Chapter 24
Two days later, Emmy stood in the Aurora Ballroom with a thermos of hot chicken soup, watching through the monitor as dark shapes streaked across the snow under the full moon’s glow.
Security had a drone following them because even a pack of wolves isn’t always at the top of the apex predator ladder in this place.
She was happy the drone also had sound, because you could hear and see their joy even through the night-vision view.
She could easily pick out Spence’s wolf by the grace of his gait, moving with the confidence of someone who led from a position of power.
No matter he wasn’t the largest wolf, he was out front with the other wolves following.
Even in this form, Zander’s power flowed through him.
Emmy had always been confident in her own power, but how would it feel to have the power of the grave flowing through her as well? Did she want that? If she was to fully bond with both of her men, she’d have to figure it out.
But first, she had to get up the nerve to talk to Zander about telepathy.
She focused on the monitor again, and checked her phone for the latest weather updates — negative thirty-two degrees. The kind of cold that would kill a human in minutes.
But the wolves reveled in it, racing and playing, occasionally stopping to howl at the moon before taking off again.
Emmy sipped from her thermos of hot chocolate, content to watch. The ballroom was in the low forties, but she was in several layers and was fine.
Outside, however, was too cold for her scaled dragon. It took thick fur to survive this kind of cold.
But even wolves didn’t stay out long, and after about forty minutes, they turned and headed back. When they neared, Emmy moved to wait by the airlock, thermos ready.
Spence came through first, ice crusted thick around his paws and lower legs, frost feathering up the fur of his hocks, chunks of frozen snow clinging to his chest and stomach like jagged armor, his muzzle rimed with frost that glittered under the lights.
He shook hard the moment he cleared the threshold.
Water droplets flew in a brief, sparkling cloud, and then he shifted mid-stride, human form emerging flushed and steaming, skin pink from the brutal cold, breath still pluming white in the warmer air.
“Cold?” she asked, already pouring soup into the thermos cap.
“Freezing,” he admitted, accepting it gratefully. He downed the entire serving in one long swallow, then grabbed the thermos and drank straight from it. “God, that’s perfect. Thank you.”
She handed him the sweatpants, hoodie, warm socks, and boots she’d brought up for him — soft, thick fabrics that still held the faint warmth of the dryer. “We need to stop by a first-floor bathroom before we hit the kitchen.”
He nodded, a flicker of heat in his eyes as understanding dawned: she was going to plug his ass in the privacy of an executive bathroom.
She stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek, lips lingering against the flush of cold still clinging to his skin, the dominant parts of her psyche purring at the way he leaned into the touch and yielded so beautifully.
Wolves come back to human starving, so she assured him, “I can smell your hunger. It won’t take long.”
“It’ll take as long as you say,” he answered, voice rough with want while he stepped into the sweatpants, “but yeah, I’m looking forward to as many elk steaks as I can manage.”
His ready willingness to wait for food sent arousal coiling between her thighs. She took a deep breath so the other shifters around them wouldn’t pick up on it, and focused on the food. She was looking forward to the steaks as well.
“As am I, and I haven’t changed in nearly two months.”
His brows drew together, concern softening the need. “Is it a problem, not changing?”
Emmy shrugged and motioned him to sit on a nearby bench so he could do his socks and boots.
“I’m always the dragon, so it isn’t like I have to let the other being inside me have time.
I’m the same me, whether I’m winged or not, scales or skin.
If it was a problem, I’d figure out how to get to Faerie, but I’m okay. ”
He was dressed in mere seconds, and they made their way down together, the silo quiet around them, her pulse thrumming with anticipation, clit already swelling when she closed and locked the bathroom door, sealing them in privacy.
Spence pulled his sweatpants down and bent over the sink without prompting — his back arched beautifully to present his ass at the best angle, offering his vulnerability without hesitation. Her breath caught at the sight, heat flooded her core, and her pulse sped.
She lubed the large plug generously and pressed the blunt tip against his tight ring.
Wolves come back to human completely healed, and that means their assholes are virginal and unstretched, so it took a lot of pressure to get it in, even with her strength.
But he braced himself and stood still, his muscles clenching in instinctive resistance while he tried to relax but couldn’t quite manage, and his gasps and grunts came involuntarily.
Emmy kept up a steady, insistent push, and her clit throbbed in rhythm with her efforts, arousal spiking sharp as she worked it deeper, inch by slow inch, his scent filling the room — submission and pain and arousal all bound together, and the power she wielded flooded her veins with a sadistic thrill.
She alternated slow with fast, hurting him on purpose with a twist or harder thrust that drew muffled groans from his throat, then soothing with warm palms stroking his back or rubbing in gentle circles.
“Breathe for me, open up and let it in. Let me cram my willpower up your ass.” And when he relaxed and let it in a few more millimeters, “Oh yes, that’s it. Good boy.”
Twelve minutes later, she was nearly to the fattest part — her boy’s body yielding bit by bit, gasps turning to low moans and an occasional yelp, her own pulse pounding between her legs with every clench and shudder he gave her.
Such power over her wolf, this strong man thriving on submission, offering his most private surrender without hesitation. It made her heart ache with love.
When it finally seated, filling him completely, she rubbed his back while he gasped and fought for air, desperately trying to get used to it, and then she ordered him to stand and look down at his granite-hard cock.
She could see it pulsing desperately, and she couldn’t help herself, so she wrapped her hand around it and jacked him slow and firm, half a dozen strokes that drew desperate whimpers, pre-cum slicking her palm.
Her clit pulsed in jealous need, but she stepped back, voice steady despite the ache.
“Lose the erection. We need your scent back to normal.” She chuckled. “Mine too, for that matter.”
She focused on the steaks to alter her own scent, and she wasn’t sure what he focused on, but it took him three agonizing minutes, his breath ragged, body trembling with effort, until he softened most of the way, the musk of arousal fading to baseline hunger.
She gave him permission to pull his sweatpants up. He leaned to grasp them, and when he stood, the plug must’ve shifted inside him, drawing a soft gasp that made her smile.
The two made their way to the center of the silo and then slid down the pole to the cafeteria level.
The buffet line was chaos in the best way: wolves piling plates high with massive steaks, potatoes, vegetables, anything with calories. The kitchen staff had prepared for this, and the smell of seared meat filled the air.
Emmy grabbed two plates stacked high, and she and Spence settled at a table with Rhea, Felix, and a few others.
Spence had always fit right in with the flock, not part of it, but a caretaker, of sorts. She watched him laugh at something one of the others said, relaxed and happy. He caught her looking and smiled, and the warmth in his gaze made something in her chest squeeze tight.
Mine, she thought. Ours.
Soon, she’d let them into her head so they could hear that thought without her having to say it.
Soon.
Emmy stretched out on the sofa, feet propped on the ottoman, wiggling her toes with a lazy grin. “I’m really looking forward to a foot massage tonight during the movie, since Spence didn’t seem interested in seeing it again.”
Zander leaned against the doorframe in his fancy silk pajamas, his smile slow and more than a little wicked. “I was rather looking forward to a dedicated cock-warmer for the duration of the film, our boy lying beside me, holding me in his mouth.”
Heat sparked low in her belly at his tone of voice, because she felt certain he was thinking something unusual, and that probably meant something fun.
She arched a brow, and he asked, “Do we divide the movie in half, or … contest? Winner takes all?”
“What kind of contest do you have in mind?”
Zander’s eyes darkened with amusement and approval. “Clothespins on his inner thighs, and we whip them off in turns. First to get their side cleared, wins.”
Emmy’s grin sharpened. She was damned good with a whip, and the idea of Spence’s strong hands kneading her feet for hours while Zander watched, denied, was too tempting to resist. “You’re on.”
They moved to the bedroom to prepare for their boy. He was handling a flock issue and should return soon.
By the time he walked in the door, they had the clothespins out along with the hardware to connect him to the headboard.
Minutes later, he was flat on his back in the center of the bed, wrists bound to the center of the headboard, ankles bound to the outer edges, legs spread wide — his inner thighs exposed, and balls drawn up tight in nervous excitement.
Zander had selected the stainless-steel clothespins with super-strong springs. Whipping them off would take a whole lot of skill.
Emmy worked methodically down his left inner thigh, pinching skin in a perfectly straight line, each snap drawing a sharp inhale from Spence, his body jerking against the ropes. Zander mirrored her on the right, cool precision placing his with effortless grace.
By the time both lines were complete, Spence trembled, breath ragged, cock hard and leaking against his belly, the scent of pain and arousal filling the room.
Zander showed her two whips of equal length. “Ladies choice, and then ladies first.”
She chose the more supple of the two, and then stepped to the side to test the weight, aiming at a pillow to get the feel of it. Satisfied after a half-dozen strikes, she focused on the line of clips attached to Spence’s strained body.
She visualized what she wanted to happen, and the first strike landed true, flipping the clothespin clean off with a sharp crack. Spence yelped and jerked, and Zander’s arm flashed into the air — removing the mirroring steel a mere second later.
The second went the same, but then Emmy rushed, and her third throw missed the clothespin and brought up a bloody spot on Spence’s thigh.
She blew out a breath, heat rising in her cheeks, and Zander’s low chuckle vibrated through the room, fond rather than mocking. A second later, his fourth clothespin was gone.
On her next turn, she got it, but now she was one behind Zander.
Two pins later, she clipped the skin along with the metal, leaving the clothespin dangling, pulling at an awkward angle that made Spence’s breath hitch in constant, exquisite agony.
Zander moved lightning-fast to remove his, and Emmy did the same to dislodge her goof, but now she was two behind.
Zander got all eleven of his on the inner thigh without a single miss, and then it was time for him to take aim at the clothespin on Spence’s right nut.
The strike was surgical, the leather kissing steel without touching tender skin, the clothespin flying free as Spence arched with a strangled cry, relief and pain mingling in a shuddering wave.
Emmy stepped to him and removed her remaining two, secretly a little relieved she hadn’t been stressed by having to aim at one of his balls. She’d been overconfident in her ability, not understanding the difference between normal clothespins and super-strong ones.
And Zander’s accuracy was flawless, the whip singing true each time.
“Well played,” she told Zander.
Her vampire stepped close, cool fingers tilting her chin up for a brief, claiming kiss. “You did remarkably well for someone so young. I’ve had millennia to perfect the technique. You’ve had mere years.”
They untied Spence together, carefully easing his legs down.
The moment he was standing, Zander told him, “Emmy needs popcorn, since she won’t get a foot massage. Run up to the kitchen and get her a large bowl — extra butter and salt. My cock will be waiting for your mouth to warm it when you return.”
Emmy walked out with Zander and took her seat on the sofa, arranging pillows and ottoman, pouring herself some lemonade.
When Spence returned with her popcorn ten minutes into the movie, Zander put a blindfold on him and had him stretch out on the sofa, his head in Zander’s lap, his mouth gently holding Zander’s soft cock.
Emmy curled against Zander’s side, feet tucked under her, the loss sweet in its own way. Their boy was still with them, serving in his role as submissive.
And it didn’t take her long to understand why Zander wanted her to see this movie. She’d heard stories of her Aunt Kirsten in the maze, as well as the fight at the end that made her the Erlkonigin, though her aunt preferred to be called Harlequin.
The Goblin King was a haunting presence and completely different from her aunt, but she loved the story, the visuals, and the strange, dark Faerie tale of it. Or, she supposed it was an Alfheim tale, rather than Faerie.
And she focused on the movie, rather than her aunt, who’d asked her questions rather than giving her answers. But in all fairness, if she found the answers to those questions, she’d know what she should do.
And really, she had the answers, she just had to figure out how to have the conversation with Zander.