Page 149 of Savage Surrender

I catch his battered face and kiss whatever parts of him I can reach without hurting him - his swollen cheek, his brow, the corner of his mouth. He takes every one with his hand locked in my hair, breathing me in between broken curses.

His nose drags down my throat, over the marks beneath my shirt, and he lifts the blanket and lets out a snarl. “What the fuck, Freddie? You knotted her bare?”

Freddie’s body firms behind mine, his hand spreading low over my stomach. “Dude, relax. Clara found contraception. I’m not a complete moron.”

“Owen, look at me.” I twist my fingers into the wet front of his shirt and pull until he does. “What happened?”

He grinds his teeth while the scent of his anger keeps flooding the room, but his hand comes back to my face, almost painfully careful against my damp skin. “Are you sure about the no condom thing?”

“It’s supposed to work right away.”

Weller reaches the doorway with a limp. His leg isn’t taking his full weight. He has a hand braced on the frame. “Bianca.” He hobbles to the bed, dropping to his knees and pressing his face against my stomach.

I reach for him, pulling him closer as he breathes me in so hard his exhale shudders. The hand braced against the mattress is shaking, so I grab it. His fingers lock around mine, and the trembling eases.

Tristan appears next with a hand clamped over his ribs. Beneath the blood and grime is the sour trace of vomit. I have never wanted that combination of scents near me until now.

“Tris.” My throat closes around everything else, but I manage to say, “You’re all okay.” Tears track down my face, and for once, they’re from happiness.

I hold out my hand, and he crosses the room like it hurts. No sweetheart. No smart-ass comment. When he lowers himself beside Weller, I push his wet hair off his forehead, and his eyes close. He turns his face into my palm.

“Never stop touching me.”

Megan makes a raw, furious sound in the hall. “You freaking asshole. You’re not allowed to disappear like that! That’s not how we do things.”

Ezra’s warm rumble is too low for me to catch, and then she starts crying. I look past the men crowding my bed and find them in the doorway. He has both arms around her, and he’s favoring one leg. Blood has dried along his temple, but he’s standing. He nods at me, smiling.

Everyone is here.

I drag in one full breath. My body turns greedy before the cramps even start again. Owen looks feral, and Weller grips the mattress. Tristan presses his mouth to his mark through my shirt, his breath hot and uneven. The desire to be as close to all of them as humanly possible is strong.

“We need to wash this off before we get into bed with you,” Weller says, already trying to push himself upright.

“No.” I grab his soaked shirt. “Nobody leaves this room.”

“Darling, there’s blood⁠—”

“I don’t care. No one leaves.”

“We’ll keep watch,” Ezra says from the doorway. “Winston and Clara are in the hall. They’re giving you a minute.”

When Freddie’s knot begins to ease, every small loss of pressure makes my body panic and tighten around him. The rush of warm fluid and the sudden emptiness wrench a sound out of me.

Winston knocks once on the open door and comes in with Clara before Owen has a chance to take Freddie’s place. Owen drags the blanket up over me with one hand while they check what they can without separating us - pupils, breathing, and the worst of the bleeding.

The next cramp twists low and hard. I grab Owen’s shirt, and he moves toward me until Winston’s shoulder blocks him.

“This is super awkward,” I say. “Please hurry?”

“Nothing looks immediately life-threatening,” Winston says. “We’ll come back tomorrow and examine everyone properly.”

“Great. Out.”

Clara closes the medical bag. “If anything changes, call us. Tristan, if you vomit again, that means you.”

“Understood,” Tristan says.

I point at the door. “Thank you. Love you. Please leave.”