Connall’s lips find Soren’s jaw, desperate, tasting salt and sweat.
He’d only felt Soren against him one time, but his taste had never faded.
Soren shudders, his own hands shaking, and for a heartbeat, he gives in, crushes Connall against the wall, mouths colliding, teeth clashing, just fury and need.
It’s filthy, desperate, a wet kiss that’s more bite than balm.
Soren moans, the sound ripped from somewhere deep, and Connall drinks it in like he’s starving.
Sucking on Connall’s tongue, he licks into his mouth, mapping every inch.
For a moment, there’s nothing but their desire, the taste of each other, the beautiful relief of feeling their nascent bond snap into place.
Connall’s mind spins. He doesn’t have to search anymore. He doesn’t have to wonder. Soren is here, and Connall’s whole body sings with it. He’s let Elias and Isaac in, yes, but this—this is the mate he’s mourned.
He clings, hand around the back of Soren’s skull, his other hand under the edge of his T-shirt, greedy for the feel of hot, smooth skin.
His heart hammers so hard it hurts, breath stuttering against Soren’s throat.
So greedy after being lost, and for the first time in seventeen years, he feels whole.
“Sorry to interrupt this touching reunion, but we have incoming.” A whiskey-smooth voice breaks through his wolf’s only goal: to make it so Soren can never get away.
Bristling at the interruption, a growl curls in Connall’s chest at being forced to loosen his hold, even for an instant.
But then the scent—cherry smoke, sharp and sweet—causes something inside him to stutter.
The voice is familiar: the man from the bus.
Standoffish, arms crossed over a broad chest, and amber eyes, oddly angry.
Then the meaning behind Quinn’s words slams into him: incoming. Isaac and Elias. He’d forgotten for a moment.
A sharp ache blooms in his chest, the bond tugging in two directions at once. It hurts to let go, even for a second, but he forces himself to focus, to be the Alpha they need. “Shit. Get the porch lights on,” he snaps, voice rough with the effort of choosing safety over desire.
“Bossy much?”
Soren shivers beneath Connall’s hand, and his eyes lock on Connall’s mouth like he might devour him whole if given half a chance. Connall runs his thumb over Soren’s lower lip, whispering, “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where the fuck would he go?” Cherry-smoke murmurs. He’s just as Connall remembered—sharp and unbearably beautiful. He nods toward the window overlooking the front of the house. “I assume they belong to you?”
Hell yes, they do…and so do you.
A flare of pride and possessiveness surges through Connall at the words, his wolf preening at having such strong-willed mates. Connall lets his pride reflect in his gaze, revealing his wild hunger, daring him to step closer, to test the boundaries of his Alpha’s control.
Cherry-Smoke rolls his eyes. He’s just as Connall remembered from the bus—sharp cheekbones, amber eyes that miss nothing, and a mouth made for trouble.
“Hey, big man. You’d better do something about that, or we’re going to have the HOA on our asses.”
The white Mustang is stopped at a conspicuous angle at the end of the driveway.
Isaac is already out the driver’s side, pink hair a wild flare in the sunrise.
Connall can’t see Elias, but Isaac has failed to put the car in park.
Connall can picture the alarm on his sweet face as the car proceeds onto the lawn without a driver.
“Ooh. I think I’m going to like him.”
“Blaze. Come on,” Soren says from behind them.
“What? Look at him go.”
Isaac looks wild. He’s got his claws down on one hand, and he’s holding his pants up with the other. He’s mesmerizing. All light and power, an omega bent on rescuing his distracted Alpha.
“Should we open the door or just let him take it down?” Blaze murmurs. “If this is still a democracy, I vote for the latter.”
“Shit.” Connall makes for the front door a millisecond before Isaac’s bare foot connects with the door handle. His momentum carries him into the narrow vestibule, and he lands on his hands and knees at Connall’s feet.
“Alpha, you were taking too long—” Isaac says accusingly, but his voice wobbles, and for a heartbeat, he just kneels there, wide-eyed and breathless.
Soren and Blaze appear behind him, and Connall can’t help the flicker of amusement—it might be the only time he’s ever seen Isaac at a loss for words.
“Izzy, you could have put the car in park. You fucked up the lawn. It’s only been twenty-one minutes, for fuck’s sake—” Elias appears on the stoop. He has managed to park the car in front of the garage doors.
“Twenty-two minutes and thirty seconds,” Isaac shoots back, eyes still huge, scent flooding the space—key lime pie, sweet and lush.
“Hey, sugar,” Blaze murmurs, eyes fixed on Isaac with a heat that makes Connall think of big pack beds.
But then Blaze glances at Elias, and he leans heavily on the wall, voice going almost reverent.
“Now that’s not playing fair.” Connall can’t tell if the words are meant for Isaac, Elias, or some divine force.
“Izzy, get up,” Elias whispers, his voice gentle but insistent.
“No. Nuh-uh. This is a good position. I wouldn’t mind the hallway at all.” Isaac’s voice is stubborn, but his eyes are still wide, cheeks flushed. He’s a siren’s call of temptation.
“Fuck. Me.” Soren groans, dropping to a crouch in front of Isaac, his voice low and rough. “Hey, pretty baby.”
“Hi,” Isaac whimpers, his voice barely more than a breath. He’s biting his lower lip, fangs showing, and trembling so hard his pink hair seems to buzz with static.
“I’m Soren. That’s—”
“Quinn.”
Connall’s heart thrills at the name. He whispers it under his breath. “Quinn. Quinn.”
“And you are?” Soren’s voice is pure gravel, rough and inviting.
“Isaac. But you can call me Izzy or…or…pretty baby. That’s really nice.” Isaac’s pupils are blown wide, and Connall feels the whole room tilt toward him, as if everyone is drawn by the same irresistible pull.
“And who’s your hot protector?” Soren asks, eyes flicking to Elias. His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it—a challenge and an invitation both.
Elias swallows, knees visibly wobbling, and braces himself with a hand on the wall. “Elias. Eli,” he manages tremulously. “Hi.”
Connall can see it now: their pack bonding right here in the four-foot-wide vestibule.
Thank the Goddess the front door is wide open, and the fresh air is clearing out the myriad of scents designed to lure Fated mates to complete their bond.
The idea almost has merit, but Connall isn’t ready to share his mates with the world.
“Isaac, let’s go into the living room. Maybe have something to drink. Didn’t you have to use the bathroom?”
“No, it’s okay. I made Eli take me to Dunkin’…and then I stole the car.” Isaac grins, still breathless and unbothered, as if storming the house is just another random day of the week.
Soren stands and reaches out, offering Isaac a hand. Once Isaac is on his feet, Isaac lifts his arms, wordlessly asking to be picked up. Connall’s jaw drops when Soren doesn’t hesitate—he just scoops Isaac up, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Isaac Fletcher,” Elias says, incredulous. “You’ve known him for all of ten seconds.”
Quinn’s voice is pure temptation, a velvet tease. “Don’t be a stick in the mud, handsome. Want a ride, too?”
Elias takes a single step as if he would say yes, to let Quinn lift him and take him into the bedroom for a ride—but then he catches himself, throws his shoulders back instead.
“No, thank you. Maybe another time.”
Once they’re seated in the living room, Connall isn’t prepared for the sight of them all together.
Soren, with Isaac tucked close, the omega practically curled into his side, nose pressed into his shoulder.
His rosebud mouth parted so he could huff in the alpha’s scent like it’s a drug.
Quinn is sprawled with casual confidence, legs spread so his knee presses against the outside of Elias’s thigh.
They’re beautiful, every one of them, and for a moment Connall can only stare, heart aching with a mix of wonder and hunger.
This is his pack.
He never thought he’d find Quinn so easily.
He’d pictured endless days haunting that bus route, night after night, hoping for a glimpse, for a second chance.
And Soren—seventeen years of not knowing, never even a last name, just a memory of a student in upstate New York and the ghost of a bond that nearly destroyed him.
Of course, Fate would bring them back together and would make sure they all got here together eventually.
Were Soren and Quinn already mated, like Isaac and Elias? They knew each other well, that much is certain. Had they just been waiting for Connall to finally get his head out of his ass?
“Not how you imagined the day going, eh, big man?” Quinn grins, throwing an arm around Elias and pulling the younger man in, gentle and easy. Elias sags gratefully against him, eyes already fluttering half-shut with exhaustion.
“You can say that again.” Elias subtly presses his nose into Quinn’s biceps. “I have so many questions. But I am so freaking tired. I think I could sleep for a week.”
The few hours Connall had at the hospital felt like forever ago.
The old anxiety rears its ugly head at the reminder that he’d spent most of the day in a mad panic.
Fleeing this exact scenario. What he needs now is some space, a few moments to put this in perspective—to think beyond desire and relief.
To think beyond getting exactly what he’s never allowed himself to want.
Heart pounding, he clenches his fists, tries not to think about how his voice wavers when he says, “Why don’t we catch a few hours and then we can—”
A door creaks open down the hall. Bare feet pad softly toward the living room, and in an instant, every man in the room is on his feet.
“Shit.” Soren rubs his face with his hand. “I can’t believe I forgot about Kai.”
Kai. The scent Connall picked up earlier—coconut and incense, sweet and unfamiliar—belongs to the young man who appears in the doorway.
He can’t be over eighteen, a little taller than Isaac, all soft edges and tousled, shoulder-length caramel-colored hair.
He’s wearing one of Connall’s shirts, barely held together by two buttons, his long legs golden in the morning light.
Connall’s heart stutters. The last piece of his soul’s puzzle slams into place—so beautiful, so startlingly Human, standing in his living room as if he’s always belonged there.
Kai blinks at the roomful of men, runs a nervous hand through his hair, and offers a shy, crooked smile. “Hey guys…uh…what did I miss?”