Chapter 15
Miraya
Seven days of near-constant sex were great for my mood, self-esteem, and mental health, but ooh boy, they’d made a mess of my hair.
All my curls had sort of matted off to one side of my head, and stuck there.
And yet Tybalt and Prodigy still found me sexy.
The thought made me smile as I stepped out of the shower in the early morning, my curls coaxed into something more hair-like.
I wrinkled my nose at the cloying scent of sex in the nest. I needed to deep clean this shit today, but my growling stomach insisted it be the first priority of the day.
And I needed to find my alphas, to tell them that I still wanted their marks on me without the haze of the heat clouding my mind.
A smug smile crossed my face as I remembered the bites I’d left all over their bodies.
There would be no doubt that they were mine, no doubt that I was theirs.
It felt good. Better than good. A dream. A fairy tale. Maybe my mum was right about those after all. I’d been rejected by my mate, and that would always burn deep in my soul, but maybe I could be happy, too.
“I can at least try,” I murmured as I took my time dressing for the day, admiring the imprints that possessive fingers had left on my thighs, my hips, a perfect circle of a bruise on my left breast that made my smile deepen.
I wished the marks could stay forever. I’d have to ask my alphas for more before these faded.
I sat on the edge of the bed and dried my hair as best as I could with the basic hairdryer I’d found in the wardrobe. If I was going to stay, I’d need to upgrade this thing, and buy a diffuser and—
Was I staying? I chewed my bottom lip, struggling to sort out my emotions. Now that the heat’s pain had faded, and some of the broken mess of my soul had softened its edges, I realised my chest was bursting with feelings. So many emotions stacked edge to edge that they barely fit inside me.
I had a whole life in Stockport. My family, my home, everything I’d ever known and loved. A shitty job as a temp in a contractor’s office because that was the only place that would accept an omega—even one with the electrical engineering degree I’d fought tooth and nail to complete.
And yet… the idea of leaving the clubhouse, leaving my two alphas, made something obstinate and determined snarl inside me. Longing, safety, peace, belonging—those were only four of the feelings crammed into my chest, but they existed both at home, and here.
“Maybe they can share custody of me,” I joked to the empty nest. Maybe I could go home on weekends.
Fuck if I knew how it would work, except that I wanted to stay.
I wanted to explore this new, exciting relationship, and spend time with my alphas.
I wanted to find ways to spoil Prodigy like he’d spoiled me in the bookshop, and I wanted Tybalt to take me for another ride on his bike, but when I was conscious this time.
I wanted to explore every sexual position in existence, and find all the ways we could fit together.
I wanted to watch the red impressions of my teeth on their bodies heal to white scars, permanent and meaningful. I wanted their bites on my body, too.
“This is insane,” I told myself, because someone had to say it and I was the only one here to talk some sense into myself. “You can’t just stay with two guys you’ve barely known two weeks.”
Except, of course, there was no one here to stop me. And I could stay, because Prodigy had made sure I knew I was welcome for however long I decided to stay, be it forever or until the end of the month.
There’s no rush for you to leave, ray of light, were his exact words as he pulled me into a tight hug, his mouth brushing my temple as he spoke, reluctant to part despite the week’s worth of work he had to catch up on.
Tybalt had given me a similar goodbye, although with a double-handed squeeze of my ass and a kiss that could only be described as dirty.
My stomach growled loudly, a twist of discomfort in my belly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” I muttered, stuffing my feet into fluffy cat-eared slippers—I wasn’t planning to run away today—and padding out into the hall.
I could go into the sanctuary, but I didn’t fancy making something myself in the kitchen.
I was feeling lazy and indulgent, so I headed the opposite direction, winding through the clubhouse that now felt familiar and known, not some mysterious, half-threatening dwelling.
No matter the time of day, the dining room table was usually full of food, either warm as it lingered in tureens or piping hot and fresh.
My current mission was a plate full of fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp, hot toast. I’d kill for a cup of tea, too. Prodigy brought me one in the nest, but that was an hour ago and the craving had hit for a second.
It was past eleven by the time I made it to the dining room, and all the Knights had already cleared out for the day.
That, or it was still too early for the nocturnal bikers to stagger into the dining room seeking pancakes and maple syrup.
You’d be surprised just how many of these giant, burly, growling men had a weakness for sweet things.
I could smell something sugary now as I slipped through the perpetually-open door, eyeing the vast table.
It was big enough to seat fifteen, and ladened with decimated tureens and dirty plates left on place mats alongside half-drunk cups of coffee.
I grabbed a clean plate and assessed what remained, pumping my fist when I found a pile of scrambled eggs left in the dish.
Toast was out of the question—it was already cold, and I was too lazy to take it to the sanctuary kitchen to reheat.
I didn’t even know where the main kitchen was in the clubhouse.
I added some still-warm tomatoes to my plate and blinked when I found a platter of jalebis.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Jackpot.”
I sat in the chair furthest from the door, with a clear view of the exit, partly because I was still on edge—and would always be on edge—after being locked up and beaten. Mostly, I sat there because it smelled of fresh cut grass and the warm, spicy aftershave Prodigy wore.
It took mere minutes to demolish my breakfast, and then I grabbed a jalebi, the swirls of syrup-soaked fried batter exploding across my tongue with the taste of sweetness and home.
It was a rare treat in the Kishore household, but my grandma grew up eating them from street food vendors, so we always made sure to have some at holidays.
I was so busy reminiscing that I didn’t see the shadow fall across the dining room entrance, and almost missed the tall, broad-shouldered, bearded asshole trudging across the room to deposit a heavy-looking platter of sandwiches on the other end of the table.
He looked unfriendly and grumpy, like an anti-Santa.
I crossed my arms over my chest and sat back in Prodigy’s seat, breathing through the biting, burning pain in my chest.
“You’re pretty unobservant, huh?” I remarked, smirking when he started so hard it was like he’d just heard a rattling scream in a haunted house. I could only smile because of the last week, because I could very clearly picture the shape of my teeth on Tybalt’s throat, on Prodigy’s neck.
“Jesus, motherfucker,” he grunted, whipping around. It was kinda satisfying to watch every bit of anger wipe from his face, leaving something like shock and panic. “Uh…”
“Yup.” I helped myself to another jalebi. “It’s me. Did you make these?”
I hadn’t got a good enough look at him to guess his ethnicity, unless grizzly bear counted as a race.
It was kinda hilarious to compare him to Prodigy—both big personalities, intrinsic to the Alpha Knights, with no bad word to be spoken about either of them.
But Sweetie was about as friendly as a wild dog, with none of the calm composure I loved in Prodigy.
Both tall, powerful, reeking of alpha dominance, but Prodigy’s made me want to sigh and melt into him, where Sweetie’s made me want to borrow one of Tyb’s knives and cut his fucking balls off.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t totally recovered from the rejection.
“I—” he said, and faltered, the Adam’s apple jumping in his throat as he stared at me across the length of the table. “Yes.”
“My grandma’s are better,” I told him with relish.
“Your, um—” His eyes flitted around the room, and he swallowed again. He was skittish, like I scared the shit out of him. I hoped I did.
I allowed myself one glance at the mark on his neck, then dragged my attention back to the sweets piled in front of me. A corkscrew of pain dug into my chest, but I breathed through it and held onto the memory of Prodigy’s embrace and the softness in Tybalt’s brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. “I handled meeting you—”
“Fucking atrociously?” I offered.
“I was going to say badly.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I can’t… offer you anything.”
“No?” I gasped, feigning surprise. “And here I thought we were going to run off into the sunset together.”
His right eye squinted shut in a wince. “I mean—”
I sighed and got to my feet, the burn intensifying in my chest. It was easier to bear without the volatile hormones of my heat, but it still hurt like a bitch. “You were perfectly clear back at my buyer’s house. No need to elaborate.”
A growl filled the room, surprising us both. Silence stretched across long, long seconds after he killed the noise.
“Anyway,” I said, grabbing the plate of jalebis and kicking the chair back under the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said as I skirted the table, aiming for the door.
“You said that.”
“If things had been different…”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not me, it’s you. You need space. I deserve better. We can still be friends.” I slid a glance in his direction. “You’re shit at apologies.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
I didn’t stick around to hear whatever he’d say next. It wasn’t necessary; I knew there would never be anything between us and I’d made peace with that. I just needed the shattered bond inside me to dull, and for my soul to get on board with the moving on thing.
I pulled up short four steps from the door when a short, curvy woman filled it.
Ah. Saint ChaCha, in the flesh. Her hair was a brighter purple than I remembered, a fresh dye job no doubt, and every possible customisable part of her matched the violet shade—her eyeshadow, her lipstick, her long nails, her wardrobe, all except for the black, studded leather jacket and heavy boots she wore.
It was a good look. I would have worn that.
I didn’t know what to say to her. She clearly didn’t know what to say to me.
Hi, this asshole behind me was supposed to be my fated mate and happily ever after, but he chose you so best of luck, I guess?
“I’m stealing these,” I said instead, lifting the plate of syrup-laden fried goods. “They’re mine now.”
She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching me with an awkwardness I hadn’t anticipated.
I’d expected hostility, a snarled stay away from my man, maybe some hissing and hair pulling.
Possibly a broken nose or two. Instead her tone reflected the awkwardness of her body language.
“That’s fair,” she said with a wry smile. “I stole your mate.”
“Nah.” I shook my head, not turning back to look at Sweetie, though easily able to picture him shifting on his feet, wringing his hands, shooting me that heavy, apologetic stare again.
The fact that neither of them had been major dicks to me in the past ten minutes made me a little more charitable.
The week-long sex marathon probably aided that too.
“He was never meant for me anyway. Keep him.”
There was something in her tentative smile I couldn’t read.
“I intend to,” she said, but softly instead of the cockiness she had every right to broadcast. It was the ultimate declaration of love—choosing someone over your mate.
I might have thought it was romantic if I wasn’t the one who’d been stabbed with a metaphorical rusty pole.
“What are you doing this Saturday?” ChaCha asked me in a contemplative tone.
“Killer,” Sweetie said with a note of warning.
“Oh, shut up,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Busybody.”
“Why?” I asked her suspiciously.
She shrugged, tilting her head as she considered me, purple hair spilling over her shoulder.
“We’re having a girl’s night in the sanctuary.
It might be a good chance for you to get to know everyone.
Vienna said you haven’t spent much time there, and not to think the entire world revolves around me, but I think that’s because you don’t want to risk running into me. ”
She was right. Not about her being the centre of the universe but… yeah. It felt weird being in the sanctuary, knowing she was nearby. Knowing I might run into both of them, all lovey-dovey, displaying horrific bouts of physical affection.
I sighed, unable to believe I was contemplating this. “Will there be alcohol there?” It might be nice to get to know the other people here. Maybe to talk to Jessia again. I hadn’t forgotten her kindness.
ChaCha gave me a look that questioned my sanity. “Of course there’ll be booze. What do you take me for?”
Well, if nothing else, I could get completely shit-faced. I shrugged. “Fine, I’m in.”
Her answering smile felt like a peace offering, and it occurred to me that I ought to hate her, or at least resent her, but ignoring some bitterness and internal name-calling, that hatred had never formed. I’d still happily skin Sweetie alive, but ChaCha could live.
I murmured goodbye and brushed past her, not looking back. Then I found the door to the garden, sat myself on the cold iron bench that butted up against the wall, and ate my entire plate of jalebis.
And I could see it—the future. How it might look with the Alpha Knights in it, how I could merge the parts of my old life I loved with the bits of my new life I wanted to hold onto.
Yeah, maybe my mum was right about fairy tales.