Thaw shifts, sliding out of me with a soft friction, and turning me into Crull on our side. I am between them. Their bulk a wall between me and reality.
"That was the first time," I say, finally. Quiet. "The first time it wasn't in a cell."
"Yes." Thaw's thumb moves over the mark. "I am honored to be your mate Jen."
"I will crush anyone who tries to take you from us." Crull's voice, rough, against the back of my neck. "Never again, you will always get to choose. Every time."
I lie there held between my two mates, with the forest quiet outside.
The Syndicate is still out there hunting us.
But this. Chosen, and free, and warm, and mine.
I am asleep before I decide to be.
Chapter eight
Jen
Morning light through the cabin window.
Thaw and Crull are still asleep beside me, breathing slow. Thaw's hand is heavy over my sternum. Crull's wrist is still locked over mine.
But the thread under my ribs is pulling me out from between them.
Harek.
I ease myself out. Thaw's thumb twitches against my chest. Crull's hand slides off my wrist.
My bare feet hit the cold floorboards. The oversized sweatshirt Dean gave me hangs to mid-thigh. Under it, my skin is still humming, but the heat has changed. It is not a fire anymore. It is a heavy steady weight in my pelvis that moves with me when I walk.
I open the bedroom door.
The front door at the end of it is open and the air smells like wet cedar.
Harek is not in the doorway anymore. He is on the floor at the far end of the kitchen, his back against the log wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His massive arms are wrapped around his shins. His bright green eyes find me the second my feet clear the threshold.
It doesn’t look like he slept.
He does not have the words to ask, still mostly feral and broken from the facility. But his eyes are wide, tracking me as I cross the cold floor.
The thread between us does not yank. It tightens.
"Harek," I say.
His jaw works once. He does not move toward me. He is the unbonded male.
I drop to my knees on the floor in front of him. The wood is freezing against my bare skin.
I lift my hands.
I take his face between my palms.
Harek makes a sound.
A low click in his throat. His whole body goes rigid under my fingers, the muscle in his neck turning to iron, and his eyes lock onto mine. He does not pull away. He presses his cheek into my right palm. His long dark lashes flutter once against my skin.
"I'm here," I whisper. "Harek. I'm right here."
