“Now,” I finally say. “Come for us.”
Phoenix’s hand twists in exactly the right way.
Mason shatters.
His back bows off the bed, a cry tearing from his throat as the orgasm rips through him. His hand on my wrist goes vice-tight, nails digging crescents into my skin. I hold him through it, stroking his hair, murmuring nonsense against his temple while Phoenix works him through every aftershock.
When it’s over, Mason collapses boneless against the pillows. His breathing is ragged, his eyes closed, his whole body trembling with the aftermath. Phoenix eases off him carefully, settling on her side, one hand resting lightly on his chest.
I bend down and press a kiss to Mason’s forehead.
“Good,” I whisper against his skin. “So good.”
He makes a small, broken sound. His hand releases my wrist, fingers uncurling slowly, and I see the red marks his grip left behind. I don’t care. Would let him bruise me a thousand times if it meant getting to witness this.
Phoenix catches my eye over Mason’s prone form. Her expression is complicated—satisfaction mixed with something softer, something that looks almost like wonder.
I reach across Mason’s body and squeeze her hand once.Thank you.
She squeezes back.
Mason’s breathing has started to even out. The heat-fever has receded slightly, leaving him drained and pliant in the nest. This wave has passed, but there will be more. Hours yet before his heat truly breaks.
For now, though, this is enough.
I settle back against the headboard, letting Mason curl against my side while Phoenix drapes herself across his other half. His hand finds mine in the tangle of blankets, fingers interlacing, and I feel the bond humming between us—steady and warm andalivein a way it hasn’t been for ten long years.
We’re going to be okay.
The thought surfaces without permission. I don’t know if it’s true yet. Don’t know what happens when the heat clears and Mason has to face everything in the cold light of day. Don’t know if he’ll still want me when the biological imperative fades.
But right now, in this moment, with his hand in mine and his body warm against my side?—
Right now, I let myself believe it might be possible.
THIRTY-ONE
MASON
I surfacefrom sleep in fragments.
First, there’s a sensation of warmth bracketing my body on both sides, then the weight of limbs tangled with mine, then the overwhelming awareness ofscent. Layered citrus and vanilla wrapped around the darker notes of pine and ocean salt that I’ve known since childhood.
My eyes flutter open to darkness. The room is unfamiliar for a disorienting moment before memory slots into place like tumblers falling in a lock. Judah’s house. The guest wing. The nest Phoenix built for her heat that somehow became mine.
The fever burns hotter, pulling a low groan from my throat.
I shift against the mattress and immediately become aware of two things: the slick dampness between my thighs, and the fact that I’m sandwiched between the two people I love most in this world.
Phoenix curls against my right side, copper hair spilling across my chest like flame in the darkness. Her breath fans warm and steady against my collarbone, one small hand splayed possessively over my ribs. Even in sleep, she holds on like she’s afraid I might disappear if her grip isn’t tight enough.
On my left is…Judah.
Fuck.
His massive frame radiates heat like a furnace, one arm draped heavy across my waist, fingers loosely curled against my hip. I can feel his heartbeat against my shoulder blade—slow and steady, the rhythm of deep sleep.
Mine, something primal whispers in the fever-haze of my brain.Both of them. Mine.
