“With every single visit to her diner, Mace,” I mutter, but there’s no bite to it this time, just fondness for his predictable enthusiasm for good food and good people.
There’s movement all around me then, chairs scraping against hardwood, plates being passed from hand to hand, the comfortable chaos of people who care about each other settling in for a meal. Laughter bubbles up as they fall into easy conversation about the latest town gossip and supernatural squabbles, and I realize this is what family feels like. My family, chosen and real and more solid than anything I’ve ever known.
Lucien doesn’t move far from my side, constantly putting food on my plate with the subtle persistence of someone who’s noticed I haven’t been taking care of myself properly. Ezra settles on my other side, his quiet presence soothing me while he talks to Zane about magical theory and what to expect as she comes into her own power. Maceo drifts in and out of reach but never far enough that I can’t feel the warmth radiating from him, teasing Bea about some newcomer who’s apparently returned to town after years away, but I don’t pay close attention to the details. I’m too lost in the bliss of this quiet peace I’ve found just from having these people in this room, in this house, filling up the spaces that felt too empty just hours ago.
They don’t crowd me or push me for answers I don’t have yet. No one is pressing me for more magic, more progress, more solutions to problems that have been decades in the making. They just let me be. They let me exist in this moment without expectation or judgment.
I look around the table at all of them, at Bea with her fierce protectiveness disguised as practicality, at Zane with her quiet wisdom that seems far beyond her sixteen years, at my three men who somehow make me feel desired and cherished in ways I never thought possible. I take in the quiet normality of something as simple as food and conversation filling the space.
The town can whisper and underestimate me all they want. They can point fingers and assign blame and speculate about my failures. I’ll let them, because I’m beginning to understand that their opinions say more about their fears than about my reality.
Actions speak louder than any words ever could.
I am still here, and I’m not going anywhere.
I belong to this town, and this town, with all its magic and complications and supernatural residents who’ve become my people, is my home.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
SO, THIS IS WHAT FREEDOM LOOKS LIKE
The golden haze of Founder’s Day lingers in the air.
Everything is still a mess. My magic, the wards, all of it. The day is here though, ready or not, and for a few hours, I let myself have this.
The air is thick with the scent of barbecued meat and honeyed cider, but back here, behind Thorne Curiosities, the alley is all damp stone and the musk of old wood. I’m balancing a crate of moonstone charms against my hip, fingers brushing over the smooth, cool surfaces, when Maceo’s shadow swallows the last sliver of twilight. His heat radiates against my back before his hands even land, one curling possessively around my waist, the other sliding up to tangle in my hair, tilting my head just enough to expose the vulnerable curve of my throat.
“Keisha,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, lips grazing the shell of my ear. His teeth scrape lightly, not quite a bite, but the promise of one. My pulse spikes, there’s no fear, just a delicious, traitorous thrill that always comes when he looks at me like I’m something to be devoured. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? Standing there in that damn dress, all curves and secrets, like you weren’t made to drive me out of my fucking mind.”
I swallow hard, the crate slipping slightly in my grip. Maceo takes it out of my hands and sits it on the ground. “We don’t have time for this,” I manage, but my voice is breathless, betraying me. The protest is half-hearted at best, because the truth is, I want this. Want him. The thought of protection comes to mind but it doesn’t slow me down. That part, at least, is handled. The way his body presses against mine again once he’s secured the crate. The way his breath hitches when I arch just enough to feel the hard length of him against my ass. Yeah, this is happening.
“The booth,” I say through heated kisses.
“Can wait.” His growl vibrates through me, his free hand sliding down to grip my hip, fingers digging in just shy of pain. “I need to mark you. Need every Wolf in this town to scent me on you, in you, so they know exactly who you belong to.” His lips trail down my neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin just below my ear. “Need my cum dripping down your thighs when you step out there, so there’s no mistaking it.”
A whimper escapes me before I can stop it. My body is already responding, heat pooling low in my belly, my thighs pressing together instinctively. “Maceo, we’re outside. Anyone could. . .”
“Let them watch.” His voice is a dark purr, his hand sliding around to cup me through the thin fabric of my dress. I gasp as his fingers press against the damp heat between my legs, the friction maddening against my clit even through the layers. “Let them see how well I fuck my mate.”
The word sends a jolt through me. Mate. It’s not the first time he’s called me that, but every time, it hits differently. My breath hitches as his fingers slip beneath the hem of my dress, rough callouses scraping against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “I’m your mate?” I ask, the question barely more than a whisper, my voice trembling with something raw, something hungry.
Maceo doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he spins me around, pressing me back against the rough brick wall of the shop. The cold surface bites into my skin through the thin fabric of my dress, a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he pins me there, one hand on my hip, the other gripping my jaw just firmly enough to hold my gaze. His eyes are wild, feral, the gold in them glows faintly in the dim light. “Lucien and Ezra can call you what they want,” he growls, each word punctuated by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips against covered pussy. “But you.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust.“My mate.”
The words are a brand, searing into me as surely as his touch. My back arches off the wall, my body aches for more, forhim. His free hand slides up my thigh, fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties, yanking them down with a sharp tug. The cool evening air hits my exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“Maceo—” His name is a plea, a prayer, torn from my lips as his fingers find me, slick and ready.
He groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through me. “Fuck, Keisha. You’re dripping for me.”
I can’t even deny it. My body is his, has been his since the moment he first touched me. His fingers work me with ruthless precision, curling just right, pressing just hard enough to have me gasping, my nails dig into his shoulders, desperate for something solid to hold onto. It’s not enough. I need more.
“Please,” I whimper, my voice breaking. “I need?—”
“I know what you need.” His voice is rough, his breath hot against my ear as he withdraws his fingers. The sound of his zipper is my only warning, as his fingers are replaced by the thick, blunt head of his cock. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t draw it out, he takes, pushing into me in one smooth, relentless strokethat has my back bowing off the wall, a cry tearing from my throat.
Maceo captures the sound with his mouth, his kiss rough and demanding, swallowing my moans as he sets a punishing rhythm. Each thrust is a claim, each roll of his hips a reminder of who I belong to. The brick scrapes against my skin, the cold a distant thought compared to the fire burning through me. His body fits against mine like we were made for this.
