Pollock slices a long line across his palm. He picks up my hand next, and I hiss as he does the same to me. Then he places my hand in Orán’s and joins them together, our bloody palms connected.
“I, Lorán Andres Valor McTierney, vow to you, love, that I?—”
“Her name,” Pollock says decisively.
“Eridessa…” Orán pauses and stares down at me. “What’s your given name?”
A turbulent storm races inside my chest at his question as to what they are doing and saying.
I inhale and gather my courage and snatch up some of my backbone that has slipped. “Eridessa Wrathborn.”
That damn crooked smirk appears on Orán’s handsome face. “I, Lorán Andres Valor McTierney, vow to you, Eridessa Wrathborn...”
The way his voice, smooth and deep, silkened by his accent, slips around my name does something to me, and my tattoo yet again awakens.
“…that I will not cause you strife, commit any act to make you question my faith and fealty to you, or persuade your thoughts to my purpose here on this plane. Your thoughts and decisions are your own. I will be your shield, your companion, your teacher in this life”—he says that part with slight emphasis and a smirk—“and I will stand by your side in whatever future we face together.”
“Are…” My words tumble over themselves. “Are these vows…vows of protection…because it sounds like more than that?”
Orán doesn’t answer. He simply stares down at me, and the intensity of his feelings for me is both seen and felt.
Pollock slowly removes my hand from Orán’s, and my gaze draws up to his. My hand is mostly healed, but he recuts it quickly. I try to yank it from his grip, but he holds it steady. He then takes his time making a deep slice across his own hand, deeper than he cut into Orán’s, and instead of placing my hand inside his, he interlaces our fingers together, then holds our hands up. He steps closer, erasing the space between us, our joined hands resting against his chest and mine.
“I, Pollock Leon Valiant McTierney, vow to you, Eridessa Wrathborn.” His cultured accent is laced with promise, lust, and desire as he stares me down. He looks at his brother, and Orán shakes his head and chuckles. He repeats his vow, and Pollock recites the words after him.
“I vow, I will not cause you strife, commit any act to make you question my faith and fealty to you, or persuade your thoughts to my purpose here on this plane. Your thoughts and decisions are your own. I will be your teacher, as well as your lover, your sword and shield. From this day forward, your protector and your companion in this life, and stand by your side in whatever future we face together.”
The changes to the vow ring with finality as his fingers squeeze mine until both of our hands lose color and turn white with blood loss. “I vow to you as my mate that I will put the value of your life above my own and honor you above all else.”
“Is this really necessary?”
The instant answer comes from them both. It’s not an echo, almost as if together they carry one voice. “Yes.”
My lips part as I try to dispute this further, and Pollock takes full advantage. He cups his hand behind my neck and ignites the sensation of pleasure that proceeds to roll through me. While I gasp at the contact, his mouth takes mine.
There’s a parting of lips, a claiming in it, and a vow in and of itself. At the same time, he tunnels into my mind and shares all the emotions he’s feeling.
Desire, yes, but also devotion, loyalty, and worship in a way that resonates with clarity. Because to him, I am something he venerably cherishes and safeguards in a way that rivals his duty to that of our maker.
I fall to the claim. Not because the beast, the creature who has taken up residence in my mind, loses her mind at the nearness and claiming, but because he begins to pet that damn mark, and grabs my thigh and lifts me out of Orán’s arms and brings my body fully to his as he continues to dominate the kiss.
Warmth sparks to life, turning into a heat that is both unnatural yet somehow welcome, though I still struggle to understand what exactly it all means.
Kisses, not his, begin to pepper my skin—over my shoulder and slowly up the column of my neck, deep and meaningful, not mere pecks. Another set of hands lands on my hips, and fingers knead at my flesh.
A whimper reaches my ears—mine—and then a moan as one of Pollock's hands draws down the line of my spine.
Orán lifts my hair up and over my shoulder. His lips find the tattoo, and it’s a shock wave straight to my core. Every part of my body lights up.
I begin to move of my own accord as the ridge and outline of Pollock's cock finds my bare sex. When I moan at the contact, Pollock clutches me tighter to him.
Then we’re moving, and Orán's touch momentarily disappears.
Pollock delivers a massive assault on my senses, enough to distract me, until he lays me out on top of my mattress. I shift up and lock eyes with him.
Oh God. Am I really doing this?
Yes, love. We are. You have nothing to fear. We will both take care of you in a way you’ve only ever dreamed about before. Let us make that a reality.
