One
Elodie
Damp seeps into my shirt from the rain-soaked grass. The breeze licking my skin wavers between the night’s chill and biting wafts from the fire.
But the only thing I care about is my fated mate’s mouth sliding hot down the side of my neck, his hand stroking over my hip, his thick hair soft against my clutching fingers. The need to consummate our bond surges through my veins?—
The clearing of a throat shatters the moment. A curt voice cuts through the air.
“Someone had better start explaining what the hell is going on.”
I tense up, but Salvatore simply glowers at the three other men who’ve arrived. He keeps his massive frame braced over me as if he might dismiss them and go right back to making out with me.
The four spires on our bond marks gave away that I’d have three other matches, so he should be able to guess that’swho’s turned up. Then again, he’s already declared that he’s going to be the best of the four.
When it comes to the brazen mafia heir, it’s difficult to know how he might define “best.”
I can’t say I’m particularly interested in getting back to getting busy, though. The rush of the newly formed bond and our near-death experience overwhelmed me for a few minutes, but seeing Byron, Cole, and Asher in the hazy moonlight has shocked all the desire from my body.
I stare up at them as if seeing double, an after-image of the corresponding moment from my old life playing out behind my eyes.
“What are you— Fuck, what happened tohim?”
“Something crazy is going down here.”
“Is that— Asher!”
The first time I sparked with my matches, a few years and an alternate reality ago, it was Asher on the ground next to me—limp and vacant in a puddle of blood. That world’s Salvatore laughed and postured without coming close to me, obviously thrown by the unexpected matching.
Cole has no one to sprint to, not when his younger brother is standing right beside him rather than sprawled slack and bloody. He glares at us from beneath the shadow of his chestnut hair like our existence offends him.
Considering the way he’s treated me since I was dragged into this parallel universe, that might actually be true. Too bad, so sad.
For all of us. Because despite the animosity radiating off the professor, the tug in my chest wants to propel me into his arms.
I nudge Salvatore to ease off me—which he does with obvious reluctance—and push to my feet. My joints twinge with exhaustion from all the energy, both physical and magical, I’ve expended in the past couple of hours.
Asher’s bright green eyes widen. He steps toward me, his arm rising as if to steady me.
I motion him away with a jerk of my hand and a yank of my gaze away, against the thump of my pulse urging me toward him.
There was a time when I’d have celebrated this fate, but now… I can’t look at him. My memories of his death are too raw, too close to the surface.
Ikilledthat other version of him.
Salvatore tucks a possessive arm around my waist, his brawny form enveloping me. His affectionate gesture mollifies the blaring thrum of the awoken bond a little.
He answers Cole’s accusing question in a languid drawl. “‘What the hell is going on’ is we’ve sparked our match. And with fucking good timing, considering our mate almost died along the way. She saved my life.”
A note of awe colors his voice with his last words. He dips his head to press a kiss to my forehead.
While this Salvatore’s reaction is totally different from the original’s, Byron’s looks awfully familiar. His well-built frame has stiffened with surprise as his mouth sets at an uneasy angle.
He likes to be in control. This development will have ransacked his expectations like a manic poltergeist.
As my stomach flips over, he tugs off one glove and glances down at his right hand. At the four-pointed bond mark emblazoned dark pink on his rich brown skin.
His expression softens with far more understanding than the other him offered me.
