I looked at them. I chose the order.
"Alfie," I said. "Front and center."
Alfie moved. He was shaking. Tremors running through his frame. He looked terrified and ecstatic, a golden retriever realizing the ball was about to be thrown for real.
"You sure, fox?" he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. "Really sure? Copy that?"
"Yes, Alfie," I laughed, a wet, teary sound. "Bite. That's a direct order."
He let out a sob that sounded like a laugh. He tilted my head back, exposing the junction of my neck and shoulder. He didn't hesitate this time. He sank his teeth in.
The pain was sharp, sudden, and shocking. It flashed white-hot, then flooded with endorphins. I gasped, clutching his jacket. He groaned against my skin, his scent flooding my senses, blackberries and crème brûlée, as he locked his jaw, pouring his claim into the wound. He held it there, marking me, sobbing softly against my neck until the bond settled into a hum.
When he pulled back, he licked the mark, sealing it. He looked wrecked.
"Euan," I gasped, the endorphins making the room swim.
Euan stepped in as Alfie moved to my side, holding my hand to ground me.
Euan was clinical reverence. He didn't just grab; he framed my face with his hands. He tilted my chin to the other side.
"Angle here," I directed, tapping the spot on the left. "Pressure now."
"Acknowledged," he murmured.
He obeyed. He mirrored Alfie’s mark perfectly, sinking his teeth into the muscle with surgical precision. His low Scots rumble cracked against my skin as he bit down.
"Euan," I moaned his name, a command and a plea.
He held the bite until I felt the second lock engage, a cool, slate-grey stability settling over the chaotic gold of Alfie’s mark.
"Kit," I whispered. "Anchor me."
Kit didn't move to the side. He stayed behind me. He swept my hair forward, exposing the nape of my neck, the most vulnerable spot. The vertebrae.
"I've got you," he said, his voice wrapping around me like a physical weight. "Deep breath. In."
I inhaled.
"Out."
He bit down on the exhale. It was heavy. It was a mountain landing on my shoulders.
"I'm right here. Good girl. Take my mark," he narrated, wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Pressure." His teeth sank into the sensitive flesh at the back of my neck.
I clawed at his forearms where they crossed my chest, my knees buckling. He held me up, taking my weight entirely.
"Mine," he nearly broke on the word, the growl vibrating through his teeth into my spine.
"Yours," I sobbed back. "Yours."
He released, soothing the bite with his tongue.
I stood there, swaying, marked three times, my blood singing with a chemical cocktail that made the colors of the room vibrant enough to hurt.
"My turn," I rasped.
Alfie’s eyes widened. "Z?"
