Page 65 of Savage Surrender

“Just one hour, Weller. Please.”

“We don’t have cameras up. We need supplies.” His anxiety is palpable, and while I agree with the sentiment, I need a break. From everything. We all do.

“No one has tried to fuck with us all day.” Tristan tips his face into the wind. “We should celebrate.”

Weller works the cork free. It arcs toward the water, lost in the foam. Champagne spills over his knuckles, and I suck some of it up with my mouth before he can wipe it away.

Champagne mixed with the taste of his skin... I want more.

He gives me the bottle and cold bubbles tickle my tongue and nose as I gulp too much. Freddie drinks next and starts choking, and Owen smacks him on the back with little sympathy. Tristan grabs the bottle from them like they’re toddlers with a stolen six-pack. His gaze locks on mine while he drinks.

Weller accepts a drink last. One swallow.

I push it back toward his mouth. “Please. Let’s all take five minutes to relax without planning for the next disaster.”

I’ve never experienced anything like this. A private beach turning gold in front of me, a gorgeous house tucked into the trees behind me, or four alphas arguing over who gets to feed me. Or fuck me.

It’s delightful.

But good things don’t last. I scan the sky for the correction. The universe has always liked to repossess what I want most.

I let myself want it anyway. And I want it bad. I want them - our chaos, their hands on me, all four of them tangled into an ordinary life with me. I want to be the girl who gets to keep this.

“Bianca the butcher, going soft on a beach.” I can imagine the words in Megan’s southern accent. After being a certified alpha-hater for five years, she’d find my behavior laughable.

But the girl who wanted exactly this and never got it? She doesn’t give a fuck about her reputation. We like this. A lot.

Weller drinks again, watching the top of the boardwalk.

There may be limits to what champagne can accomplish with this one.

We settle where the dune shadow has begun crawling over the packed sand. The bottle goes around again. Freddie shakes the cashew dust into his palm and lets me lick the salt from the center. His cheeks go red. Tristan drinks with my calf across his lap, slowly making figure eights on my knee. Even Weller takes another swallow without being forced, although he turns the bottle in his hand afterward, judging what remains.

“Planning to ration it?” I ask.

“Planning to get food in you so you don’t get sick.”

“The cashews prevented starvation, and we have some leftover gas station snacks back at the house.”

Weller looks displeased by this. “We’re locating real food.”

I sigh, rub his back, then grab the bottle and drink until there’s nothing left.

We made it out. I could get used to finding out what we look like when nobody is bleeding, and I have a few ideas about where to begin.

I jump to my feet and run into the ocean before anyone has a chance to tell me no or explain pros and cons.

“Bianca!” Weller is moving before the first wave reaches my knees.

The water that hits my body with the next wave is ice cold and my breath locks up. “Oh my god! It’s fucking freezing!” I keep going until it catches the hem of my dress and drags the yellow fabric around my thighs.

“What?” I call back when Weller beckons me toward him.

“You don’t know the current.”

“I’m standing in three feet of water.”

“A wave can knock you down in less.”