Chapter 45 – Marc
Marc was beating the shit out of a target dummy when the air crackled and a portal opened in the middle of the basement. Sinister stepped through and pulled a full load with him. Irishen, Jarred, Grant, and… Wayla.
“What’s going on?”
Another portal opened as soon as Sinister’s closed and Zahir stepped through with Hellion. Grant let go of Sinister, looked around to make sure everyone was there, and crossed his arms.
“So, what was that nonsense about?” he demanded to know.
“Wayla? Are you all right?” Marc took a step toward her.
“Fucking mates?!” Hellion shouted.
“Shh, love, it’s all right,” Jarred purred.
Zahir rubbed his temples and sat down. Sinister threw a worried glance at him but didn’t move. In fact, he looked ready to portal on a moment’s notice.
“Everyone fucking calm down,” Irishen roared. Then he glanced at Grant. “Thank you. She’s trying, but—”
“What the hell?” Hellion took one step toward Irishen, and lightning shot out of Wayla. It landed at Hellion’s feet, but the message was pretty clear. The room fell silent.
“Okay, mate,” Irishen said quietly, his tone even and calm. “Rein it in a bit. Breathe. Yeah, just like that. Hellion didn’t—”
Another bolt of lightning flashed toward Hellion’s toes.
“Love, I’m fine,” Jarred said, more like purred, and moved his hands to circle her throat. “Focus on me. See.”
Everyone stood frozen in place, but Marc’s mind was whirring. The bite mark… Could it be? Very slowly, he turned his head to Hellion, careful not to spook Wayla.
“Did you by any chance come off as threatening toward her Claimed?”
Hellion groaned. “I didn’t mean to—and he’s—” His tone started to rise and Wayla snarled. Hellion, for once, fell silent.
“Someone, catch me up,” Grant grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, looking ten years older.
“Jarred and Wayla bonded.” Irishen was the one to answer him. “They claimed each other and Wayla is highly protective of him, so I would suggest keeping all horseplay to zero until things settle a bit.”
“No sparring or slapping shoulders. Got it,” Grant said.
Some of the crackle absorbed back into Wayla’s skin and she sighed. Irishen leaned in to kiss her brow.
“And what about the mate part?” Zahir asked, eyes closed. He must have felt all eyes on him because he just shrugged. “Had to ask. Hellion is vibrating out of his skin.”
“You need to feed,” Sinister muttered to Zahir.
“No, I—”
“How can you expect Ro to believe it’s all right if you—”
Before the two of them could spiral down the same argument yet again, Marc lifted his hand, like he was back in school, and cleared his throat.
“Yes?” Irishen said.
“Just to have all my facts straight… Jarred claimed Wayla, and she accepted?”
“Yes,” Jarred purred.
“And she claimed you back?”
“Yes.”
“Bonded and all that?”
“Where are you going with this, Marc?” Grant wanted to know.
“Yes,” Jarred replied smugly.
“Okay. And then Irishen. Mates? You two are fucking mates? Bonded mates?”
Now it was Irishen’s turn to bite back a smug smile when he met Marc’s eyes. “Yes.”
“Fuck this!” Hellion stomped out the door. If Marc hadn’t been hyper aware of Wayla’s every expression, he would have missed that fraction of a second of hurt that shone in her eyes before she closed everything down.
Mates. They were fucking mates. Marc wanted to curse and groan and smack himself. They had gone ballistic on her for… talking to her fucking mate.
“Wayla.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’ll do better.” He meant every word.
Her eyes widened and she swallowed before hesitantly replying, “Okay.” She relaxed a bit and leaned against Jarred. He kept massaging her throat and whispered something too softly for Marc to hear.
“Now that that’s sorted out…” Grant sighed. “What’s the deal with Elena?”
Wave groaned and proceeded to give them a recap. No one in the room looked happy by the time she finished.
“You should move in here,” Marc blurted out.
“No,” Wayla shot back immediately.
Irishen gave her a smile and tapped the tip of her nose. “You promised to think about it.”
“Would you move?” She looked certain about the answer, but Irishen kept his smile easy when he replied.
“Yeah.”
“Hmph. Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Good mate.” Irishen leaned down and kissed her hard.
Wayla strained against Jarred’s hold on her throat, but the whimpers that fell from her told Marc she was loving every second.
Marc didn’t need to be a genius to know they were throwing off enough sexual energy to fill up a stadium. Sinister confirmed his observation.
“For fuck’s sake, Zahir. Feed. Wayla doesn’t mind.”
“Zahir hasn’t healed like he should have because he refuses to feed properly,” Jarred told Wayla before she could break the kiss.
Irishen moved his hand on Wayla’s breast and tweaked her nipple, making her moan into his mouth. The kiss hadn’t started as a way to show off, but it really was going that way. Both Irishen and Jarred moved Wayla between them easily.
“Willing to give Zahir a snack, Claimed?”
“Yes,” she hissed when she finally tore her mouth away from Irishen and arched, pushing his head down toward her tight nipples.
“Keep your fucking clothes on,” Zahir groaned. When Marc glanced at him, he was lying flat on the floor, a flush creeping up on his cheeks.
“Yeah, that’s my cue to exit,” Grant said. “Sinister, make sure he feeds.”
Sinister grunted. Slowly, Zahir started getting a healthier glow, and Marc sighed softly. They had all been worried about the incubus, so he really didn’t care how he was feeding, as long as he got better.
Wayla moaned, and Marc’s eyes settled back on her. Irishen had her nipple in his mouth and Jarred was kissing her claiming mark. They were teasing her, building up the tension, and Marc wanted to be there, sucking her other nipple into his mouth.
“Can you come like this, mate?” Irishen murmured softly.
Wayla thrashed her head and whined. “Risha.”
“Yeah, mate. I’m here.”
They kept going until Sinister said, “That’s enough.” He grabbed Zahir’s hand and hauled him up. “Thanks.” Then they were out the door, leaving Marc and the bonded group behind.
The air around them changed when the door clicked shut. Jarred’s eyes opened and focused on Marc. He kept his lips on Wayla’s throat, but now he was goading him.
“Marc is looking, love. Should we give him a show?”
Yes, fucking, please.
Irishen chuckled. “Would you like that, mate? Have him watching when you come on my fingers?” He palmed her pussy over her pants and Wayla gasped.
“Please.”
“What was that, mate? Please make you come where he can see you?”
“Pet, make him—” Wayla’s demand got cut short when Irishen slipped his hand inside her pants. Jarred grasped her throat tightly and forced her to stay still. “Bad pet,” she choked, but Marc could hear how wet she was when Irishen pumped his fingers into her pussy.
“Shh, love. I’ll make it up to you later. Now come on your mate’s fingers.”
With a little shriek that Jarred’s chokehold cut off, she did. Immediately, both males pressed in closer and started murmuring soft words and praises at her. Slowly, Wayla’s eyes opened and her gaze focused on Marc.
“Fucking hot, sparkle,” he murmured too, needing to reassure her.
He wasn’t mad. Not at her. He was hard as fuck, would probably need an hour-long cold shower and definitely would cuss himself out for messing things up, but Wayla…
she was just perfect, eyes drooping, cheeks flushed, and body relaxed as she leaned on her mate and Claimed.
I’ll make it up to you, he vowed silently before slipping out of the room.