Chapter 22

Jayce

A night at Twin’s with Anjal and Priscilla is just the break our relationship needs.

Two weeks straight of helping Shay with her exercises has me nearly falling to my knees and begging for permission to bury my face in her sweet-smelling pussy.

My bull is the one pushing me to hold off.

I could easily devour her juices until she screams my name without penetration, but he insists that her heart and fears need us to last another twelve weeks.

If I pressure her for release in alternative ways, it could convince her that sex and orgasms are more important to me than they are. She needs to remain my most valuable treasure.

Nothing will stop me from persuading her she’s my mate. No one else is going to steal me away.

I won rock-paper-scissors with Anjal. Since he lost, his back is to the door while he shares the booth with his mate.

His lack of visibility didn’t stop him from noticing the woman who walked in the door at the same time I saw her and scented her.

We both grab the girls by the hand and drag them toward the tall blonde. We’ve earned their trust in such a way that they stare at us as if we’re crazy, but they avoid questioning our actions.

Damian cuts us off. He falls to his knees in front of the woman and takes her by the hand. “Mate.”

“Idiot. Get up. I don’t have time for you. Where are they? Do you know where they are?” The woman’s pleas sound desperate.

Damian looks our way out of the corner of his eye.

She turns toward us, revealing a scar, which covers most of her left cheek. The girls gasp.

Shay and Cill’s mother can’t see any of us.

I nod at Damian. “Why don’t we have a seat while we wait for someone who can help you find them?”

“We must find them. Warn them. He knows.” She reeks of fear and panic.

“Trust me, mate. We will. I’m Damian. Might I know your name?”

“Stop with this mate stuff. My daughters’ lives are at stake. Bring them to me.”

Damian gets her to sit.

I shoot a 9-1-1 text to Willow with a pin to our location.

Hopefully, she can counter the protection spell, keeping her from seeing us. As Damian’s mate, hopefully we can trust her.

I look over at Shay. Tears stream from her eyes. This woman is a perfect blend of both Shay and Priscilla. I’d know she was the woman who gave birth to them without the similar smell of DNA running through all three of their veins.

Despite her insistence that there isn’t time for Damian’s mate’s claims, she rests her head on his shoulder while they wait for us.

Anjal and I both move in to wrap the girls in our arms, only they gravitate toward one another instead.

With the hand she holds out for me, the sting of rejection quickly evaporates.

Neither of us men nor our love can comprehend the mutual pain they share.

As much as it hurts me, I release Shay’s hand and step back, allowing her to weep with Priscilla. She doesn’t hesitate to pull Cill in closer as they bury their faces on each other’s shoulders.

Nikolaos walks over with two beers. Anjal places his arm around my back, and I reciprocate.

We both watch helplessly as the women who hold our hearts break down. Until they explain their onslaught of emotions, I can only assume they are feeling a combination of hurt and relief.

“What’s the matter with you two? Nik, napkins, something. Gosh, are y’all just going to gawk or do something useful?” Tara says from behind us.

Nikolaos rushes over with a roll of paper towels. “You’re not allowed in here,” he scolds Tara.

She takes the roll and tears off pieces, slipping them into Shay and Cill’s hands.

“Did you already forget I turned eighteen yesterday, Nik?”

He tries pulling her off to the side, but she refuses to budge.

Her presence has momentarily distracted our mates who’ve turned to watch how this plays out.

“This is a bar, Tare, twenty-one and up,” Nikolaos grits out through a clamped jaw.

Shay moves beside Tara with Priscilla, joining on the opposite side. They circle their arms around the new adult’s waist.

Shay speaks up before Tara can defend herself. “Eighteen-year-olds can enter bars. I know because I walked into them with my friends for three years in college before I could drink.”

“What she said?” Tara adds.

“Fine, Tare, but why would you want to come in here when you can’t drink?” Nikolaos looks like he might have an aneurism at any moment.

“I need a job.”

He steps back. “Doing what?”

“Anything. Wiping down tables. Washing dishes. Serving.”

A throat clears behind us. Nikolaos sighs with relief. I’m sure Tara will resume her plea in a bit, despite Nikolaos booking it behind the bar as fast as his feet will carry him.

“I know I didn’t get a 9-1-1 text because of a domestic squabble,” Willow jokes.