A moan tears from my throat, wanton and loud.
“Tell us what you want, Saramaria,” Rhett murmurs against my ear, his voice vibrating through my bones.
Knox laughs, and the sound is wicked and bright. “She doesn’t have to tell us. We can smell it.”
The mouth on my neck moves lower, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Boone. It has to be Boone. The scent of rosemary and mint is intoxicating, mixing with the vanilla that pours from my own skin. He nips at the pulse point, and my back arches off the bed.
I’m surrounded. Consumed. Three Alphas, all focused on me. The air is thick with pheromones, a heavy, musk-laden fog that makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to breathe. I only want this.
I reach out, my fingers tangling in dark hair. Whose? I don’t know. I don’t care. I just need to hold on.
The mouth on my neck licks a wet stripe up to my ear.
“Ours,” a voice growls.
The heat intensifies, burning me from the inside out. I’m going to combust. I’m going to?—
Wet. Cold. Wet. Cold.
My eyes snap open.
I gasp, my body jerking upright, my heart hammering. The dream clings to me, the phantom sensations of hands and mouths lingering on my skin making me flushed and aching.
But reality rushes in cold and fast.
I’m not in a harem. I’m on a mattress on the floor of the main house. The fire in the hearth has died down to glowing embers, casting the room in shadows that dance and shift.
And something is licking my neck.
I flinch, wiping at my skin frantically.
A soft, high-pitched yip meets my ear.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Wellsy. He’s sitting on my chest, his tail thumping happily against my stomach. He licks my chin again, his tongue rough and cold.
“Ew,” I mutter, pushing him away gently. “Gross, Wellsy.”
He yips again and flops over, exposing his belly.
My heart rate begins to slow, the adrenaline fading into a dull hum. I look around the room. Knox is asleep on the rug near the hearth, sprawled out like a giant starfish. Rhett is on the sofa, an arm thrown over his eyes. Boone is in the armchair, his long legs stretched out toward the fire.
The room is still. The only sound is the wind howling outside and the crackle of the dying fire.
Then, my stomach makes a noise.
It’s not a polite rumble. It’s a loud, thunderous growl that echoes in the silence. Wellsy barks at it.
My face heats up. I press a hand to my abdomen, trying to silence the betrayal. I missed dinner. I was too busy burning down the yard and yelling at everyone.
“Are you hungry?”
The voice comes from the armchair.
I jump slightly. Boone lowers his arm. His eyes are open, reflecting the orange light of the coals. He’s watching me, and he doesn’t look sleepy. He looks wide awake.
“I can sleep,” I lie, my voice raspy.
“I heard that,” he says, nodding toward my stomach. “It sounded like a bear waking up from hibernation.”
