25
EZLA
I wake to a humungous teddy bear wrapped around me and two bright cerulean-blue eyes glued to my face.
Internally, I jolt. Externally, I clear my throat to remove as much morning raspiness as possible before saying, “Good morning, Tiger.”
“Ezzy!” he cheers in a voice far too loud for this time of day, and yet I cannot find it in me to scold him for it.
Instead, I say calmly, “Would you like to explain how I have ended up in this position?”
After a humiliatingly long debate with myself last night, I decided to climb into bed at his back—no, I did not ask for help getting him into said bed, nor did I ask for help lugging him about in the shower as I attempted to wash him without being flattened.
I am a fully independent woman, and I do not need anyone’s help.
In any case, I managed to do everything myself as expected in a perfectly acceptable amount of time for the task, and proceeded to fall asleep with my front plastered to his back and my arms wrapped around him.
Do not ask me what I was thinking; I do not know myself.
All I know is that it felt nice, and that is what I am searching for to guide me while I figure out what to do with these men other than the obvious of keeping them and securing them to me tightly with no way to break the bindings, which I must say I have done an excellent job of.
It may even be my greatest achievement to date.
“Hugging you, my pookie!” Tiger answers me brightly, grinning madly. I do like his smile very much.
I am not so sure about these ever-progressing nicknames.
“Please do not call me that,” I say without emotion.
“Okay, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the . . . Gold to my Tiger!” The last part is no quieter than a shriek. “Oh my gawd! That one was so good, wasn’t it?!”
“Hm.”
“Ohhhh . . . you’re feeling cold this morning, Deadly Nightshade.” It is very obvious that this excites him.
“I am always cold,” I tell him.
“Even with my furnace of a body keeping you all snuggly warm?”
My lips purse, and I move on, not deigning to respond to that. “How are you . . . feeling?”
“Awww, your care is so adorab—”
I whack the back of his head.
“OW!”
He’s only rubbing at that head and pouting boyishly for a moment before he replies more safely this time with a drugged-looking lopsided smile, “Oh, Ezzy. I’m feeling on top of the moon.
You see, I was deflowered last night by the love of my life”—one of those involuntary swirls of amusement slips from me, and he notably feels it through the bond as his eyes seem to become a handful of shades lighter than they already were as his bubble of happiness expands to bursting—“and now I’m all like . . . wow. Reborn.”
“I can feel all this through our connection, but I do so enjoy hearing it from your lips. Never stop talking.”
“Really?! I’ve had a few lumps of people over time who have told me I yap too much—”
“Who?” My voice is a seething lash of ice as I bolt upright.
Tiger blinks in a daze. Then he bats his thick blond lashes. “Oh, that was hooooot.”
My eyes narrow to thin slits. “I am not messing around, Tiger. I will pluck these names from your mind if I must. I will find them no matter how much you try to bury them so I cannot see—”
Shooting up, his mouth slams onto mine.
Stone still, I sit here like an idiot until he pulls away.
His expression is slightly laxer now, softer, and he says, “I really love how protective you are of me, but I really don’t care about those people anymore. I’ve got used to it, and comments hardly affect me anymore. All I care about is you and my brothers.”
I blink at him, registering what he is saying, taking his emotions from the bond, analysing and storing them all, understanding him. Then I say, “I will still be slaughtering them.”
His mouth pops open.
Before he can say anything else, I store my already-formed plans for the many future killing sprees I will go on for my wild one with the ones I will go on for the rest of my Bonds in the name of revenge, and I instruct, “Let’s go and have breakfast. I sense that my beast is not faring too well in my absence. ”
***
When I round the corner in my Avri suit with Tiger bouncing along on my heels, I am met with Tate’s sullen expression and folded arms as he grouches at the dining table.
Until he looks up long enough to process the new arrivals, Scotty and Cooper pausing mid-sentence too, while Alby’s flush gradually expands to encompass the entirety of him, his fork with scrambled eggs on toast stuck to the end of it hovering in the air motionlessly.
Tate launches out of his chair.
Striding over, his storm-grey eyes burrow into me, and I have less than a quarter of a second to decide what to do before he sweeps me up into his arms.
The promise of annihilation rages up within me like a hurricane, and yet another part of me does not want him to let go.
It does not feel bad, it is more like it makes me feel .
. . undermined. How can I be strong, be respected, if I am not constantly asserting my dominance, enforcing my rules and displaying my power?
This process is wildly bothersome.
Deciding on an alternative to get both my wishes, I wrap my arms and legs around Tate and scrape my nails harshly down the buzzed portion of his scalp at the back of his head to make sure he feels them through my gloves. “Hmm . . . you missed me, my beast?” I purr.
He shudders, and I know he is harder than taalk in his underwear already. “Yes, my Havoc,” he groans, one hand securely on my waist, while the other comes to grasp my backside. “I had to fuck my hand so many times, and I only had my picture of you to keep me company.”
Ah, yes. I have seen that framed image on his bedside table both in his mind a few times over the weeks and in person when I briefly visited to add my fingerprint to his door last night. My ego is thoroughly stroked.
A cleared throat draws my attention over his shoulder to Scotty’s furiously blushing face, the colour almost reaching Alby’s level.
Cooper is only faring slightly better. “Good morning, Love. This is . . .” He rubs at the back of his neck, and, as always, I delight in seeing his composure nowhere to be found.
“This is different. Did you have a good day yesterday? Good night’s sleep? Is this, uh . . .”
“Will this be a regular thing?” Alby blurts, appearing as though he’s about to pass out when my attention all comes to settle on him. “U-uh— I mean, I-I’d really like this to become our—our normal. Waking up to you here.”
The tension in the room rises, and my eyes shift from my shy boy to roam over the rest of my men, taking in each of their faces, observing their body language and expressions carefully.
I glance at Tiger, who’s come to stand beside me and Tate, storing the information in my mind that I gather from his nervously hopeful features.
I follow the process with Cooper, studying his tensed face and body, his intense dark stare digging into me.
Then it is Scotty’s turn, who tries to hide his own trepidation behind a calm expression, but I can always read him like an open book.
Finally, my focus moves back to Tate. His jaw has stiffened, and he appears as if he is readying for rejection.
Lips pursing, I tell them, “I will not be returning to that penthouse.”
Relief drenches the room so thoroughly that it is almost tangible.
I am pissed in an instant, ire sizzling beneath my skin.
Digging my fingers into Tate’s shoulders where I move my hands, I hiss, “I have not closed the bond but for a brief few moments and to keep some innermost thoughts private which I am not yet ready to share. Have I not made my intentions clear enough?”
Blue eyes widening, Scotty shoots to his feet. Palms up, he slowly walks towards me as if I am a wild animal, and I certainly snarl like one in response.
“Careful, fucker,” Tate mutters as he turns us so we can both see everyone clearly, though his rough words don’t sound quite as threatening or mad as they previously have when saying such things to my other Bonds.
I know that is due to both his jealousy dying down quite a bit recently as he finally learns to adapt to the unexpected situation he has found himself in, and the fact that he had also been uncertain, braced for my response to Alby’s question.
Scotty’s lips tighten, but he only keeps his gaze steady on me as he lowers his voice to a soothing murmur. “Sorry, Love. We’re all just extremely on edge, okay? We’re well aware of how difficult this is for you, and you’re doing amazing.”
“I am always amazing.”
Cooper scoffs, burying his face in his hands, elbows on the glossy black table before him as he scrubs his palms over his face with a following groan.
My eyes narrow on him. I do hope he does not provoke me to fury. It would be a shame after such a good time together the other night for my urges to throttle him to increase again.
“Love.”
Scotty’s gentle voice brings my attention back to him, though it is split as Tate begins rubbing his paw of a hand up and down my back. I fight a pleasant shiver and throw him a quick side-eye of death that he only smirks at.
I hate him.
“We’re all extremely fucking happy and extremely fucking proud of you.
” My skin itches from Scotty’s praise. I do not know to what extent I despise it, or if I am simply uncomfortable because I am not used to praise that does not sound demeaning and conniving.
“And gods, Ezla, you really have no idea how much. I guess it almost feels too good to be true, that’s all. ”
Out of my depth, I flip my left hand on Tate’s shoulder so that the back of it is leaning against him as I pretend to inspect my gloves, showing my men how composed and unruffled I am. “Well, I will be staying here from now on. I am partial to our Bonded bedroom.”
“Fuck yes. I’ll stay in there with you, Havoc,” Tate rumbles in response to my unspoken demand.
Tiger smacks a wet kiss to my cheek that I have no time to even think about dodging. “Me too!”