Chapter 17 Winnie
Winnie
The meal is stilted and awkward after the conversation about Nick.
Zeke’s grief has bled into mine, and I know it’s only the tip of an iceberg of emotion I can’t yet feel from the rest of the pack since we aren’t bonded.
Still, it feels like something has shifted.
Like a barb lodged in this pack since before I ever met them has finally been pulled free.
The pain isn’t over, but it’s starting to heal.
The revelation of a sixth packmate, Nick, leaves a deep ache in my chest. He should have been one of my mates. He should be here with me now. I want to know him. Now that I know he’s missing, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a hollow place inside me that will never be filled.
“What was he like?” I ask softly as we finish eating in silence.
I know this isn’t truly my grief. They knew him. He was pack. But scent-sensitive mates are supposed to be perfect matches. There’s a psychological bond that forms even before the physical one, something scientists have tried to study since the beginning of medicine.
No one speaks right away.
“He was kind. Funny. God, that sounds so inadequate,” Zeke says, running his hand through his floppy brown hair. His blue eyes meet mine, and he gives a small shrug of apology.
“He was our blacklight tattoo artist,” Gage adds, and when I look confused, he explains. “He made tattoos that glowed under blacklight. He especially loved nature designs.”
Rafe lets out a quiet chuckle, thin and watery.
“Nature might’ve been his whole personality.
Hiking, rock climbing, swimming. If it was outside, he loved it.
” He meets my eyes, a hint of teasing returning, and it eases the tightness in my chest. “He would’ve loved you, Dulzura. Right away. He was never indecisive.”
My tear-stung eyes meet his, glassy and wet, and the connection feels instant and true. Rafe is quickly becoming someone I lean on without thinking. I believe him. I believe he knows the man he loved, the man I never got to love, well enough to say that.
I glance down at my empty plate, then back at the pack. “Did he keep any of his designs?”
Gage nods. “Sketchbooks. A lot of them.”
A shiver runs through me. I don’t know why, but something inside me whispers Yes.
Something tells me Nick’s story isn’t over yet.
***
Corbin’s whole demeanor says he’s still upset.
That he might need me. So I choose to ride on his bike this time, and no one argues.
I think they all see it too. Even though he hasn’t said he forgives him, Gage has clearly let some of the hurt go tonight.
Maybe it was seeing Corbin vulnerable. Maybe it was talking about Nick.
I hug each of the guys before we part, and each goodbye feels different.
Rafe holds me tight, whispering in my ear, “He’d be glad we found you,” before kissing my cheek.
Zeke is more awkward. I can feel the shame still humming through the bond from the bite, so I move first, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing my scent into his chest. He inhales sharply, surprised, then relaxes and nuzzles into my hair. “I intend to earn that,” he says quietly.
I smile. He already has.
Eli surprises me most. With his discomfort around new people, sound, and close interaction, I thought he’d be the most hesitant.
I was fully prepared to give him space. But instead, he steps right into mine, chest pressed to me, and looks down.
His eyes are the palest blue above the cloth of his mask.
The skeletal grin stares down, but his eyes are serious, conflicted.
“You don’t have to,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I want to.” His voice is muffled but clear.
Scent marking requires face-to-body contact, and his face is covered, so I wait. If he can’t, I’ll understand. I never want anyone uncomfortable.
Slowly, he lifts the edge of his mask, revealing a tattooed neck, a strong jaw, a soft mouth.
His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close as he leans down and brushes his cheek along my jaw.
I stay perfectly still until his lips find mine in a brief, electric kiss.
Then he pulls back and adjusts his mask again.
I’m left a little dazed.
Gage is last. For a moment, I think he might skip it. He’s been the most distant, and now I understand why. He’s been holding the pack together, and that kind of weight leaves no room for softness.
But instead of passing me by, he steps closer. “I’m sorry you never got to meet Nick. Rafe’s right. He would’ve loved you.”
The words steal my breath. He takes my hand and lifts it, scent marking along the back. My eyes flutter before he steps away.
Corbin mounts his bike, and now that I’ve done this once, I climb on with only minimal help from Gage. Where Eli was lean muscle, Corbin is solid and broad. Everything under my arms is thick and hard.
When he starts the engine, I flinch and tighten my hold.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” His voice comes through the helmet speakers alongside the rev of the engine, and I feel it everywhere.
“I’m okay,” I say softly. “Are you?”
He sighs. His hand slides over mine, pressing it against his ribs. “Yeah. That sucked, but it needed to be said if we’re going to move forward with you.”
With me.
The words send my stomach flipping. I’m in a courting situation now. It’s harder than I expected to let that settle. I’ve watched my friends find their mates and their packs, always wanting the same while never truly believing it would happen for me.
We speed up M22. As Corbin shifts with the bike, his muscles move beneath my hands. My fingers drift lower, brushing under his shirt to the tight skin over his abs. A low sound slips through the speakers, half growl, half purr, and it sends a thrill straight to my core.
I want to hear it again.
I slide my hand lower, slow and careful.
“Sweetheart,” he rumbles. It’s a warning, and an invitation.
My palm presses against the bulge in his jeans, rubbing over the zipper. His breath breaks, jagged.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
He releases the handlebar with one hand and moves mine up to his abs. My heart sinks. Just because he helped me through a heat doesn’t mean he wants this.
Then he lifts himself slightly and settles again. His hand finds mine and guides it down, under the open fly, past the waistband, until I’m wrapped around his hot length.
A groan crackles through the speakers. “This is more than okay,” he growls. “Every inch. All yours. I’ve been thinking about this. About you.”
Heat floods my center. I’m not in heat, but I’m soaked and throbbing. Every bump rubs me right where I need it. My fingers tighten, stroking slowly. He swells in my hand, thick and pulsing, the knot already firming. My scent blooms faint but potent.
He lets me touch him while he rides. One hand on the bars, the other braced on his thigh. His body stays tense, fighting the urge to thrust.
Behind him, I feel bold.
“What do you think about?” I whisper into the mic. “When you’re alone. When you think about me.” His hand goes to the helmet and I can tell, whatever he’s done, we’re the only ones who can hear each other now.
I stroke him again, and this time he moves with it. My thumb grazes the leaking tip, collecting precum.
“I think about your mouth,” he rasps. “Wrapped around me. Wet and warm. Taking me deep while you moan for more.”
The words hit straight through me. I rock against the seat, desperate, the vibration only making it worse.
“I think about your hands on my chest,” he continues. “That soft body under mine. I think about you face down. Soaked and begging. Or pinned against a tree, dripping until I give you my cock.”
My grip tightens. He groans, knuckles white on the bars.
“I almost lost it over your boundaries list,” he admits.
“Which part?” I ask, shaking.
“You want to be chased.”
I whimper. The fantasy is raw inside me. Him running with me. Catching me.
“I want you to,” I whisper. “I want you to push me up against a tree and take me until I can’t speak.”
He chokes on a breath, pulsing in my hand.
“I want your knot,” I breathe. “Stretching me. Locking us together.”
That does it.
He comes hard, hot spurts flooding my hand and his jeans as his body jerks. I don’t stop stroking until he shudders, a final moan crackling through the helmet.
I don’t come. I’m left shaking, desperate, aching.
The wind shifts. Bond heat pulses nearby. I glance right and see Zeke’s bike. He’s close. Watching.
I pull my hand back, slick and trembling. Corbin catches it, presses a kiss to my wrist, then cleans me gently with his shirt.
I’m still throbbing.
Corbin doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps riding.
But his hand stays on mine the whole way.
And somehow, that undoes me most of all.