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“You wore him out,” Maverick chuckles, licking the broken skin of my new mark.
“Mmmmhmmm,” I mumble, closing my eyes to enjoy the tingling sensation coming from his ministrations.
“He’s not the only one worn out, I see,” he whispers, crawling up to my side. Something heavy and soft is draped over my now-cooled skin, Maverick’s body presses up against my back, and everything after that goes black.
Epilogue 2
Summer
After those first few days,the heat pheromones kicked in full swing, and we let them. They didn’t try to hold back a rut anymore, and I let myself go completely, too. Maverick gave Mason his own mate mark–not anywhere risqué like by his balls or anything. No, he put his right smack dab on Mason’s neck for the whole world to see.
Nobody said it, but I know it was because Maverick wanted to make a point of showing Mason he wasn’t, and never will be, ashamed of their relationship.
Or ashamed of his designation.
This world has a nasty habit of looking down on betas, which he learned all too well from Pack Monroe, and I think it was perfect that Maverick chose a visible area for his claim. So now I felt them all. All four of my mates were in my very soul, and life was finally perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
Brooklyn came back shortly after I fell asleep again that second day, very tight-lipped about what she was away dealing with. Instead, she simply apologized, tended to her mate mark on my neck, and I enjoyed the rest of the heat in blissful ignorance. That bliss had to come to an end though.
The heat broke almost exactly a week after it began. Blankets were pulled from the mattress to be washed. Which, on a normal day would drive my omega bonkers, but it smelled overwhelmingly of sex and sweat. We’d wash the blankets in there now, and just replace the nest with what was on everyone’s beds currently. I’d still have their scents but in acleanerway. The fan was turned on and the door propped open so it could be aired out, too. Mason grabbed his oils for another post-heat massage, to which I saw a wonderful pattern emerging.
And amidst all the joy and domesticity, came the black cloud.
“Renee is on her way over to talk to us,” Brooklyn informs us as we’re all seated or standing around the kitchen island for a late breakfast. Melted chocolate and sweet pancakey goodness fills the room in a rich aroma. The chocolate chip pancakes and fruit toppings bar was my request. I’ve always had a horrible sweet tooth after a heat. One which they did not hesitate to indulge.
“Renee? Is this about…?” The question hangs in the air. Mason trying his hardest not to say their names, lest it conjure them I suppose. He’s had a lot of trouble talking about them around me since I woke up. Guilt still eats at him for not being able to connect the dots on who Pack Monroe was to me. Or, Pack Moore, as he knew them. Just a lie they told him, to make sure he couldn’t find them again when they threw him aside. Despite it being my fault for not talking about Jade, Connor, or Brody with my mates, Mason is still taking on that blame.
But they’re stuck in jail now. So we can all finally move on. Well, I hope they are. With the connections they have, anything is possible.
“Yeah. She has some news. They tried to get in front of a judge to have the whole thing thrown out on a technicality. Brought in some fancy lawyer.”
Of course, they did. With wealth like that, there are no real consequences.
“They might get away with it? With everything they did?” Hudson growls incredulously. “No. No matter what, they don’t get away with it. I won’t let them.” The look in his eyes is equally terrifying and arousing. It’s clear to everyone here what he means by that.
“Absolutely not.” I glare at him. “You will not go to jail just to see them brought to justice.”
“Of course not.” He shrugs. “I’d get away with it.” An air of superiority and smugness radiates from him. I roll my eyes, noticing that Mason does, too. Maverick and Brooklyn, though, are looking at him as if he’s talking sense for the first time in his life.
“Nobody is killing anyone!” I scream, getting it on the record and putting my foot down.
Before they have the chance to argue, the doorbell rings. Brooklyn takes off to answer it, and Hudson takes over flipping the pancakes.
Arms wrap around me before summer rain overpowers the pancake smell.
Nobody is killing anyone,Mason mimics in my mind. Always on my side. On my wavelength.
The sound of heels clicking against the floor has anxiety flooding me again. Based on the way I’m feeling a whole slew of emotions through the bond, I’d say I’m not the only one.
“Good morning. How’s everyone doing?” Renee asks, a little too much pep in her step for my liking, given the circumstances. Confusion and irritation flood the bonds. Crickets follow her greeting. “Wow. Tough crowd. Well, hopefully, I can cheer you guys up.” She stops at the island, setting her briefcase on it. With two clicks, she unsnaps, opens it, and pulls out a manilla folder.
I don’t reach for it. Neither does anyone else. It appears we’d rather hear it straight from the alpha’s mouth. Renee looks around at us and then huffs. “Fine, take the fun out of it.” She opens it herself, and then fans the papers out on the island, in between the plates and silverware we set out. With one glance, my heart starts to race. They all must feel it through the bond–and notice Renee grinning at me–because they finally all lean forward and pick up a few papers each to read.
Frowns marr all their faces, not getting it.
“Why are you showing us Summer’s medical records?” Maverick asks, turning it upside down and placing it back on the island so he doesn’t have to keep looking at it. It’s not anything crazy, just confirmation of the Passion Pack when it was still in my system. When I first moved to Chicago. Oh, and all of Dr. Tanner's charts with her notes. Including my FSH levels documenting my infertility.
