“The shifter woman from Illinois,” I finally said, staring into the mug’s murky depths. “She won’t go back?”
Bronc sank onto the couch beside me. “No.” His thigh pressed warm against mine. “Menace offered her your old apartment. Ma was happy to have a new pup to dote on.” A beat of silence thickened before he added carefully, “Penny thinks she should stay close.”
Penny. The name scraped loose something brittle in my chest. “And you think I should talk to her too?” I asked flatly.
His exhale ruffled my hair as he leaned closer. “She gets it.” No pity there—just a quiet certainty that made my throat burn hotter than the tea. “Survivors shouldn’t heal alone.”
I didn’t look at him when I whispered okay, but his low growl of approval hummed under my skin like static before a storm.
Later, fingers tangled in his shirt as moonlight pooled on our bedspread, I pressed my lips to his collarbone and let myself say it aloud: “I want your bite over Harrison’s scars.” The words trembled like prey in a snare—weak, raw. But Bronc stilled beneath me like lightning had struck him before rolling us sideways in one fluid motion until our gazes locked.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he rasped, pupils blown black with hunger even as his palm cradled my jaw like something breakable. “But we go slow.” A promise and a warning rolled into one breath that smelled of bourbon and cedar smoke. Beneath it all, steel resolve sharp enough to gut any ghost that tried clawing between us again… even mine.
He fell asleep first for once; exhaustion pinching those stubborn furrows between his brows soft again in shadow light while my fingertips hovered over his throat where no scar would ever tarnish what we claimed next time—and therewouldbe a next time soon as Penny helped me carve room for him there without drowning in old blood.
Chapter 31
Bronc
I’d been worrying about Juliet for weeks—four weeks since she’d come home hollow-eyed and brittle as winter branches. The news about her mother hit like a sucker punch: all that desperate risk she’d taken to bring her home only to find out she’d never made it back alive took a toll. But we’d had several conversations about how it had all come about, and she finally realized that she did not bear the responsibility. Her parents truly set all of the events in motion by bringing Harrison into their lives in the first place. Tragic? Yes. But Juliet bore none of the blame. For anything. The only guilty party in the entire horrible situation is Harrison Hastings. And we were going to fight our way through it.
Every night, I caught her staring at the scar on her shoulder like it held answers. The guilt ate at her. It was all for nothing, she’d whisper in the dark. I hated how she said it: not angry, just resigned, as if surviving Harrison hadn’t cost her enough already. I was ready to put my mark back where it belonged.
But then there were the sessions with our pack therapist three times a week. Small mercies. She came back softer some days, less shattered at the edges—started talking about “processing” instead of drowning in silence. It didn’t fix everything (nothing could), but hell if I wasn’t grateful for whatever kept her from crumblingentirely. We had started going as a couple last week and for the first time, I felt… hopeful.
Our session today got to the meat of it. The counseling room was softly lit. It was far from where Juliet should have had to be, but for now, it was exactly where she needed to be. I listened as I sat next to her on the large comfortable sofa. “I’ll do everything I can to help,” Penny said. “But, Juliet, it’s up toyouto make that final commitment.”
She sat across from us, comfortable and easygoing. Then she addressed me. “Her assailant turned their bond into a power play.” She leaned forward, then added, “She needs to explore that power safely.”
Accepting what happened was a part of moving on. This room felt safe. Small touches of healing décor sat around us. Peace lilies and framed quotes about faith and hope. That’s what Juliet had. Hope. The sort that drew her out of captivity and straight into my arms, even if her time away had unleashed a part of her I’d never expected. That I didn’t know how to protect her from. That I had no business wanting.
I stayed quiet, giving her room.
The soft scent of lemongrass made my wolf skittish.
“Omegas are rare, but I’ve had extensive training,” Penny said, confidence threading through the timbre of her voice as she looked at me. “I’ve worked through what her assailant’s manipulation brought out in her. She’s going to be fine.” Her understanding of my protective instincts and my stubborn nature was almost as strong as my mate’s.
I nodded once, acknowledging the weight of what she was saying and the risk of leaving my alpha control unchecked.
“His manipulation of the claiming bite brought out her desire,” Penny continued. “His sadism was his way of satisfying his needs. Her being an omega coincidentally answered her call. If she needs that from you, can you do it?”
I looked lovingly at my mate. “I am her mate, and her Alpha. Her needs come before my own just as the needs of this pack come before my needs. You need never worry about whether or not her needs will be satisfied. It is the reason I exist. As an Alpha, I am also predisposed to specific needs. I can temper those needs if I must. But dominance and demanding submission is my way. Dealing a degree of pain with pleasure is also my way. Knowing I have a mate who also finds her release and pleasure in those things brings me a great sense of pride and satisfaction. I loathe the method by which the discovery was made, however.” I pulled Juliet to my side. Her tiny hand reached over and squeezed my arm.
Penny’s smile lit up her face. “I believe we have had what we like to lovingly call a breakthrough this evening. I believe y’all are on your way to many happy and successful years as Alpha and Luna of the Iron Valor Pack.”
Juliet
That morning I was eager when I woke, amber light sprawled over the cabin’s rough-hewn walls, so bright it nearly smothered us in gold. Bronc’s warmth, the weight of his arms, grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected, like something pure and new was possible. The past, this murky shadow I could finally see beyond, didn’t seem to matter for the first time in longer than I could remember. It felt like waking from a fever, the edges of reality just as surreal and soft-focused as they’d been in the strange rush of revelations after yesterday’s couple’s therapy. That ache of shame that once dug beneath my ribs now replaced by a tremor of anticipation. The simple fact that I no longer had to look over myshoulder in fear that Harrison might finally have found me gave me freedom to breathe.
There were words that needed saying, and they tumbled out of me like confessions as I curled into him. Words that had seemed impossible even a week ago but were as simple and honest as air. “I’m ready for you to mark me, Bronc. Like before.” And his sharp, sky-bright eyes told me he understood exactly what it meant.
Our breaths seemed too loud in the stillness, mingling with the creak of settling wood and the sharp cry of a bluejay. I didn’t know what kind of new world I’d wake to after yesterday, but it felt like it might finally be ours. He pulled me in tighter, and I melted into him, forgetting myself the way only he could make me. The sun was warmer than it had a right to be in late November, but I didn’t complain. Instead, I focused on the rhythm of my Alpha’s heart and the possibilities this day opened up.
We lingered over breakfast, the scent of fresh coffee filling the cabin like an invitation. His big hands had wrapped around mine earlier, anchoring me in his wordless way while I spilled everything I’d kept locked away. “You sure you’re ready, Juliet?” he asked, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. His voice was low and steady, charged with the quiet intensity that made my pulse quicken.
“After yesterday?” I met his gaze, holding it with a certainty I hadn’t felt before. “Yes.”
Penny’s office was small and dim, the leather sofa warm and intimate. She’d looked me in the eye and told me the truth: finding pleasure in pain wasn’t wrong for an omega. It actually wasn’t wrong for anyone, but it was intrinsically natural for omegas. Shame and desire tangled like vines around my ribs. My words came haltingly, as if letting them out might shatter me. Bronc had been quiet beside me. Steady. She’d asked me how I would feel if I knew my Alpha shared that need, and I’d frozen, the room tilting around me. “Relieved,” I finally whispered.
