* * * *
Kenny scooped her up without a word, cradling her against his chest like a child, even as she shook and wept into his shoulder. Silas stripped the clamps from her tits with practiced speed, the blood-wet teeth leaving angry welts behind.
It’d been a whirlwind of an evening, and now it was time to take care of their hawk. To bring her back from what they’d made her.
He carried her from the wreck of the living room to the waiting bath. He’d gone up an hour earlier to draw it and add Epsom salts, to be certain it would be available during the hour-long window of when the vampire’s mindfuck might end. The heated tub he’d bought when she moved in had been worth every penny because steam still curled from the water.
Kenny stepped into the soothing bath and sat, arranging her on his lap so he could keep her head above the water, and the other two men lathered soap, prepared to wash her all over with gentle hands.
The warmth embraced her, lapping at bruises, cuts, welts, every battered inch of her. Her sobs softened, her eyes fluttered, her body sagged, and she fell asleep.
The men washed her, dried her, and carried her to bed.
Kenny and Boone stayed with her. Surrounded her.
And everyone slept like the dead.
Chapter 22
Kenny woke with Willow curled against him, Boone’s big body heavy on her other side. He eased out slow, not wanting to wake either of them. Boone’s wolf would stir if he lingered too close, and Willow’s hawk, sharp-eyed even in sleep, never let much slip past.
He paused at the foot of the bed anyway, breathing her in. Her scent had shifted through the evening, storming from terror to lust to a strange alchemy of surrender and compliance. This morning though, it was quiet. Not flat, not broken. Steady. A low thrum of exhaustion threaded with the sweet edge of satisfaction. Relief loosened something in his chest he hadn’t even realized was bound tight.
Still, doubt gnawed. He’d spent days planning the whole twelve hours, talking to the others, finding out what they wanted, either incorporating them or nixing them. Had they pushed her hard enough? Had they fulfilled her fantasy, or would she be disappointed?
Or would it go the other way? Had they gone too far?
He knew her tells. Normally, he could scent shame laced with arousal, or catch the tang of regret if it slipped in. Last night had been so much, everything happening in a storm of activity, her body had been nothing but a hurricane of pain, surrender, andclimax by the end. Too much happening to get a good read on her based purely on scent.
Had the evening given her what she’d dreamed of, or had they bitten too deep into her psyche? Or not deeply enough.
He’d slept until nearly nine, so five and a half hours, but he was betting she’d sleep until at least noon.
And Silas’s ass would sleep until someone woke him up, but he’d told Kenny to wake him when she started stirring.
His beta had breakfast planned like a lover wooing a bride — every one of her favorites. That was Silas’s way of loving. Kenny’s was steadier, more practical: making sure the pieces all fit, making sure she didn’t drown under the weight of what they’d done.
Speaking of breakfast, he fixed himself three large steaks and half a dozen fried eggs, ate them, and then went across the house to his office, sent the internal encrypted camera feed to one of the monitors on his desk so he’d see when she woke, and went to work on this latest estimate on another monitor.
When she finally sat up near eleven, he was halfway up the stairs before he realized it, telepathing Silas to get his ass moving.
He made it into the bedroom when she was two steps from the bed, hobbling because they’dallused the antenna on the bottoms of her feet. Not terribly hard, but it doesn’t take much. He lifted her carefully, cradled her in his arms, carried her to the toilet, sat her on it gently because the backs of her thighs were a mess, and then he sat on the edge of the tub eight feet away.
“Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you think you’re awake for a while?”
Her eyes were heavy, but steady. “I want food, Sir.”
His chest eased. Food meant fight left in her. Food meant she wasn’t curling inward in regret. Still, he asked, voice quiet,“There’ll be an extensive question and answer period later, but for now, is there anything I need to know?”
She studied him a moment, bird-bright even through the haze of exhaustion. “Not that I can think of, Sir. But I’ll be processing this in my head for weeks.”
His wolf bristled at the wordprocessing.He forced the rumble down, kept his tone even. “Good processing, or bad?”
She tilted her head, sharp as always. “Can we not put those labels on it, please Sir?”
He gave a short nod. Fair. Too soon for labels, but he still needed the answer to his biggest question — had it been too much, not enough, or just right? He thought of another way to come at it sideways, because he didn’t want to get that heavy with questions minutes after she woke. Didn’t want to stress her.
“Any masturbation fantasies ruined?” he asked. “Something you used to get off on and won’t be able to anymore?”
