The lake is better classified as a massive pond at the base of a small waterfall, trailing off into a thin river winding into the distance. It’s deep enough to warrant a wooden pier likely used for fishing, and the hundred and fifty or so people here to comfortably dick around in. Music provides a laid back atmosphere, several grills are going, and in general, it looks like a grand old beach party fit for the end of summer. A few dozen are swimming, some scaling the rock wall and cannonballing into the water, but the majority are trying to chat up the lady of the hour on the sandy shore.
“Who’re the new guys, Dom?” some random guy sitting on the sand asks, eyes narrowed as he rises to his feet.
The tension in his shoulders eases a fraction as he notices Amara in the center of our loose circle, dismissing us as a threat for Dominic’s daughter’s affections. When he glances down the beach to her and his expression shutters in defeat, though, he turns his attention curiously back to Amara. I can practically see the gears turning in his head, noting that she only has three mates, and wondering what the chances are of her adding another.
“If you value your head,” Dom warns, deadly serious, “you’ll bleach those thoughts from your brain before you say another word. This would be theGarrison legion-” he emphasizes pointedly“- and their mate, Amara.”
Color blanching from his face, he offers a mumbled, “Nice to meet you,” before scurrying off.
I snort. “Good to see at least one of your men has a sense of self-preservation.”
Dom rolls his eyes, but can’t refute my claim after today’s security shitshow. “Make yourselves at home. Help yourselves to some food, and feel free to join in the celebration. I’ll have someone bring more clothes to the guest cabin and stock the fridge; you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” He claps Raiden on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.” With a dip of his head to the rest of us, he heads down the beach to check on his daughter.
And it becomes abundantly clear that the rest of my legion has no fucking clue how to have fun.
Biting back my amusement, I snatch a few towels off of one of the piles and lead the way closer to the water before picking a spot in the sand to claim as our own, laying one down and taking a seat. Gradually, Stone and Raiden follow my lead. Before anyone can claim her first, I wrap a hand around the top of Amara’s thigh and tug her off balance, sending her crashing down onto my lap with a yelp.
Her eyes narrow dangerously on my face. “You know, you could just have said, ‘Hey, Amara, sit on my lap.’”
I shrug, rearranging her more comfortably between my legs so her back is leaning against my chest. “And give one of the others a chance to call dibs? I think not, beautiful.”
For a while, we simply people watch. Most are busy making fools of themselves trying to get the attention of the pack princess, but there are plenty that keep throwing various looks our way. Some are guarded, others curious to see dragons in person for the first time, waiting for us to do a flaming backflip or some shit, but there’s a group of baby-faced, suicidal bastards sizing the three of us up and dismissing us as threats, their attention turning appreciatively to Amara.
I’d bet my entire hoard of gold that those punk-ass kids haven’t seen the wrong side of a rifle or blade once in their entire lives.
Clapping my hands dramatically over Amara’s tits, I kiss her neck. “You’re not wearing a bra, so let me offer a helping hand. These jackoffs don't get a free show.”
She snorts. “You’re ridiculous. Don’t worry, I’m not about to go running around braless without some damn good motivation, and honestly, I’m too exhausted to enjoy swimming right now. We’re not doing anything anyway, so why don’t you go challenge them to a race or football, or something so you have an excuse to tackle ‘em? Might make you feel better, and I’ll stay here to enjoy the view; win-win.”
Who am I to refuse such a tempting excuse to knock the cocky little assholes down a peg?
Catching Stone and Raiden’s eyes, a silent communication passes between the three of us. It’s effortless, and makes my chest tighten a bit, realizing how far we’d drifted apart over the last few decades.
I’ve missed this, missed them. But mostly, I missed what it felt like to have people by my side that actually give a shit about me.
I don’t bother hiding my grin as Raiden gets to his feet with me, dropping a kiss on top of Amara’s head. “When you’re ready to call it a night, just shout.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t complain as Stone resituates himself to take my place at her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Yes, I’m going to announce to the entire beach that I’m sleepy and you can’t have any more fun because you have to come tuck me in.”
Raiden raises a single eyebrow. “Because it’s more fun getting sand in my shorts than taking a beautiful woman to bed? Angel, I think we need to sit down for a serious discussion soon to debate our ideas of a good time.”
We leave her smiling in Stone’s capable hands. He’s literally the perfect human shield. He may not have realized I was there that night, but I’ve seen the man bite a bullet and still regenerate from it. Might have left me fucked up for a good century, but I get it.
He wasn’t trying to leave me; it wasn’t about me at all, even if it gutted me at the time. He’d been suffering in silence for so long, he couldn’t see any other way to end the pain that was slowly suffocating him.
There’s no one I trust more to protect the woman I love than the man that knows what it’s like to lose absolutely everything… and be cursed to live in the aftermath for eternity. Stone will do better than protect our mate with his life.
He’ll protect her at the expense of everyone else’s.
“Hey, what’s-your-face,” I call, approaching one of the fuckwits that was leering at Amara. “Up for a little competition?”
Ten of his buddies gather around, unable to ignore the excitement suddenly thrumming through their veins. This much testosterone in one place with no outlet? It’s a powder keg waiting to combust. It doesn’t even matter that several of them have no interest in making a pass at our girl; competitions are a siren’s call to shifters.
“Always. Are you, old man?” the brat sneers, and I throw my head back in a startled laugh.
It’s a miracle he can walk with balls this big.
“Might’ve left my cane at home, but pretty sure I can manage. How about a race?”
