eight
. . .
Warmth was the first thing I registered as consciousness slowly returned. Not the familiar, thin warmth of my cottage blankets, but an all-encompassing cocoon of heat that wrapped around me from every direction. My sleep-addled brain basked in the unfamiliar comfort before reality had a chance to intrude.
I cracked one eye open, then froze completely.
Marco’s face was inches from mine, dark eyes already open and watching me with lazy amusement. His hair was tousled from sleep, falling across his forehead in a way that was annoyingly attractive. Zeus was curled between us, the furry traitor using both our bodies as his personal heating system.
Oh fuck. They actually surrounded me. Like I’m some kind of precious omega treasure they need to guard from all sides.
Behind me, solid heat pressed against my back—Stefano’s muscled chest rising and falling with deep breaths. A heavy arm draped possessively over my waist, large hand splayed across my stomach with unmistakable ownership. Hot breath tickled the nape of my neck, and there, pressed against my lower back, was something hard that had absolutely nothing to do with weapons.
A glance past Marco showed Matteo already awake in the corner, sitting with his back against the tent wall. Those amber eyes tracked every micro-expression on my face with unsettling intensity, like he was cataloging my reactions for future reference. Apollo was stretched beside him, tail thumping softly against the ground.
Perfect. So I have a full alpha audience for whatever embarrassing morning situation is about to unfold. This just keeps getting better.
The events of last night crashed back with brutal clarity—Stefano’s mouth claiming mine, Marco’s mouth doing things that should be illegal, the way I’d completely surrendered to their touch. My hand flew instinctively to my throat, fingers finding the tender spots where Stefano had marked me. Each press sent an unwelcome pulse of heat through my body, my skin remembering every place his teeth had claimed.
I’m actually marked. Like some omega in a bad romance novel. And the worst part? I can still feel where his mouth was, and my traitorous body wants more.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Marco murmured, his voice rough with sleep but carrying that familiar note of playful mischief. “Sleep well? You made the most adorable little sounds.”
Adorable little sounds. Oh hell. What did I do in my sleep? Please tell me I didn’t whimper or moan or do something equally mortifying.
“Get your face away from mine,” I hissed, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way my voice came out as a sleep-roughened whisper. “And define ‘adorable little sounds’ before I decide how painfully you’re going to die.”
Marco’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. “Oh, you know. Little sighs when Stefano’s hand moved. Soft whimpers whenyou pressed back against him. That sweet little mewl when you nuzzled into my chest around three a.m.”
I nuzzled into his chest. I actually nuzzled into his chest like some needy omega seeking comfort. My dignity isn’t just dead—it’s been ground into powder and snorted by the universe.
“I did not nuzzle,” I protested, though the heat in my cheeks suggested otherwise. “I don’t nuzzle. Nuzzling is for pets and people with functioning social skills.”
“Mmm,” Marco hummed, shifting closer until I could feel his breath on my face. “Then what would you call the way you kept seeking out warmth? The way you practically purred when we touched you?”
Purred. Please tell me he’s exaggerating. Please tell me I didn’t actually purr like some domesticated omega in heat.
I tried to shift forward, to extract myself from this ridiculous alpha sandwich situation, but the moment I started to move, Stefano’s arm tightened around my waist like a steel band.
“Going somewhere, little wildcat?” Stefano’s sleep-roughened voice vibrated directly against my ear, his lips close enough that I could feel them brush my skin. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me more firmly against him—and by extension, against the very obvious morning situation happening in his pants.
Little wildcat. Right. Super cute. The same nickname he used last night while his hands turned my brain to mush.
“Off of you would be a good start,” I managed, though I was acutely aware of being trapped between two solid walls of alpha muscle. “Do you always greet the day with an omega sandwich, or am I just special?”
“Oh, you’re definitely special,” Marco said with a wicked smile, reaching out to trace one finger along my jaw. “Especially the way you look right now—all flushed and rumpled and marked.”
Marked. Right. I’m literally wearing evidence of last night on my throat like some kind of possession collar.
“And you smell good in the morning,” Stefano murmured against my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive marks he’d left there. “Warm and sweet. Like jasmine heated by the sun. And marked. You smell like you belong to us.”
Belong to them. All of them. Because apparently one night of biological necessity equals lifetime ownership in alpha logic.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I snapped, though my traitorous body was already responding to their proximity, heat pooling low in my belly despite my best efforts. “Especially not three kidnappers with god complexes and boundary issues.”
“Don’t you?” Marco asked, his thumb brushing across my lower lip in a gesture that sent unwelcome sparks racing through my nervous system. “Because your body says otherwise. The way you respond to our touch, our scent, our voices…”
Before I could formulate a suitably cutting response, Marco’s hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face toward his.
