24. Wren
WREN
The now familiar black sedan idles at the curb as I step outside, with its engine purring and soft tendrils of exhaust curling in the crisp morning air. It’s one of those days when the sky is bright blue, but your breath fogs in front of your face with every exhale.
Ronan leans against the driver’s side door, bundled in his thick winter coat, arms crossed over his broad chest, and head tilted just slightly as he watches me approach.
Through the car window, I can see Silas sitting in the back passenger seat, a travel mug cupped between his hands, head leaning back against the headrest as he listens to Lucian chatting away from the front seat, where he has his chair reclined nearly all the way back.
A blush creeps up my chest at seeing the three of them. Especially after last night.
That dream…
I awoke sweaty and reaching for my vibrator in a bid to satiate the need between my legs, but it really only took the edge off.
“What’s put that bit of color in your cheeks?” Ronan asks, seemingly innocent, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes, like he already knows.
“You don’t have to do this every day,” I say instead, gesturing to the car behind him.
His mouth curves into something between a smirk and a grin. “We know.”
“I have my own car. I’m perfectly capable of making it to the arena by myself.”
“Has nothing to do with you being capable,” he retorts, pushing off the car. His sneakers crunch softly on the gravel as he approaches. “Believe me, we know how capable you are, Little Serpent.”
I narrow my eyes, arching a brow. As nice as it has been having them pick me up each morning, walking with me between classes, and sitting with me in the library, I don’t want their company if it isn’t for the right reasons.
“Are you doing this because of the other night?” There’s an edge to my words as I gesture toward the car. “You guys pity me now, is that it? Because if that’s what this is—”
I don’t get the chance to finish that sentence.
Ronan closes the space between us in three long strides, his height casting a shadow across mine. His hands land on my hips like they belong there, easing me in against him, and I tilt my chin up instinctively, my breath catching.
He’s big. Not just tall, but solid. Broad shoulders, muscled arms, the kind of build that makes you feel small and breakable just by proximity.
And he is just this side of intimidating.
His eyes scan my face, lingering long enough to make my heart kick up a notch.
“We’re not here out of pity,” he states, voice low, barely more than a rumble yet ripe with conviction. “We’re here because you matter. Because you’ve been fighting this thing on your own for too long, and whether you like it or not, that ends now.”
He lifts one hand, the movement slow and deliberate, as though giving me the opportunity to pull back before he curls two fingers beneath my chin.
“I told you that night,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to my lips and lingering there like he can’t quite bring himself to look away, “how badly I wanted to kiss you.”
His thumb brushes my jaw in a whisper of a caress, soft and reverent, like he’s savoring even that little bit of contact.
“That moment—that feeling?” His gaze holds mine, more emotion blazing in his mahogany depths than I’ve witnessed before.
“That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m standing on your damn sidewalk at six in the morning like some lovesick idiot.
Not because I feel sorry for you. But because I see you, Wren. All of you. And what stands before me?”
His voice drops lower. Steadier.
“Is a goddamn warrior.”
My breath catches. His fingers are warm against my skin, but it’s the honesty in his eyes that scorches.
“I haven’t been through a trauma like you have,” he says, “Or Lucian. I haven’t had to endure a life as hard as Silas’s. On paper, my life has been comfortable. Charmed, even. But you and I both know that doesn’t mean easy.”
He glances down for a second, a faint crease forming between his brows.
“Being born into a life that’s already mapped out for you…
it can feel like a cage with velvet walls.
You’re told who to be, how to act, and what your future should look like.
And if you dare want something else? If you even think about coloring outside the lines…
” He exhales, and it sounds like a burden he’s been carrying for too long.
“They make you feel like you’re the problem,” I finish, understanding exactly how that feels.
He meets my eyes again.
“I might not understand your pain the way they do, but I understand that fight. I know what it is to wrestle with the life you’ve been handed. To want more. To want different.”
I swallow, throat dry. “Except you won,” I gesture toward him.
“You’re on your way to the NHL. You’re doing what you love.
Meanwhile, my rebellion failed. I’m…stuck.
” I sigh. “I’ve allowed myself to be pulled back into the fold.
I’m trapped on a rollercoaster I never wanted to ride, and I don’t know how to get off.
” I laugh, humorlessly. “Even if I did know how, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
At eighteen, I just wanted to get away, but now I have no idea where I’ve been running to all these years.
” I sigh, defeatedly. “I’m so freaking lost.”
“Not knowing what you want? That doesn’t mean you’re lost. It’s not a sign of failure. That’s just the start of something new. It means you’re finally asking the right questions.”
His hand drops from my face, but I still feel the weight of it there. The lingering warmth.
“So ask yourself,” he urges. “Ask yourself what you want. What makes you feel alive? What makes you feel free? That’s your path.”
His words settle over me like a weighted blanket. I don’t have an answer. Truthfully, I’m not sure I’ve ever known what I’ve wanted. I was so focused on getting out from beneath my parents’ thumb, away from their limelight, that I never stopped to ask myself where I was going, what I wanted.
“Now tell me,” he says, voice dipping as he leans closer, his lips coming to my ear. “Were you dreaming about us? Is that what put that blush on your cheeks?”
He pulls back just enough to catch my eye, and without me having to say a single word, he knows. His pupils dilate, and his breath catches slightly as his gaze drops to my lips.
“Fuck, I wish I could have been in that dream with you.”
“Oh, you were.”
His lips part in surprise, and I’m about to lean in and cover them with mine, dying to know if he kisses anything like he did in that dream last night when Lucian honks the horn.
Both of us jump.
“Cockblock,” Ronan grumbles, making me laugh. With a hitch of his lips and roll of his eyes, he gestures toward the car. “Come on, Warrior Girl. You’re making us late.”
I climb into the backseat and settle beside Silas.
He gives me a soft, quiet smile before passing me the travel mug he’d been holding.
One sniff tells me it’s exactly how I like it.
Warmth curls low in my chest, subtle but steady as I mouth a grateful thank you.
It’s such a small thing, and yet it sinks deep, knowing that he thought of me.
That he went out of his way. That he cared.
Up front, Ronan slides into the driver’s seat while Lucian adjusts the passenger seat into its upright position.
Then he twists around, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair.
His eyes find me instantly, his gaze dragging over me, slow and deliberate.
However, there is more than mere concern in his stare.
There’s heat. Possession. A silent, ruthless kind of promise.
And when his gaze finally collides with mine…
it slams into me like a live wire. You’re mine, it says.
“Looking hot as hell today, Miss Winslow,” he practically purrs, and all of a sudden, I feel him moving inside me, his lips hot against mine, Silas at my back, and Ronan’s intense stare watching us.
My pulse pounds against my throat, and my breath comes out quick and uneven. His words draw the attention of Ronan and Silas, and with three sets of eyes on me, that ache I’d only managed to dull a little, ramps back up until I can feel my clit pulsing with need.
Need that I can’t currently satisfy.
Lucian finally turns back around as Ronan pulls away from the curb, casting me a knowing glance in the rearview mirror, but the burn left behind lingers.
Silas reaches across the seat between us once more, but this time it isn’t to pass me a coffee. His hand lands possessively on my thigh, his fingers stroking back and forth across the soft inner skin there.
My thighs clench, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine.
God, today is going to be a long, torturous day.
The library is quiet in the way only late evenings ever are. The overhead lights hum faintly, casting pale pools across long wooden tables that are mostly empty.
Silas and I sit shoulder-to-shoulder, our knees brushing beneath the table as we work individually through our assignments. His phone buzzes on the table, and he finishes what he was typing before checking it.
Whatever he sees there makes his mouth twitch. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close.
He turns the screen toward me.
Ronan
You two done yet? Dinner’s happening. Bring Wren.
I blink at the message, then turn to Silas. “You don’t need to feed me; I have food at my place.”
He lifts a brow, pulling the notebook he’s been using to communicate any time we chatted toward him. He quickly writes something, then slides it toward me.
I’ve seen the bland salads and green juices you bring for lunch. If you can convince me you have something substantial to eat in your fridge, then you can go home. If that’s what you want. But for the record, we want you at ours.
I huff. “That’s not—”