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Mostyn set his hands on Servas, gentle and steady, his thumbs pressing into Servas’s hip bones. Then, careful and slow, he pushed in. The stretch felt sharp, his ass still sensitive after Isam’s relentless assault, but Servas’s body welcomed it.

“C’mon,” Servas whispered, voice hoarse, and Mostyn chuckled before giving him what he needed.

The first thrust shocked heat through Servas like hitting a live wire, so sharp and good that he couldn’t hold back a moan. Mostyn found the right angle, and fuck, it was as if Servas was being split apart and put back together with every movement. Mostyn’s cock was thick and solid, and the pressure was perfect, each drag and push stoking the aftershocks already rippling through Servas’s muscles. “Yes,” Servas gasped, gripping the sheets hard enough that his knuckles paled. “Fuck, yes, like that…”

Mostyn held for a moment, his body tensing, and Servas didn’t need to see to know what was happening. Isam was working his way inside Mostyn again, and then, the three of them were connected in a way that brought tears to Servas’s eyes.

Servas couldn’t process all the sensations at once—the pressure and fullness from Mostyn’s cock, the way his own body trembled and fluttered around it, and the muscled weight of Isam crowding against them both, thick and hot and so present it made Servas’s brain short-circuit. Each push, each wet slap of skin, sent tiny sparks through his nerves, shockwaves that built up and up instead of fading. Each thrust was a spark that threatened to burn him alive.

Mostyn moved slowly at first, careful, but then Isam’s hips bucked hard, and the rhythm changed. Everything sped up. Each movement pressed Servas’s chest against the mattress and dragged the air out in sharp, ragged gasps. He felt Mostyn’s calluses on his hips, the perfect drag of his cock, the way every angle of his body was alive to the touch. Isam’s hands bracketed Mostyn’s waist, holding the beta steady, and Mostyn’s groans came out as muffled, helpless keening, so close that Servas could hear each one.

Something about being used, pleasured, and needed by both of them, made Servas’s heart dial up in his chest. He felt loose, limbs boneless, rode into oblivion by Mostyn, made to take it, take it, take it.

The rhythm built and built—Mostyn pistoning into him, faster, rougher, the slap of skin and the wet, lewd glide of slick filling Servas’s ears until it was the only thing that registered. Each time Mostyn shoved Servas forward and up as he bottomed out, that perfect spot burned, then sweetened, then curdled up with another rush of want. Isam, right behind, was anchoring all of it, his hands splayed on Mostyn’s hips, controlling the tempo, cradling and guiding Mostyn through every jackhammer thrust.

And Servas got all of it. Every sound, every ragged exhale, the heat off their bodies, and the tang of sweat and slick. The weight of the two of them crushing him into the mattress made him feel small, wanted, full. Every. Fucking. Inch.

He was going to come again—he knew it before he could think it, before Mostyn’s hand even reached under to wrap around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. His body clenched all over again, nerves on fire, the pleasure building and cresting, and he came again, sudden and hot, heard himself yell out sharp and desperate.

He spilled over Mostyn’s hand, hot and wet, painting a mess on his own stomach and the mattress. He braced for the aftershocks, each pulse of pleasure coming sharper, longer, until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

His body was a wild storm, every nerve and muscle shivering with the white-hot aftermath. He felt the pulse of it behind his eyes, in every deep, dragging breath, in the way his muscles all but gave out. He barely registered Mostyn’s hoarse cry, the sharp clutch of his hands, the heat that filled Servas and then leaked out—slow, slick, throbbing hot.

Isam was the last to come with a hard, inhuman sound, a choke and a roar, and then the press of his weight against Mostyn, which in turn spilled forward and collapsed the whole sandwich of bodies onto Servas.

He tried to laugh, but nothing came out except a low wheeze. He was trapped under the tangle of them, pinned flat with his face mashed into the pillow, but frankly, he wouldn’t have moved for anything. He barely even noticed Mostyn easing out until the loss of fullness made him blink, dumb and dazed.

He lay motionless until strong hands gently lifted him, then put him back down, a strong body underneath his own. He put his head on Isam’s chest, smiling when Mostyn crawled close as well, wrapping his arm around Servas’s ass.

He had no idea how much time had passed before his breathing pattern returned to normal, when the slight wheezing stopped and his heart no longer hammered. He turned his head the other way and found Mostyn’s face an inch away from his own.

“You were right,” he told the beta.

“Huh?”

“It was spectacular sex.”

It sure had been…and to be certain, they did it all over again later that day.

13

Shifting from sex—yes, spectacular sex—to the mission hadn’t been easy, but Mostyn forced himself to focus. He’d kissed Servas goodbye, as had Isam, and then he’d forbidden himself from looking back. He couldn’t think about his mate now, about anything else but this. What they were doing was dangerous, deadly even, and if he wanted them all to come back alive, he couldn’t afford any distractions. None of them could.

Their group for the mission was six men strong. Bray was the leader, with Isam as his second, and they had been joined by Enar and Sivney—not Sydney, as Mostyn had thought initially, but Sivney—a strong, opinionated omega Mostyn immediately liked. And of course there was Palani himself, pale and looking fragile.

They all shifted, and Servas tied clothes to Isam’s and Mostyn’s backs with strings, so they’d have something to wear after shifting back. It would be kinda hard to walk around naked in a war zone, though honestly, that probably wouldn’t be as crazy as being in their wolf forms. The two alpha wolves were hella imposing, and Mostyn was glad they were on the same team.

Bray and Isam also carried guns in the packs tied to their backs, which couldn’t be too comfortable, but that couldn’t be helped. They’d need them once they were in the hospital, that much Mostyn could all but guarantee.

If the hospital still stood.

If it still had power.

They would split into two groups as soon as they reached the city, and each group would travel a different route to the hospital to attract as little attention as possible. Mostyn would stay with Isam and Sivney, and they had memorized the route they were supposed to take. They’d made plans for certain eventualities, but the truth was that they had no idea what to expect. But they’d done the best they could.

They kept a pace they could sustain for a while, which meant they couldn’t go faster than Sivney, the smallest wolf, could manage, but Palani probably couldn’t go much faster either. In fact, after about half an hour, they slowed even more, Enar indicating that Palani was tiring. Mostyn’s heart ached for him because none of this was good, especially since shifting was supposed to make him feel better.

Bray slowed, then whined softly, jerking his head to the right. They followed him to the side of the road, and when a strange rumbling sound came closer, they all hid behind some bushes. Mostyn crawled close to Isam, who nuzzled his neck in an affectionate gesture.