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Fern told me about this. Well, not this tawdry situation exactly, but I remember her telling me about the call of the Alpha. When an Alpha undergoes a significant change, he lets out a howl that shakes the bones of his pack.
My bones do indeed shake, even though I cannot possibly be a member of his pack, seeing as how I am not a shifter. Something is wrong. Or maybe it’s finally right. I can’t tell. But I feel something ominous creep over me, connecting me to this moment.
To these men.
Though I wasn’t particularly defiant before this moment, I feel submission flood through my veins like warm chocolate. My legs spread further, inviting him to bottom out all the way to my womb if that’s what he desires.
I hear Calvin worrying beside me, crying a frantic, “What is happening?” seconds before Leo erupts, filling me to the brim with his hot cum.
His hips slam into mine twice more, spending every drop inside me before he slumps atop my limp form.
Leo is massive, but his weight is calming, anchoring me to earth when I fear I might spin haphazardly forever into oblivion.
It’s not until Calvin rolls him off me that I draw a full breath.
When Leo slips out, his first instinct is to spoon my limp form, tucking the sheet between my legs to catch everything that spills out of me, so I don’t have to get up right away.
I’m not sure I could stand if I had to.
Calvin hems me in on my front, kissing my lazy lips once before the three of us fall asleep, tangled together without the possibility of ever being apart.
18
Ivy
No one wakes until the late afternoon, which is exactly what we all needed in order to recover from the night’s antics. Plus, if we’re all to get on the same schedule, it’s fitting that we switch to something closer to Calvin’s, so he can move around with us without fear of the sun burning his skin.
I slide the sheet off me, hoping not to rouse the guys before they’re ready. I need to shower badly, and I’d like some privacy to do so.
Leo must’ve kicked the sheet off himself sometime in the past few hours, because his bare thigh is exposed to the room, giving me an uninhibited view of his tattoo.
My nose scrunches when I try to recall the details of the design I saw up close last night. There it is, the large dark circle with a paw print in the center.
My head tilts to the side when I see a crescent moon and a teardrop beside the paw inside the circle.
Huh. I must’ve missed those details yesterday. The past twenty-four hours are a blur of excitement and confusion, starting with how the crap I landed myself in a legit manor in a bed with a vampire and a shifter.
My steps are quiet as I leave the bed, glancing down at the two men who are utterly precious to me now.
The bathroom is just as grand as I remembered, and the water a welcome way to wake. I need exactly this to bring myself back to earth, if indeed I am still myself.
I’ve never had sex with two men in one night, but that is what happened, and what (if I’m being honest) I hope occurs again.
I take my time soaping up. My thighs are sore, so much that I sag against the ebony tiled wall, exhausted from the effort of being upright. I need tea—something for my throat. I recall all the blissful screaming I did before I passed out beneath Leo’s hulking form.
I blink several times as I soap myself slowly, paying attention to my legs to make sure they get fully cleaned.
But when my hand drifts over my left thigh, the suds rinse away, and confusion settles in.
“What is that?” I croak to myself. Another rinse in the warm stream and I know I cannot explain this away.
I’ve never had a tattoo. I’m not a fan of needles in general, and I’ve never found a design that I adored so wholly that I wanted it tattooed on my body for the next fifty years.
Yet there it is—a tattoo I know I didn’t get. It’s not even raw, like I know tattoos are the first week they hit the skin. This is an established tattoo on the outside of my left thigh. I gape at the round circle with a crescent moon in the center. Beside the large moon is a teardrop and a bearpaw print. It’s like Leo’s, only the configuration is slightly different.
My shriek of concern is lost in the shower’s spray, mostly because I used up all my good volume before I passed out. Panic shoots through me that something so strange and permanent happened to me while I was sleeping. I scrub at the design, but it’s not henna or anything that streaks or lightens. No matter how much soap I use or how hard I scrape my nails over my thigh, there it is—a mark I didn’t not ask for and cannot get rid of.
Tears prick my eyes. I was supposed to be boneless and relaxed after such a thorough fucking, but my body comes back to life, fueled by fear that this could have happened while I was asleep.
