JESSICA
:
(88)
55 vouchers
“Do you even know how to use that?” I ask quietly, looking at Grayson as he packs some of my clothes into a battered duffel.
He pauses, the knife glinting in his hand – not the big de from the waistband, a smaller one now, bnced and clean. He gives me a half–smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Enough to not cut myself,” he says. Then, softer: “Enough to keep you alive.”
I tried to make the Triad believe I needed time. I browbeat them with false doubts and hollow tears until their patience bought me thirty more days. Thirty days to train. Thirty days for a n. Thirty days to pretend my bond with Grayson is fraying at the edges.
Kade moves like a shadow, checking the perimeter with the restless precision of someone who once ran with wolves. He’s already mapped escape routes in his head – a creek that cuts through the north grove, a copsed root system we can crawl under, a low ridge that gives us cover. Riot stands by the treeline, squinting into the wash of morning, listening.
“Did they buy it?” I ask, because the lie tastes like ash in my mouth.
Grayson zips the duffel closed and slings it over his shoulder.
“They did,” he says. “They believe whatever makes them think they’re winning.”
My wolf snarls at him for lying, but the animal also purrs low at the prospect of the hunt. I hate how the two halves of me answer different truths.
—
Kade crouches and taps a rock twice. Two taps is the signal for ‘stay low. He taps again, then draws a line with the butt of his knife in the dirt the route. “Extraction points here, here, and here,” he says. His voice is clipped, businesslike. “If anything goes wrong, you cut to the creek and head east. Riot covers you from the ridge. Grayson and I draw them toward the old logging road.”
“But if I’m inside them-” My voice breaks. The image of men’s hands on my skin shes like a de. I press my fingers to my lips to stop the sound.
“You’re not alone<i>,” </i>Grayson says. He kneels to meet my eyes, the duffel at his feet. “We’ve rehearsed this. Signals. Code words. A press of the thumb to the inside of your palm – that’s ‘extraction now.‘ A single word we’ll never speak aloud unless it’s thest resort.”
He lifts his hand, thumb brushing my knuckle. It’s small, intimate, I want to lean in so badly my knees feel weak. Instead I step back, breath sharp, angry at the way my body betrays me.
Riot sneers, but there’s a wetness at the corners of his eyes he won’t admit. “They’re sending scouts today,” he says. “Two or three. Clean–footed types. Watchers. They’ll test you. Make sure you’re loyal.”
“To be ready,” Kade corrects, but the edge on his words is thin. He swallows whatever he’d nned to say and nods to Riot. “We move now. Practice gets you used to panic.”
Grayson crouches and shows me the knife again
–
how to hold it, where to press to break bone if ites to
10:11 <b>Thu</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>25 </b>
that, how to angle so the victim’s momentum is used against them.
88
55 vouchers
“Keep your thumb along the spine,” he murmurs. “It’s bnce. Don’t make it part of you unless you have to.”
Tears slip out before I can stop them. I swipe them away with the heel of my hand. “I don’t want to be a spy in a room of killers,” I whisper.
“You’re not their spy,” Grayson says. “Come here. I have another night to love you.”
I let myself lean into him, stupid and willing. My forehead rests against his chest and he presses his lips to my hair, a soft, useless promise. “One more night,” he murmurs against my scalp. “One more where I can hold you without nning the fire escapes.”
I curl against him, hands mping to the fabric of his shirt until my knuckles whiten. Sobse–small, unsteady, honest–and he holds me while they shake out of me. I hate how easy it is to unravel in his arms. I hate how right it feels. I hate how much I want to stay. My wolf whines low in my throat, equal parts need and warning, and I stroke my palm over the ce where the knife rests in my duffel as if that will steady me.
He lifts my face and the look in his eyes is a map of everything he’s afraid to say: regret, adoration, a ferocity that makes the air between us taste metallic. His thumb brushes my lower lip, the motion intimate enough to make my knees weak.
“We’ll do this together,” he says. “You and me. Kade and Riot. We’ll bruise for it. We’ll mend. We’ll take it back.”
He draws me in and our mouths meet so passionately as if sealing a pact. It’s soft and terrible and strips me down <i>to </i>the raw ce under the ribs. When we part, my breath is his, his breath is mine.
“I want you, Grayson.”
His eyes darken instantly, like I just handed him permission he’s been starving for. His mouth crushes mine again, harder this time, iming, demanding. My lips part and he takes, his tongue sliding against mine, and my whole body lights up like he’s feeding the bond with every stroke.
His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back, and his mouth trails down my throat. I whimper, because it’s too much, too good, and not nearly enough. My knees threaten to buckle when he licks the hollow of my neck and then bites, just sharp enough to sting.
“Grayson,” I pant.
He spins me and ms me back against a tree, bark biting my shoulders through the thin dress. His hands are everywhere at once–under my skirt, tugging at my panties, palming my ass like he owns it. I can’t breathe, <b>can’t </b>think, only clutch his shoulders as he tears the flimsy scrap ofce off me with one sharp yank. The sound of fabric ripping echoes in the trees, filthy and final.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my throat, his breath hot, ragged. “Not theirs. Not ever.”
“Yes,” I <b>gasp</b>, arching as his fingers plunge between my legs. He’s rough, unrelenting, sliding through my slickness and pressing hard against my clit until my whole body jerks. My nails rake his back through his shirt, desperate for more. “Grayson, <b>please-</b>”
“Beg prettier,” he snarls, shoving two fingers inside me, curling them just right. My head drops back against
10:11 Thu, <b>Sep </b><b>25 </b><b>d</b>…
the tree, mouth open, a cry spilling out before I can catch it.
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55 voucliers
“Please.” I whimper, clutching his wrist as his fingers fuck me hard and deep. “Please, I need your cock. I need you inside me.”
He pulls out and I nearly sob at the emptiness. He doesn’t give me a chance to protest–he’s already shoving his jeans down, his thick cock springing free, hard and leaking. My eyes go wide. My mouth waters.
He fists it once, tight, then presses the head against my dripping entrance. The stretch is instant, brutal, burning in the best way. I cry out, half in pain, half in bliss, and he growls into my ear, “Take me, baby. Take all of me.”
One thrust and he’s buried to the hilt, my walls clutching him so tight we both gasp. The bark scrapes my back as he pins me harder, hands braced on my thighs to keep me wide open for him. He stays still for a heartbeat, trembling, as if he’s fighting not to lose it right there.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to mine, sweat dripping. “Like your body was made for me. No one else. No one.”
His cock stretches me so deep I feel him in my stomach, dragging moans from me I can’t hold back.
He kisses me like a drowning man between thrusts, tongue desperate, lips bruising, teeth catching on mine. His words are broken growls against my mouth: mine, my girl, my mate, no one takes you, no one.
My climax builds sharp and fast, the bond flooding me with his hunger, his fear, his devotion. My nails dig bloody crescents into his shoulders as my body tightens around him.
“Grayson–fuck, I’m-”
“Come for me,” he orders<b>, </b>pounding harder, his cock hitting that spot again and again. “Give it to me. Let me feel you break on me.”
I shatter.
My scream rips out into the trees, my walls mping around him in convulsing waves. He groans like it’s killing him, like it’s heaven and hell at once, and ms into me with brutal finality.
Hot, thick release floods me as he buries deep, grinding hard like he’s branding me from the inside. His teeth sink into my shoulder–not enough to mark, but enough to im, to remind me who I belong to.
We cling to each other, trembling, panting, filthy and undone. His cock twitches inside me as he whispers ragged against my ear, “They’ll never have you. Even if they touch you, even if they try, you’ll still be mine. Always mine.”