Page 76 of The Florist and Her Alphas

August is in front of me. Curled toward me on his side, his sandy blond hair sticking up in sleep, his glasses on the nightstand, one of his hands loosely tangled with mine between our chests. His breathing is deep and even.

Julian is at the foot of the bed. Sprawled diagonally, his face pressed against my calf, his dark hair falling in his eyes, one hand resting possessively on my ankle even in sleep. His mouth is slightly open.

Cole is the only one awake.

He is sitting up against the headboard at the far side, propped against the pillows, fully alert. Reading something on his phone with the screen brightness turned almost all the way down. The blue light catches the planes of his face, illuminating the scar along his jaw, the dark stubble, the quiet intensity of his eyes.

He notices me awake, and he smiles. I try to smile back at him, but suddenly, out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears.

Cole sets the phone down immediately. He shifts up onto his elbow, reaches across August, and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. His thumb traces the small crescent scar at my temple, gentle.

“Liana,” he whispers. His voice is soft and rough. “Why are you crying?”

The other brothers stir immediately, and I blush because it’s really not a big deal. Ezra’s arm tightens around my waist. August lifts his head and blinks at me, his blue eyes foggy with sleep. Julian, at the foot of the bed, lifts onto his elbows, hair wild, hazel eyes finding mine across the tangle of sheets. Within seconds, all four of them are awake and looking at me with the kind of alarmed attention that makes me cry harder.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “The heat is over. I’m okay.”

Ezra is sitting up now, gathering me against his chest. His hand cups the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, and I press my face into the warm, solid muscle of his chest and breathe.

I feel Ezra’s arms tighten around me. “Tell us about your old pack.”

“Why?” I ask quietly, going still.

“I don’t want to push you,” he says carefully. “But we want to know how Magnus and his pack treated you, so we can understand you better. So we can carry your pain with you now.”

I am silent for a long moment.

“Magnus and his men would come into my room whenever they wanted,” I whisper. “They locked my door at night so I couldn’t leave.”

Ezra’s hand tightens against the back of my head. He says nothing. Does not interrupt.

“Silus would do the same. Father and son. They would take turns.” My voice is getting thinner. “They would compete over who could mark me successfully. Every claiming bite was an attempt. They would compare the marks afterward, complaining about why none would take and which mark was deeper.”

I am shaking now.

August has stopped breathing. Julian has gone very still. Cole’s hand turns into a fist under the blanket. Then he opens it. Holds mine again. Squeezes.

“Whenever Magnus was in a particularly good mood with me,” I say, “Silus would find a reason to hurt me later. Whenever Silus tried to mark me and failed, Magnus would laugh at him and then come to my room himself to show his son how it should be done.”

“Oh fuck,” breathes Julian.

My voice is barely audible now. “I was a toy.”

Ezra’s chest is rising. I can feel the rage in him. He is fighting very hard to stay still. Cole is no longer trying to hide that his hand around mine is shaking. Julian, at the foot of the bed, has covered his face with one hand.

August is crying silently. Tears track down his cheeks, his hand still on my face, his thumb brushing my skin like he’s trying to wipe away something that happened years ago.

I take a breath.

“The worst part,” I whisper, “was not the marking attempts. The worst part was that for three years, I believed that this was just what love was. And that my grandmother lied to me about finding love with a pack.”

The words hang in the quiet room. None of them speak for a long time. The bedroom is silent except for the very low hum of the city through the window and my own ragged breathing.

Ezra finally pulls back just enough to lift my chin with his finger and look at me.

His pale gray eyes are wet.

I have never seen Ezra’s eyes wet.