Day Four
Conrí
While she slept I coordinated the day’s logistics and dealt with anything that couldn’t wait. My brother’s messages were not among the things that couldn’t wait.
I’d told Killian and Dubhán before they left on day one that if Cuán discovered this address there would be severe consequences. They’d looked at one another before lowering their heads in unison.
“We might have mentioned the general borough location.”
“Sorry, Alpha.”
And yet—Cuán had not appeared at Nika’s door.
The pack group chat was buzzing.
Most of it was warm—genuinely, overwhelmingly warm in the way only a pack could be.
Congratulations stacked on top of congratulations.
Voice notes from the elders. A string of messages from Neev that was mostly crying emojis and exclamation marks.
Rua had apparently organised a meal rota for the week after the heat ended, which I hadn’t asked for and was deeply grateful for.
Maeve had sent a photograph of Seán holding a sign that the older children had clearly made for him since he was eighteen months old and couldn’t write.
Welcome home, Alpha’s mate.
I stared at that one for a longer moment than I intended.
Then there was Cuán.
He’s hidden her away.
What’s he hiding?
Imagine ignoring your only brother.
Ah, but has he bonded with her yet?
When I find my mate…
I blocked him in the end. It was the cleanest solution.
Work was simpler. I was on annual leave. Nika was recorded as off sick—which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. It didn’t seem fair for her to burn through her leave entitlement for something that was, by any reasonable medical definition, beyond her control.
I set my phone down beside the plant on her nightstand.
Then I turned to her.
She was still deeply asleep, her face pressed into the remains of the nest, one hand curled loosely beside her cheek. I drew her close and she sniffed—twice, automatically—before settling against my chest without waking.
I held her and let myself think the thing I’d been filing away since day one.
We had less than twenty-four hours left.
The heat would end. The rut would ease. And then we would be two people in a flat in London—a woman who had reservations about my wolf and me.
Where would that leave us?
The uncertainty of it settled in my stomach like a stone.
I don’t like it, Kael said quietly.
No.
Neither did I.
??
??
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Her taste. Her scent. That soft, supple skin.
I’d licked and sucked almost every inch of her—cataloguing her the way Kael catalogued territory, committing every detail to memory. The tiny black spot on her nape. Every scratch and bruise that had bloomed across her perfect skin over four days.
It would all fade once the heat let up. The marks would disappear. Her scent would mellow back to something manageable. Her body would cool.
And we’d be back to two people with reservations about each other.
The questions never stopped, even in the depths of the rut.
How could she be so perfect?
How could her wolf be so bad in the best of ways?
How could I make her mine—truly mine—without her feeling like she’d lost herself in the process?
She stirred beneath me. Still damp from our last round.
“You’re too hot,” she grumbled into the pillow.
“That’s all you, baby,” I murmured, gripping her hip as I ground my knot deeper.
My eyes closed as her slick heat fluttered around me. Her head tilted until it rested against my neck—damp strands of her hair brushing my skin. I slid my hand beneath her and cupped her breast.
I wasn’t gentle.
The way she pushed back—grinding, rotating, chasing it—told me everything I needed to know about how much she liked that.
“I guess that’s why they call it the heat,” she said breathlessly.
My fingers slid to her nipple.
“Yes,” she sighed.
I applied pressure—pinched until she gasped.
It wasn’t solely for her.
The way her tight heat clenched down on every inch of me every time I did it had not gone unnoticed. It was an entirely practical observation.
I released her hip and wrapped my hand around her throat, working her other nipple simultaneously.
“If you want more,” I murmured, “you know what to do.”
Her back twisted—a slow, deliberate arc—and I followed her.
She settled on her belly. Patient. Waiting.
I couldn’t say good girl.
Her wolf had made her position on that phrase extremely clear the one time I’d slipped. The objection had been immediate, venomous, and had nearly taken a layer of skin with it.
“That’s my dirty girl,” I said instead, squeezing her throat. “Always ready to offer me more.”
Her response wasn't vocal.
Her mouth focused on breathing.
But that tight little hole always told me what she needed.
Always.