Chapter 10

TEN

Asha

I pinch the gauzy fabric of the dress’s skirt with both hands, holding it out to the sides, and think to myself, There are worse outfits to die in . After Thomas stopped by, another pair of Enforcers dropped off our outfits for tomorrow night’s ball. Tuxedos for the gentlemen, a blue gown for the lady. They dangle from hangers in the closet, pretty and pristine. That won’t last .

It’s almost funny that the Enforcers thought enough to make sure we were properly dressed. I guess they’re not willing to lend manpower to our mission, but pretty dresses are okay. I wish I could kick whoever was in charge.

Max steps out of the bathroom in a puff of steam that curls away from his sheened physique. He’s the last of us to shower, meaning it’s almost time to turn in. It’s our last night before the big event, and I can sense our nerves twisted up in knots. I don’t know how easily sleep will come tonight, but I know we need it.

At the foot of the bed, Trouble’s already found his way into dreamland. Lucky hound .

Orson works at the vanity, tapping away on his keyboard, trying to extract the most accurate count of enemy combatants occupying the compound as more come and others leave. I come up behind him, dangle my arms over his shoulders, then slouch forward to reach my hands down his delectable front. He’s shirtless, his skin still warm and wet from his shower. My fingertips outline each of his pronounced abdominal muscles.

“That feels nice,” he says.

“For the both of us.”

And it does. I never thought I was a woman who loved muscles until these men. Now? I just can’t get enough of them. And knowing they’re my mates makes it all the better.

My mates. Me. I have mates.

I consider doing more to Orson. My mind wanders over the possibility of letting my hand slip further down his stomach and into his pants, but the screen distracts me. All the purple outlines of Blood Mages, several dozen of them, make me start to feel anxious. Fear creeps in, crowding out my libido. There’s so many of them, and my men are going to face them just for me.

There’s some whisper in the back of my mind that says that when it comes to this mission, I only care about rescuing my people, who are likely still prisoners to the Blood Mages. But after seeing the death and destruction that the mages, and my people, are capable of, I also want to protect the world from that.

This mission is a way to make sure that the Blood Mages can never experiment on anyone ever again. They’ll never come into someone’s happy home and torch it. This mission should be the last thing I have to do to be free from an enemy that I fear, and to save the last of my people. It’s a lot, but I think some part of me always thought a day like this would come.

It just bothers me that my men have to be part of it, and that I know they need to be part of it. As much as I wish I could do this alone, I don’t think I can. Even though I’ll be endangering their lives.

I withdraw my arms from Orson and retreat to the king-size bed. Propped up against its headboard, I start to worry about Simon, about facing off against two enemies at once, about the myriad ways this operation could go sideways. Panic stalks the perimeter of my consciousness, circling, ready to seize control.

I’m going to kill my brother. I have to protect my men. Anything could happen.

There’ll be blood. Death. Destruction.

My pulse picks up. The room fades away. Dark pictures uncurl in my mind of the horrors I endured while being tortured, and then more images come of what the Blood Mages could do to my men. Flashes appear in my mind of Orson, Braxton, and Max suffering, dying. Their faces masks of pain. Life fading from their eyes.

Braxton comes quickly to my side, calming hands pressed into my back, but it’s like he’s far away. “Where are you?” he says, his words cutting through my panic. “You’re safe in this bedroom with your mates.”

Safe in this bedroom. Right. I’m here. Not there. I can do this. I can handle this.

But the images are still there. My heartbeat fills my ears, and I’m trying, but it’s like being under water when you don’t know which way is up and which way is down.

Max and Orson join us and shortly I’m cocooned by warm shifters, sitting all around me on the bed. As it so happens, it’s a successful method of warding off panic attacks. Even if I feel dumb that I need their help, dumb that I can’t handle this thing on my own.

“Think about what happens next,” says Max gently, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “After tomorrow night.”

I try to focus on the future, a life after the violence, but the impending showdown raises an insurmountable wall. “Tell me,” I say. “I can’t see it. Show it to me.”

“Well,” says Max, thoughtfully, “I think it starts with a home.”

A home. I’ve longed for a home every day since I lost mine. What would one even feel like?

Braxton and Orson nod in agreement. “Yep, good place to start,” Braxton agrees, rubbing my back lightly.

“A nice one, but you know, nothing pretentious,” Max continues, his voice a comforting lull. “Or overbearing. A place where we can all relax, not a place in constant need of attention.”

I smile, even though my smile feels weak and shaky. “Good call. I tap out after thirty minutes of dusting.”

“No more than an acre for us to mow,” says Braxton. “I can see myself mowing a lawn with a beer in one hand, jamming to some music, but I’m not exactly in the mood to become a farmer.”

“Exactly. A manageable, cozy, pleasant home,” says Max. “Can you see it?”

I nod, and I am. “It’s starting to take shape.”

“One with good internet access,” Orson adds, looking truly thoughtful. “And nooks full of books, and maybe a few places my wolf can lay in the sunshine, without being disturbed.”

I picture that, and more images come to my mind. Of Orson tapping away on his computer while I dance in the kitchen. Of wolves lying in puddles of sunlight around the house, and big chairs sitting by shelves of books, just beckoning to be read.

Max’s gentle voice comes again. “Good. What else do you see there, Asha? Help me out.”

It’s easier to do than I would have thought. In my mind’s eye, I broaden the scope of the fantasy to include the surrounding neighborhood. “We’re living alongside all the surviving Blood Pack members. We’re all together again, like we used to be. It’s a community. A family. Maybe a little broken, but we’re being put back together piece by piece.”

“That sounds nice,” says Orson, a comment that would sound sarcastic coming from anyone else. “I was also hoping we might cultivate a garden. Perhaps a few crops of tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins in the fall. I’ve always wanted to harvest fresh produce.” The brothers look at him curiously. “When you spend years eating prison gruel, these are the sort of dreams you harbor. Besides, I’ve always been good with plants.”

“Fair enough,” says Braxton. He pauses, then continues, “I like the idea of a garden too, but I definitely want to be able to take those damn pumpkins to some competitions. I don’t want any tiny, delicate pumpkins.”

Orson grins. “Man-sized pumpkins. Got it.”

“I like it,” I say, smiling. “What else?”

“We live alongside a forest,” says Braxton. “Woods with hiking trails so we can take Trouble out on long walks. Places our wolves can run around with Trouble and not be seen.”

Trouble perks his ears in his sleep, not quite awake, but nearly roused by his name. “Yes,” I say, “someplace swaddled in forest. Like I remember growing up.”

“And a house with plenty of rooms,” says Braxton.

“Plenty of rooms?” I repeat, turning to look at him in confusion.

He looks back at me like the reason is obvious.

And of course it is, but it takes me a second to realize. Because my life’s been so chaotic up to this point that children have been as far from my mind as they could possibly get. But we’re looking into the future, beyond the dark wall of tomorrow, where anything is possible. Anything we could want we have there, in that fantasy future. Do I want children? The boys watch my face closely, and I feel awkward under so much scrutiny.

But deep down, I find my answer. I do. I want children . “How many children do you suppose we’ll have?” I ask. “At least three.”

“Three’s a good number,” says Braxton. “So is five.”

“Five?” I laugh. Five is a lot.

“I’ll build a tire swing in the front yard,” he promises.

“We’ll need a sturdy tree in the front yard, then,” says Max, and I can almost see him picturing it.

“A willow,” Orson posits. “I’ve always found them so majestic.”

“A willow it is,” says Max, like it’s just that easy.

As we descend into this rabbit hole, painting a portrait of our ideal future, I lie back against the mattress and the boys start teasing my body with roaming fingertips. Braxton traces the veins of my forearm while Max strokes the underside of my chin with the back of his index. Orson lifts my shirt to dance his nimble fingers along my midriff. They set off a chain reaction that begins with a tingling across the surface of my body, coalescing as a deep ache between my legs.

I begin stripping articles and depositing them over the edge of the mattress, granting more flesh to their collective touch. Each follows suit until we’re four nude bodies entangled on the bed, myself as the focal point around which they revolve.

Bliss mounts a counteroffensive to rout the fear. With every kiss and caress, it advances until the dread that overtook me flitters off like sheets of paper on the wind. We make love, Max, Orson, and Braxton occupying my body in various arrangements until we’ve sated our hunger. Then my eyes close to provide the screen onto which dreams may project.

Tomorrow might be hard, but at least we had today.