Chapter Thirty-Five
Ash
H er heat's easing.
Not gone - she’s still giving off that molten, sugar-slick scent like a candle left too close to the fire alarm - but manageable. The kind of manageable where nobody’s actively growling or trying to punch walls. Progress.
She's asleep now, curled into me like her body finally remembered what peace feels like, even if mine hasn’t.
Every nerve I’ve got is still on edge. Not from danger. Not from threat.
But from her.
She shifts slightly, and my brain pings like a proximity alarm. I don’t move. I just… track her. The way her fingers twitch. The flutter of her breath. The little huff she makes in her sleep when she’s too warm but refuses to kick the blankets off.
If this is what bonding does, no wonder Lucian looks like he’s permanently five seconds from throttling someone.
She’s wearing his shirt.
Lucian’s.
Black, soft, clearly expensive, probably ironed by a man who fears god - and Lucian’s calendar reminders.
And it’s wrapped around her like it belongs there.
Which is annoying.
And kind of hot.
Mostly annoying.
I want to strip it off her, and not just because I’m feeling territorial - but yeah, okay, a little because I’m feeling territorial. It’s clinging to her in places I’m not evolved enough to ignore, and the bond?
The bond is just sitting there in the background as though to say, Go on, touch her. She’s yours.
And my response is all, Cool , but maybe we could do that without waking up the Lucian Doomsday Protocol.
The thing is, I didn’t expect her. Not like this.
She grounded me. And I don’t mean some cheesy poetic metaphor - I mean combat-grounded. Like finding cover in a firefight. Like silence after the last shot.
My instincts read her like a situation report: volatile, high-stakes, beautiful as hell. And somehow, she still curled into my arms like I was home.
This isn’t simple. This is complicated as hell.
But it’s also familiar.
Being around them - the other alphas - there’s a rhythm to it. A structure.
Theo’s steady and calm, as well as easy to predict. He's the kind of man who checks corners without being told.
Kai… is chaos. But he reminds me of a combat medic I once knew. Kept everyone laughing even when his hands were covered in blood.
And Lucian is precision and pressure - top of the chain, running cold unless the situation calls for heat.
I get this. I know how to move in this.
They don’t realize it yet, but we’re falling into a formation. And it might not be clean, or perfect, or even practiced; but it sure as hell is real.
Theo warned us. Told us how multi-bonding doesn’t just bind an omega to her alphas - it binds them to each other. Instincts syncing, emotions bleeding through, and I can feel it, I think - shadows and pressure, a ripple in the blood.
A pack.
I’ve seen it in the field: makeshift packs under fire, bonded by survival and trust. We didn’t call it that, but the instincts were the same.
Watch each other’s backs.
Take the hit if you have to.
Don’t leave anyone behind.
But this is something else entirely - something bigger.
Because Rhea isn’t just a piece of the puzzle, she is the puzzle. She’s the thread tying all of us together, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
Back in the field, bonding meant survival. Instinct. You covered each other’s blind spots or you died. This? This is messier. Hotter. More… emotional.
Which I wasn’t briefed for, by the way. No one in basic covered “ What to Do When Your Omega Has Bonded Three Other Alphas and You’re All Weirdly Okay With It. ”
And yet... we are.
Mostly.
If you would've asked me six months ago - shit, if you would've asked me ten days ago - then I would have sworn that I'd never bond again. I thought the damage was too deep. That I’d burned too much of myself away to be worthy of something this good.
But now, she’s in my blood, and the thought of losing her feels worse than anything I ever saw in combat.
She shifts again, pressing a little closer, and my heart does something I’m not proud of.
Great . Now I’m the guy who flutters.
I should get up. Do a perimeter check. Make sure the OMB isn’t circling the edge of the expansive property in black vans with nets and bad attitudes.
But I can’t.
Because she lets out this sound - a small, sleepy sigh - and my whole damn body forgets how to function.
This woman is mine , and I’ll burn the world down to keep her safe.
Even if it means figuring out how the hell to exist with a man like Lucian.
Even if it means holding my tongue when Kai pushes every button I have.
Even if it means letting Theo in further than I thought I’d ever let anyone again.
Because she’s worth it. Every goddamn feral second. And if this is what home feels like now, then maybe I’ve been lost longer than I realized.
I don’t know what she’ll want when she wakes up. She could scream. Cry. Kiss me again. Bite me. All viable options, honestly.
But when she opens her eyes, I’ll be here.
Because this time, no one’s getting left behind.
Not even me.
*
Every time she shifts in her sleep - hips twitching, legs parting, that soft little whimper in her throat - it’s like the universe is personally daring me to be the problem I swore I wouldn’t be.
Her body remembers, apparently. Everything. What it had. What it wants again.
And look, I’ve survived desert deployment, training under literal sadists, and eating powdered eggs for six months straight without breaking rank. My control is legendary. Medals were involved.
But this Omega? Wrapped in Lucian’s shirt like she’s a five-alarm fire dressed in smug cotton?
She is not in the damn handbook.
She stirs, not away - of course not - but toward. Her hips flex back against me in a slow grind that’s technically illegal in at least three countries. My hands tighten around her waist like they’re hoping to preserve what's left of my sanity.
“You awake?” I murmur into her hair, which, by the way, smells like temptation and poor decisions.
“Define awake ,” she mutters, all groggy sass and sleepy chaos.
Another grind. Slower.
More deliberate.
“Conscious enough to start grinding on me, apparently.”
She hums, way too pleased with herself. “You’re warm. I got bored.”
“ Bored ?” I repeat, scandalized. “I’ve been lying here like a human space heater while you sleep off a four-bond marathon, and you’re bored ?”
“You’re not exactly suffering,” she murmurs, rocking again.
I hiss through my teeth, because yeah, the jeans are absolutely losing this fight.
“Hard not to react when you’re treating me like a particularly useful piece of furniture.”
She snorts. Then pushes at my chest and sits up with an infuriating amount of confidence. “Lie back.”
I blink. “You giving orders now?”
“I am if you’re smart enough to follow them.”
And damn it - my brain goes offline. My spine straightens. Instinct clicks into place like it’s being called to attention by the field commander I apparently can’t say no to., and I move.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Like a man who knows he’s about to lose a war and doesn’t care because the opposing general is stunning and currently straddling him in Lucian’s shirt.
She climbs over me, thighs bracketing mine, heat bleeding through every thread of what little we’re wearing.
“Remember the first time?” she whispers, leaning in, lips brushing my ear. “When you made me beg?”
I groan, fingers gripping her hips. “Vividly. Still dreaming about it.”
“Well,” she grinds down, “consider this payback.”
I bark out a laugh that turns into a moan halfway through.
“Keep doing that and I’ll pay you back so hard you’ll forget your name.”
“Big promises, soldier.”
“Big everything , sweetheart.”
She smiles - less smug now, more something else. Something real.
She leans down and kisses my jaw, the corner of my mouth. I go completely still, because that? That wasn’t heat. That was hers.
Hers and mine.
“I’m not fragile,” she murmurs. “I’m not going to break.”
I meet her eyes. “I know. You’re the strongest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
There’s a pause. Like something’s building.
Then she breathes:
“I want it again.”
I know what she means. My cock throbs in immediate agreement.
“I want you,” she says. “All of you.”
“You’ve got me,” I rasp. “Always.”
She exhales. Then, bold as hell, she adds: “No. I mean - I want your knot.”
My breath leaves my body like I just got punched in the chest by fate itself.
She leans down again, lips brushing mine. “Tie me up. Fill me. Claim me.”
And that’s it.
That’s the moment my inner control officer packs up his clipboard and goes on leave.
I flip her like a man on a mission. She laughs - loud, thrilled, alive - and the sound hits me harder than anything else ever has.
She’s not fragile. She’s mine.
And this time? I’m not holding back.
I push her legs apart and strip down like this is a damn field op and her pussy is the objective. My jeans hit the floor. Lucian’s shirt is already riding high on her hips - because of course she’s still wearing it like it’s a flag of war - and she yanks it up further, baring all that flushed, perfect skin.
And I lose every single coherent thought I’ve ever had.
I settle between her thighs, let my cock press against her heat, slick and needy and hot as a grenade with the pin halfway out.
“Last chance,” I mutter, voice wrecked and clinging to discipline like a lifeline.
She just grins. Defiant. Heat-drunk.
Glowing like a threat and a promise all in one.
“What are you waiting for?” she taunts. “Hurry up and give it to me.”
God fucking help me.
I growl low - combat-deep, primal - and I push in.
Not fast. Not brutal. Just deep. Controlled .
Like I’m pressing her into the mattress one nerve ending at a time.
Her fingers claw at my back like she’s trying to scale a mountain in bare hands.
“God, Ash -”
“Yeah, baby.” My voice is rough as gravel. “Still so tight. Your cunt was fucking engineered for me.”
I start to move, slow and steady, letting her feel the full stretch with every inch. Her heels dig into the backs of my thighs, and her slick gushes so sweet and hot I nearly lose control.
But no. Not yet.
I pull out and grab the backs of her knees, pushing them up until her thighs are nearly folded to her chest.
Tactical repositioning: new angle, maximum damage.
“You wanna be stretched?” I rasp. “Let’s see how deep you’ll take me.”
She gasps like I’ve just dropped her from ten thousand feet.
And then I slam back in.
She breaks. Her eyes roll back, her hands scrabbling at the sheets like the bed personally offended her.
“Fucking - Ash -”
“You asked for this,” I growl, thrusting harder. “Said you wanted to be knotted. Said you could handle it.”
I snap my hips again, brutal and precise. Her whole body jolts.
“So you’re gonna take it.”
Thrust.
“Every. Inch.”
Thrust.
“Every.”
Thrust.
“Fucking.”
Thrust.
“Drop.”
The room sounds like war: skin slapping, bedsprings creaking, breath catching in choked sobs of pleasure.
And Rhea? She’s a mess . A perfect, shaking, sweat-slicked mess. Clenching around me like she wants to make sure I never leave. Like her cunt is about to apply for joint custody.
“Harder!” she cries. “Ash, please .”
“I’ve got you,” I snarl. “I’ll always have you.”
I slam into her harder, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her eyes glassy and locked on mine like I’m her whole damn world.
“Tell me,” I rasp. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your knot,” she pants. “I want it. Fill me. Claim me.”
Well. Shit.
My control snaps like a bone under pressure. I grip her tighter, thrusting so deep I feel her arch into it, every muscle in her body going taut.
“I’m gonna come,” she gasps.
“Then fucking do it,” I growl. “Come on my cock. Milk me dry.”
She screams my name, body arching off the mattress as her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave. Her pussy locks down, pulsing around me in rhythmic spasms, soaking me, coating my thighs.
“That’s it - fuck - Rhea - ”
Her back bows, body quivering so violently it's like she’s trying to rip my soul out through my dick.
And it works.
My knot swells, and I slam forward one last time, hips jerking as it locks.
A deep, tight seal.
I grind in with a low, guttural moan and spill inside her.
I don’t stop until she’s full. Marked. Claimed.
“ Mine ,” I growl into her throat. “Fucking mine.”
She shudders beneath me, eyes fluttering, legs still trembling over my shoulders, overstimulated and perfect. Her fingers grip at my back like she’s hanging on for dear life.
I lower her legs gently - careful, steady - and press a kiss to each knee like I didn’t just wreck her into next week. Then I pull her into my chest, still knotted, still buried inside her, and wrap her up like the goddamn treasure she is.
She clings to me in return, strong and fierce.
No whimpers. No weakness.
Just fire.
And fuck, I love the burn.