Chapter 48

Forty-Eight

ASHTON

“ S o this is where the devil sleeps?”

I stiffen automatically at the sound of her voice, not turning away from my desk. I know I should be at the barbecue with the others, but I have too much on my plate to…dally with other shifters.

In front of me is every newspaper article I could find detailing a death caused by a Hunter. There were seventeen in 2020, thirteen in 2021, fourteen in 2022, eighteen in 2023, and eighty-seven in 2024. When I first noticed the dramatic increase, I was afraid my jaw had come unhinged.

What the fuck could’ve caused the Hunters to escalate so dramatically?

All of the deaths took place in different states. Some of the victims I knew to be werewolves, but others, I suspected, were witches, warlocks, and vampires.

The only similarity is the Hunter’s mark carved onto the skin of the victims.

How can I think of barbecue and drinks and dancing when I’m on the precipice of a radical discovery?

“Is there something you want, Isabella?” I clench my jaw and reach for my pen once more. “And how did you even get into my room?”

She doesn’t answer me, and my curiosity piques. I have a ton of work to do—and an incessant pounding has taken up residence in my head—but my mate is here . In my bedroom.

Fuck.

Slowly, I swivel in my office chair to face her, and my tongue turns to cotton in my mouth.

Isabella Martin sits on the edge of my bed, wearing nothing but lacy lingerie plucked straight out of every wet dream I’ve ever had…but will never admit to.

The pink bralette pushes up her breasts in a way that shouldn’t be legal. Through the wisps of material, I can see her hardened pink nipples, taunting me. The frilly material ends just before her toned belly, and my gaze greedily devours all of that golden skin on display. Her matching pink panties barely cover the important bits and are attached to a garter that caresses her upper thighs the way I want my lips to.

Fuck me.

A strangled noise escapes me as she moves off the bed and sashays towards me.

“What are you doing, Isabella?” I demand, desperately trying to regain control of my senses.

I need to think with my head…and not the one that’s straining against the denim of my jeans.

Keeping her gaze fixed on me, she reaches for one of her bra straps and slides it down her shoulder.

“I made a bet with the twins that I can get you down to the party.” A sinful smirk pulls at the corners of her lips. “And I don’t like losing.”

She straddles me, her ass rubbing against my cock in a way that has me seeing stars.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Get control of yourself, Ashton!

I instinctively bring my hands to her hips—the skin warm and smooth beneath my fingertips.

“Isabella,” I choke out, and she grins, leaning forward to dust a kiss against the underside of my jaw.

“Yes?” she asks airily, the question followed with another kiss to my cheek.

“We shouldn’t be…”

She leans back and, grinning mischievously, reaches for the clasp of her bra. The straps slide down her arms before she slips them off and tosses the bralette away.

My mouth waters.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe, feeling myself unravel.

All of my meticulous control…

Gone, replaced by a heady warmth that trills through my veins.

Izzy smirks and straightens her spine, the movement pushing out her tits.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks in a singsong, taunting voice.

Tongue-tied, I simply gape at her.

“Don’t be shy, Ashton.”

With another playful smile, she grabs both of my hands and guides them to her breasts. Her nipples feel like tiny pebbles beneath my palms. I squeeze both of her tits at once, loving the way they feel in my hands.

“Are you a tits man or an ass man?” she asks with feigned innocence, brushing her blonde hair back so I have an unobstructed view of the perfection in front of me.

Then her question registers.

“Huh?” As I speak, I grab her nipples between my fingers and begin to pluck them.

I want to taste them. Lick them.

Lick all of her.

She giggles, and the noise travels straight to my already aching cock.

“I think I have my answer.” She pushes her breasts farther into my hands. “It’s funny. I always assumed you would be an ass type of guy, but apparently, I was wrong. Who would’ve thought?”

She leans in even closer, and I drop my hands back to her hips instinctively. Her sweet breath dances across my lips.

“I know about the rope in your closet,” she whispers breathily.

My brain stalls, and a tiny burst of panic flares to life. Alarm bells begin to ring simultaneously.

“What? How? I don’t?—”

“How many girls have you tied up and fucked before?” she continues in that low, seductive voice that seems to have a direct line straight to my cock. “There’s a word for that kink, isn’t there?” A frown mars her pretty face before she straightens her expression out. Sharp fingernails dig into my shoulders. “Tell me, Ashton. How many girls have you tied up and fucked?”

I consider lying but decide that I’ve lied to her enough. I won’t lie about this.

“Only one, but I didn’t go through with it,” I confess.

I don’t even remember what the girl’s name was—she was merely someone I met at a party. We kissed a little, then I tied her up the way I’ve wanted to since I first learned about bondage and BDSM.

I’m not an expert by any means, but I think I did a pretty good job, and she certainly seemed to like it if her moans were any indication. But before I could fuck her, something stopped me, almost like a premonition that I’d come to regret it. An innate knowledge that she wasn’t the one for me.

So I got her off with my fingers and sent her on her way. That was the last time I dabbled in it.

“Where did you learn how to tie people up? A torture class?” She tilts her head to the side, and her golden hair catches in the sunlight filtering through the window.

My fingers flex on her bare hips. “Porn,” I admit…then instantly wince, wishing I could shove my answer back into the confines of my mouth.

Why, oh why, did I confess that?

Izzy’s fingernails scrape across my shoulders and down my biceps, and a shudder reverberates through me. “Do you watch a lot of porn?”

And just like before, I can’t stop myself from answering. It’s almost as if she has some sort of spell on me. Is she a siren?

“Not since I met you,” I blurt.

The only material I’ve needed to get myself off are thoughts of her perfect body.

“I see.” She leans in even closer, and I know any second now her lips will touch mine.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, capturing her scent, bottling it up and locking it away.

“Ashton.”

“Ashton.”

“Ashton! Wake the fuck up!”

I wake with a gasp, a piece of paper sticking to my cheek as I jerk upright in my desk chair.

“Holy fuck.”

The familiar—and unwelcomed—voice causes my hands to clench.

Another similar voice says, “Holy fuck indeed.”

“Emery. Ethan. What are you two doing in my room?”

I angrily grab the piece of paper—a printed newspaper article detailing one of the murders—and throw it back on my desk.

I feel incredibly out of sorts and confused, my brain spinning in nonstop circles.

“Were you having a sex dream?” Emery asks, sounding downright jovial by the prospect.

Ethan snickers.

“Of course not.” I scoff as if the sheer idea is ridiculous, though I don’t turn around.

If I do, they’ll no doubt see my erection and believe it’s because of my idiotic dream and not a natural part of a man’s daily routine.

Keep telling yourself that.

When I close my eyes, I swear I can see Izzy’s beautiful face directly in front of me, her eyes hooded and her lips parted.

But no, she would never stare at me like that—like she cares about me, wants me, loves me. I effectively severed any warm feelings she may have had in regard to me.

It’s what I wanted, after all.

So why does my heart feel so heavy in my chest?

“You were moaning, brother,” Emery says in a singsong voice.

“I didn’t know you were capable of sex dreams,” Ethan adds.

“I didn’t know you were capable of even dreaming,” Emery says. “Do robots dream?”

“Apparently this one does.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Feeling as if I have myself under control, I swivel around in my chair until I can see the two goons who have encroached on my territory.

The twins stand in the doorway, so close their shoulders are nearly touching. The sight gives me pause, mainly because they haven’t been able to even be in the same room as one another in months, let alone stand near each other.

“Your father sent us upstairs to get you,” Emery explains when he notices my narrowed eyes. “The party’s starting.”

“And Desiree is waiting for us downstairs,” Ethan adds softly.

All of our lips curl downwards at the reminder.

“Do we really have to pretend that we’re in a relationship with Desiree the entire night?” Emery runs a hand through his spiked blond hair.

Ethan lowers his head in shame.

“Just get the girl a plate of food and call it good,” I say dismissively, already returning to my work.

“You’re not coming down?” Emery asks.

“I’m busy.”

“You really should consider it,” Ethan says softly. “They plan to release Minnie’s wolf tonight. You should be here for that. We all should.”

He’s no doubt thinking about our future—ruling on the Council and helping to shape decisions for all shifters. It’s what we’re being trained for, after all. No other pack compares to ours in dominance.

“Just… Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be down in a second.” I begin to drum my fingers against the top of the desk.

There’s a beat of silence behind me, and I imagine the twins are exchanging an eloquent look that makes words unnecessary.

Once again, that pinch in my chest returns.

When was the last time they did that?

Months?

I tried to get them to talk shortly after the accident, but all of my attempts were futile. There was too much hate, anger, and grief between the brothers. I feared they would never forgive each other.

What changed between then and now? Why are they suddenly acting like brothers?

Izzy.

It has to be her.

I curl my hands into fists and allow my nails to bite into my palms. The sting of pain grounds me, if only momentarily.

I need to stop thinking about her. Now. I made my decision, and I have to live with it. And consequently live without her. I pushed her away, made her hate us.

But what else was I to do? She was an unknown variable, and I couldn’t allow her to disrupt my pack. What if she was a spy? A murderer? A Hunter?

My father told me once never to regret my decisions, that I made them for a reason, and that reason won’t ever change. I’ve held true to that philosophy my entire life.

So why do I feel like a sack of shit?

Why does my heart feel heavy at just the thought of her?

Why do my eyes search her out whenever we’re in the same room, as if I just can’t help but be drawn to her?

Why do I dream about her?

And, worst of all, why is this tiny voice in the back of my head screaming at me that I fucked up?

Because if I’m wrong…

If Izzy is who she appears to be…

If she’s our mate and not a spy…

I may have destroyed our pack irreparably.