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“No,” I admitted softly, the truth I’d carried for years slipping out despite my best efforts. “But that’s different.”

“How is it different?” Drew challenged.

“Because I’ve loved them since before any mate bond existed,” I said, the words painful to voice. “I loved them when I thought they could never be mine. When I was just the annoying little brother they had to tolerate.”

Drew’s expression softened. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe?—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, unable to bear whatever false hope he was about to offer. “Please. I know what this is. What I am to them. Their responsibility. Their duty. Their fated mate that biology says they have to want.”

“Finn—”

“It’s fine,” I insisted, turning back to my painting to hide the emotion I knew was written across my face. “Really. I’ve made my peace with it.”

A lie, and we both knew it. But Drew was kind enough not to call me on it.

“Just… don’t make assumptions about what they’re feeling,” he said after a moment. “Or why they’re feeling it.”

He left me there, surrounded by the scent of paint and the image of three wolves running away from me. His words echoed in my mind, not comforting but unsettling. Don’t makeassumptions. But wasn’t the truth obvious? Three perfect alpha werewolves suddenly wanting me after years of treating me like a little brother, right after a ceremony that declared me their mate? What else could it be but the mate bond forcing compatibility where none naturally existed?

Looking at the canvas with new eyes, I traced the outline of the wolves I’d painted. I’d loved them for so long it felt like part of my identity. Loving them. Wanting them. Knowing I could never have them, not really. Not in the way I wanted.

And now I had them—their touches, their kisses, their desire—but only because of supernatural biology that gave them no choice in the matter. It was a cruel joke, getting everything I’d ever wanted but knowing it wasn’t real. That they wouldn’t choose me without the mate bond forcing them.

If I could shift, could run with them, could be what they needed—would it make a difference? Would it ever be enough to overcome the fundamental truth that they were bound to me by magic, not choice?

The question lingered, unanswered, as I cleaned my brushes and put away my supplies. Outside, the sun climbed higher in the sky, and somewhere in the forest, three wolves ran with the freedom I couldn’t share. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I found myself in an uncomfortable limbo—loving them completely while believing they could only want me because of the mate bond. Taking what I could get while I could get it. Memorizing every touch, every kiss, every moment of belonging to sustain me when this inevitably ended.

When they returned—and they would return—I would pretend not to see the duty in their eyes. Would pretend, just for a little while longer, that what we had could be real.

Even knowing it was just a beautiful lie.

Chapter 17

Iwoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and a face full of Keir’s chest. Smooth, perfectly sculpted chest, I might add. The kind of chest Renaissance artists would have wept to carve in marble. Not that I’d been studying it. Much.

“You’re staring again,” Keir mumbled without opening his eyes.

“I’m not staring,” I protested. “I’m conducting an anatomical study. For art. It’s very scientific.”

“Hmm.” His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. “And the drooling? Is that for science too?”

“I do not drool!” My fox ears popped out in indignation—traitors—and Keir’s hand immediately found them, scratching gently behind them in a way that made my toes curl.

It had been just over a week since that day at the beach when everything changed between us—since the night Cade had carried me back to his room and the three brothers had shown me exactly what being their mate could mean. Since then, I’d been rotating between their beds each night, following some schedule they seemed to have worked out among themselves. Not that I was complaining. Each brother offered something different, something I was quickly becoming addicted to.

“Wake up!” Drew’s voice came through the door with a quick knock. “Aunt Vivian’s here with breakfast!”

I bolted upright. “Aunt Vivian? Why didn’t you say so?”

Keir laughed, stretching languidly. “Funny how you’ll sleep through Elena’s calls but Aunt Vivian gets immediate attention.”

“Elena doesn’t make her special blueberry pancakes,” I explained, already scrambling for clothes. “And Aunt Vivian only visits on weekends.”

Before I could locate my second sock, the door opened and Logan appeared, looking far too put-together for this hour. “You’re late,” he informed us, leaning against the doorframe. “Cade’s already on his second cup of coffee, and Aunt Vivian is asking where her favorite artist is.”

“I’m coming!” I hopped on one foot, trying to pull on my sock while simultaneously searching for a clean shirt.