39. Ava

A waveof nerves washes over me, my eyes finding Ethan. He looks so worn, sadness etched deep in his eyes—a sadness he can't hide from me. Biting my inner cheek, I strive to dispel my nervous energy, focusing instead on my mates.

Unwittingly, my fingers trace the contour of Brody's bite mark. Even now, his presence pulses within me, a soothing force nestled beneath my sternum, alleviating my anxieties. So much has occurred between all of us that it feels as though there is a chasm between us, and now, more than ever, I want to close the distance between us.

"Can I have a moment with Ava?" Ethan breaks the silence with a voice that's barely a whisper, shaky with emotion.

"Oh, come on!" Tyler throws up his hands, half annoyed, half teasing. "Fine, but I want to be the little spoon tonight." He swoops in for a quick kiss on the corner of my lips, then dashes away.

Brody's hand tightens on my shoulder before he rises, pausing to exchange a weighted look with Ethan. The silent conversation that passes between Ethan and Brody is heavy with unsaid things, leaving me aching to peel back the layers of their bond.

Soon.

The door closes gently behind Brody and Tyler, shutting me in with Ethan. Butterflies explode in my stomach.

Ethan approaches, hesitating momentarily. "Will you come with me?"

"Sure," I reply, standing, though uncertainty lingers. I mentally scold myself for my apprehension as I step around the coffee table.

His gratitude is palpable. "Thank you," he says as I draw near.

"Why?" My curiosity piques.

His dark eyes seek mine, laden with unspoken words. "You didn't have to bring us that paperwork. You could have taken it to any other clan, but you chose us. Thank you."

I wouldn't have taken the papers to anyone else.

"What my dad is doing… He needs to be stopped," I say, shaking my head, troubled by the thought. "And honestly, I feel as though that falls on my shoulders."

"It doesn't," he says, "but I understand. It's the same weight I feel on my shoulders. When my father is ready to step down, then I will step up. Knowing all wolf shifters in this town will look to me for guidance is overwhelming."

I smile at him, but it doesn't reach my eyes. It's one of those smiles full of shared responsibilities.

Ethan extends his hand to me, leaving the decision to follow him squarely in my court. Our fingers intertwine, his warmth immediately comforting me.

"Your parents seem kind," I murmur.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice carrying a hint of whimsy, a smirk playing on his lips. "They are something all right."

He leads me out of the room and toward the stairs. "There isn't much decoration in here," I observe.

He guides me away, remarking on the spartan décor of the first floor. "The clan house is designed to be welcoming. It's a sanctuary for those in need within the clan, with guest rooms and a medical wing on the ground level," he explains as we ascend to the second floor. "This floor, however, is private, reserved for my family and close associates."

"Did you grow up here?" The walls are adorned with photographs of beaming children and their doting parents, evoking a twinge of envy within me.

"Yes," he replies softly, guiding me down the hallway past Brody's door before pausing at the next one. "This is my room," he announces, his hesitation apparent before he finally opens the door.

"Whoa." The room beyond is unexpected—dark walls adorned with music and movie posters, a bed with a scribbled on wooden frame, clothes strewn about, and a computer that springs to life as we enter.

"You asked why they call me Huggie," he says, glancing at me as his hand rests on the closet door. With a swift movement, he swings it open. The closet is filled to the brim with stuffed animals. Some tumble to the ground as the doors swing open. It's larger than a standard closet, roughly six feet in length, and every shelf is crammed with plush toys.

I bite my lip, suppressing a smile. "So why exactly do you have a closet full of stuffed animals?" My curiosity gets the better of me, and I can't help but grin. "And how does it relate to your nickname?"

He sighs, pulling down a tote. "It began in my first year as a paramedic, long before the job began to take its toll on me." He picks up a stuffed fox, each animal seemingly crafted by the same hands. "Back then, I had a level of compassion I have a hard time summoning now," he confesses, as if confiding in the fox rather than me.

"You're still compassionate, Ethan," I retort, not willing to let him undermine himself.

"It was different at eighteen," he continues, turning the stuffed fox over in his hands. "You're hopeful, believing you can save everyone." His gaze meets mine, tinged with sorrow. "I've since learned that's not possible," he whispers.

I kneel beside the tote, picking up a frog that shares the same distinct stitching as the others.

"The other medics warned me I'd become desensitized over time, and I suppose they were right," he admits, setting the fox aside. "But I earned my nickname before that happened." A smirk plays on his lips. "In the early days, I didn't ride with Ty. We had to learn from the veterans."

"That makes sense." I hold up a wolf, feeling an inexplicable urge to keep it.

"I was just a few months post-training when we received a call near Mystic. It was a severe car accident," he recalls, leaning against the wall, stretching his legs out. "Those are the worst. The woman skidded on black ice and collided with a tree."

I scoot closer, the wolf still in my grasp.

"We feared the worst, and it was ugly. She was pinned but alive, barely hanging on." He pauses, his gaze dropping to mine. "We almost overlooked her daughter in the backseat."

"By the fates." I clench the stuffed wolf.

"She was in shock but otherwise unharmed. While the others worked on her mother, I got her out. She was only three," he says, a soft smile on his face. "Dressed in pink overalls and a rainbow shirt, her hair in pigtails… She clung to me like a koala."

I smile, hoping he had a stuffed koala for such a moment.

"I took her to the ambulance, sparing her the sight of her mother being cut free from the wreck. There, I had a little wolf like the one you're holding. It captivated her, and she clung to both it and me," he recounts.

"Was she human?" I ask.

"Completely," he confirms. "We saved her mother too. The nickname Huggie didn't stick immediately, but it was the beginning." He can't quite hide his smile. "My mom makes these."

"I knew it!" I exclaim, spotting a tag with a wolf emblem on it. "They all seemed to come from the same loving hands."

"I had her make more, just in case we encountered another child," he explains. "Our next call involved a six-year-old having an asthma attack. I brought along my stuffed animals and gave him a fish. At the time, it seemed fitting—struggling to breathe just like a fish out of water."

"It makes perfect sense," I agree.

"The kid understood too," he adds. "En route to the hospital, he clung to that fish and to me. Once again, my supervisor dubbed me Huggie. Initially, I despised the nickname. I was poised to become the Alpha of Clan Hughes, expected to embody toughness, yet they saw through my bullshit."

"Compassion isn't a weakness," I murmur softly.

He dismisses it with a shrug. "When we helped the third child, a one-year-old burned by a space heater, I gave her a phoenix." His smirk betrays a sense of pride in his symbolic choice. "She, too, latched onto me. That's when the others joked that I was the real stuffed animal, with the toys merely being parting gifts."

Suddenly, it clicks. "Huggie," I echo, hugging the stuffed wolf close. "You provided them comfort and peace when they needed it most. To them, you are the stuffed animal."

"I still do," he acknowledges. "Most of these will be distributed this year, some even sent to other spiritkin hospitals. My mom continues to craft them, now incorporating all spiritkin forms."

I admire the wolf, its black eyes and soft fur. "This is incredible."

"When there's an excess, I visit the children's hospital a few hours away to spend time with them," he says so softly, I almost miss it.

"Stop," I protest, clutching the wolf tighter.

He looks at me, puzzled. "What?"

"How can you be the same man who packed up my entire apartment without my consent?" I gesture toward the stuffed animals. "How?"

"Sometimes" —his voice softens— "we let the worst in us take control, overshadowing our better qualities. Those actions don't define all of who I am." He takes a breath. "I could offer a myriad of excuses, but they'd just be that—excuses."

I crawl over to him and straddle his lap. "You're kind and compassionate, Ethan Hughes. Like a fearsome, yet soft stuffed animal." I caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips. "It's okay to reveal your true self," I whisper, leaning in for a kiss.

Ethan stiffens, surprised by my boldness. His eyes widen, but he doesn't resist. He gently cups my cheek and places his other hand on my hip, pulling me closer as our kiss deepens. His taste, a blend of mint and coffee, is intoxicating. As we continue, his hold on me tightens, a silent plea for me not to disappear.

When we part, breathless and flushed, his gaze is filled with astonishment and something more profound. "I…I didn't expect…" He stumbles over his words.

"You didn't expect me to kiss you?" I tease, smoothing his tousled hair. "You've hidden yourself away for so long, it's no wonder you doubted anyone could see the real you."

He blinks slowly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I know you may not forgive me, but will you let me show you who I truly am?"

"Yes," I whisper, already convinced of Ethan Hughes' true nature—the gentlest alpha I've ever encountered. Perhaps selfishly, I wish to keep that side just for me. "And you're right," I add, kissing the corner of his mouth, "I do expect a bit more groveling."

"Let me begin now," he murmurs, capturing my lips once more.

Our kiss deepens, fueled by a passion and urgency that's impossible to ignore. Ethan's hands explore my back, pulling me closer into his embrace as our tongues dance. His fingers find their way into my hair, gently tugging at the ends, as if to confirm the reality of this connection. My hands weave through his hair, the soft strands sending tingles down my spine and igniting a fire within me.

Surrounded by the tangible evidence of Ethan's tenderness, it's clear we're both on the cusp of something new—a relationship built on a foundation of honesty and mutual respect. When we finally break for air, our panting breaths and shared smiles speak volumes.

Kissing Ethan is like standing on top of a mountain and looking at the valley below. I know I can't fly, and yet I want to swan dive off that mountain just to feel the earth-shattering bliss he can give me.

"I think," Ethan says between breaths, "we should explore this… this side of us more often."

"Agreed," I reply, our lips meeting once again. I can't get enough of his touch, of his lips, of him.

I lose myself in Ethan Hughes, every touch sparking a wildfire of desire that races through my veins. The world fades away in his embrace, leaving only the heat of his skin against mine, the strength of his arms, and the tender yet urgent pressure of his lips. It's a dance of give and take, a sensual rhythm that pulls me deeper into the moment, into him. I drown in a sea of passion that whispers promises of endless nights and shared secrets in the dark.

I'm struck by the realization that this is the Ethan I've always sensed beneath the surface—the one who goes to great lengths to comfort others, even at the expense of his own image. His ability to show such gentleness, despite expectations of toughness, reveals his true strength. I can't help feeling a twinge of guilt, recognizing that I, too, have played a role in reinforcing the stereotype he feels pressured to uphold.

Pulling away slightly, I catch my breath and seize the moment for honesty. "Ethan, I'm sorry too," I tell him, caressing his cheek. "I've also been guilty of expecting you to always be the rock. I put you in a little box that you didn't deserve to be in."

He nods in understanding, his hands moving to my hips with a newfound intensity. His gaze, dark with desire, mirrors my own escalating passion. "I should be that alpha, but around you, I just want to be yours, and I went too far."

"Ethan," I whisper, tracing my fingers over the contours of his muscular chest. The thin material of his shirt does little to mask the heat emanating from him, fueling my desire. His eyes, heavy with longing, watch me intently, amplifying my arousal with every glance.

"Show me, Ethan. Show me what it looks like to belong to you without expectations," I urge in a husky tone. He responds with a mischievous grin, the lustful alpha beneath me now fully unveiled. With swift movements, he removes my shirt, discarding it without a second thought. His gaze lingers on my exposed skin, savoring every inch.

"Fuck," he murmurs, admiration in his tone as his hands roam over me, his touch igniting my senses. My lace bra barely contains my response to his caresses, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. "You're perfect."

He kisses a trail along my neck, each touch stoking the flame higher within me. When he grazes the mark Brody left, my whole body jerks as though electricity races out from that one touch.

"Do you want this?" Ethan's voice is rough, his hand teasing the edge of my jeans. "With me?"

"Yes," I gasp out, desperate for more, pressing myself closer to him. "I want your bite."

His fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding the evidence of my arousal. The boldness of his actions sets off a rhythm of desire that leaves me writhing in his lap, on the brink of surrender.

A potent need swells within me—an urgent response to Ethan's touch. "So fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his voice sparking a thrill that courses through me.

My fingers, driven by a blend of anticipation and instinct, fumble with the buttons on his shirt, each one revealing more of his sculpted chest. The task of undoing his belt follows, and soon, he's free from the confines of his trousers, the sight of him escalating my anticipation.

"Touch me," he implores, guiding my hand to him. The feel of him, pulsing and velvety, induces a moan I struggle to suppress.

Encouraged by the strangled noises escaping him, I wrap my fingers tighter around him before sliding them down again. His hips buck into my touch, sending waves of erotic pleasure coursing through us.

Whimpers slip free of my lips.

Ethan lifts me up and gently lays me down on the plush carpet beneath us. His eyes drink in the sight before him as he slides my jeans off slowly. He hovers above me for a moment, his nostrils flaring at the scent of our shared arousal, before diving down between my legs.

Those dark eyes of his look up at me from between my legs, the sight erotic as he breathes over my core. His tongue sweeps over his lips, and then, with a smirk, he dives between my legs.

Warmth and wetness coils from his talented tongue, evoking euphoric reactions from deep within me. Every flick sends tremors rippling throughout my entire body until I'm consumed by a pleasure so intense, it leaves me gasping for breath.

His skilled tongue dances over my folds, plunging deeply within one moment and teasingly retreating the next, seeming intent on driving me mad one lick at a time. His strong hands hold my legs open until I leave them where he wants them, and then one finger slips inside my core.

I grip his hair, unsure whether I want to push him away or pull him closer, but as an additional finger joins the first, my back arches high and a primal moan echoes off the walls.

He unravels me so quickly.

He doesn't waste time disarming me, every sweep of his tongue bringing me closer to the edge, and then he backs off just to drive me higher all over again. With one final swirl, he tips me over into an orgasmic abyss that leaves me breathless and pleading for more.

Words tumble from my lips, begging for all of him.

With one swift movement, he completely divests himself of his remaining clothes while I lie beneath him.

I try to regain my breath as I watch him move over me, his body sculpted by the gods.

With a low growl, he positions himself between my legs, his heated eyes locked onto mine. I can't help but tremble with anticipation as he runs his fingers through my slit, tracing circles around my entrance before finally pressing the head of his throbbing length against it.

"Are you ready for me?" he asks, his voice rough and strained.

"Yes," I whisper hoarsely, my body already aching for his possession.

He thrusts forward in one swift motion, filling me completely and claiming me as his own. I gasp at the sensation, feeling him stretching me in the most exquisite way as he begins a slow, steady rhythm that has me panting his name over and over again.

"Ethan…" I moan, arching my hips into his thrusts.

"Oh fuck," he groans, picking up the pace as our bodies move together in perfect harmony. His hands roam freely over my body, cupping my breasts and teasing my nipples until they stand erect, aching for his touch.

"Fuck," I cry out, digging my fingers into his shoulders as waves of pleasure wash over me. "Don't stop," I whisper before turning and giving him my neck on the opposite side of Brody's bite.

"Never," he rumbles, his breath growing ragged. He begins thrusting harder and faster, driving deeper with each stroke, until I feel like I am on the brink of oblivion.

"I'm close," I warn him, my voice shaking with anticipation.

"Me too," he rasps out, his whole body tense with the effort to hold back as he continues to pound into me. His breath ghosts over my flesh, his tongue lapping at the sweat dripping along my neck, and then his canines sink into me.

Just like with Brody, my body explodes with the bite.

With one final, powerful thrust, we both plunge over the edge together, our cries of release echoing through the room as our bodies shudder in pure ecstasy.

"You're mine, Ava Martinez, from now until the end of time," he whispers, the words a balm to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me.

"And you are mine," I reply, knowing this is just the beginning.

In a gesture that speaks of the depth of his feelings, he carries me to the bed. As he lays me down, his lips capture mine all over again. His tongue tastes me just as much as mine tastes him.

"Again," I murmur against his lips.

"I may have to call the others in." He laughs. "We can keep this up all night."

"Promises, promises." I hook my legs over his hips and urge him closer.

"We have all night," he replies.

At least we would, if a bullhorn didn't echo across the village at that exact moment.