Page 29

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Sascha

Thirty. Six. Fucking. Hours .

That’s how long it’s been.

Between bouts, Avery sleeps fitfully before thrashing awake without warning, desperate for Sascha to touch him again.

Sascha’s not entirely sure how much of it is the heat and how much is general panic, residual trauma seeping out through cracks Avery has no choice in revealing.

He keeps Avery fed and drinking water, also monitoring the wide, tender scars where his small body has healed from that sick bastard’s attack.

That brittle routine is the only thing tethering Sascha to reality, as the rest of the time passes in a haze of pure carnality.

With Avery’s arms pinned above his head, both thin wrists fitting easily in one of Sascha’s hands, Sascha spears into him as hard as his exhausted body can manage.

“I’m going to get you a vibrator,” he gasps, thrusting again, keeping his pace torturously slow.

“A big one. The industrial kind”—he grunts with exertion—“like they use in porn.”

Avery hiccups, glassy eyes shifting to focus on Sascha’s face. “Industrial—fuck!” He tries again: “What the hell kind of porn are you watching?”

Sascha snaps his hips forward, smiling at how Avery’s gaze rolls back up toward the ceiling. “I’ll have to show you.”

“Right now?”

“Fuck no,” Sascha says on a breathless laugh. “Why would I need porn when— when I’ve got you right in front of me? You’re the sexiest, ngh, most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Razor focus cuts through Avery’s blissful expression.

He puts a hand on Sascha’s chest, stilling him.

Being pushed around stopped surprising Sascha after the first couple times, so he merely laughs as Avery lurches into motion, flipping him onto his back.

Avery rubs against him, bruised lips working hungrily.

But then Avery leans back, expression serious, and says, “I’m going to blow you every morning for the rest of my life.” If he notices the way Sascha’s jaw goes slack, Avery doesn’t acknowledge it. He drops a kiss on Sascha’s chin and proceeds down the rest of his body, his destination obvious.

Sascha’s lips part in a quiet gasp when Avery fits his mouth around him, but his mind strays elsewhere, lingering on the sincerity with which Avery said, ‘ for the rest of my life .’ It was a joke, probably.

Definitely. Yet it cycles through Sascha’s thoughts, spinning into a whirlwind of emotion.

Maybe it’s just because he’s never before met anyone he’d be willing to fuck for a full day and a half without getting bored.

Maybe it’s because he’s never been wanted the way Avery clings and calls for him.

Maybe, Sascha thinks, as Avery wrenches a near-painfully dry orgasm out of him, he’d be happy to wake up with Avery every day for the rest of his life, whether or not blowjobs were involved.

The moment he can move his arms again, Sascha drags Avery on top of him, inserts his thigh between Avery’s legs, and kisses him like he has the antidote for every drop of self-deprecating poison Sascha has ever ingested.

Avery whimpers and grinds down, riding Sascha’s thigh until he comes with a soft cry buried in Sascha’s mouth.

Before drawing away, Avery flicks his tongue over Sascha’s philtrum, winning him a soft chuckle.

He smiles weakly, then collapses against Sascha’s chest.

They don’t move for so long, Sascha wonders if Avery fell asleep, but before he can decide what to do about it, Avery uncurls, flopping sideways and stretching his wiry limbs. “I think…” He clears his throat. “I think it might be over.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Avery smacks Sascha on the thigh. “No, I feel different now. Finally. Like you wrung the last bit out of me.”

“Really?” Sascha reaches his arms over his head, arching his back. “That’s great. I don’t think my dick could take anymore, even if you weren’t done. That last one was rough.”

When Avery doesn’t respond, Sascha turns to see his eyes closed, lips curved in a tiny smile. He strokes a few sticky curls back from Avery’s forehead, prompting him to roll, nestling into Sascha’s side. At last, Avery’s breath evens out, leaving Sascha to hold him while he sleeps.

They wake up dehydrated and sore.

“My mouth tastes like ass,” is the first thing Avery says.

Sascha turns on the sink, forgoing civility in lieu of sticking his head under the faucet to suck water directly from the stream. He sputters, then says, “Probably from all the ass you’ve been eating.”

Avery laughs, then shoves Sascha out of the way so he can run water into an actual glass. He drains half of it, then offers the rest to Sascha .

“I’m starving,” Sascha says on a gasp the moment the cup leaves his mouth. “Like, I could probably eat a bear.”

“Not again,” Avery whispers, then laughs when Sascha hip-checks him.

“We’re ordering room service.”

Despite the room reeking of sex and sweat, there’s a current of relief that goes a long way in clearing the air.

Avery does more than pick at his lunch, which helps Sascha unclench enough to refuel properly.

By the time evening arrives without Avery flying into another panic, Sascha texts Petra to let her know they’ve survived.

He’s about to suggest they order more food for dinner, only to see Avery pursing his lips at his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Sascha asks immediately.

Avery winces. “You’re not going to like this.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Sascha mentally braces himself, then says, “Okay, tell me.”

“I have to go back to the farm.”

Sascha’s eyes fly open. “No.”

“Sascha—”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s important!”

“You not being fileted like a fish is also important.”

“I just have to go to the main office.” Avery worries his bottom lip with his teeth, biting so hard Sascha almost reaches to pull it free.

“I just got a text that tomorrow they’re going to open my locker and trash everything inside.

My wallet’s in there, plus all my documentation.

I can’t go back to Indiana to replace my birth certificate if I lose it—that were-pack will, quite literally, kill me.

At least it’ll make it easy for my parents to identify my body, right?

If they even want to.” A hysterical laugh bubbles in his chest, emerging as a distressed hiccup.

Sascha swoops in, switching to ‘damage control.’ “Okay, okay. Breathe. I get it. I’ll go with you, okay?

Tonight, after you’ve eaten more.” He puts a finger over Avery’s mouth when he starts to protest. “I will hogtie you in the bathroom before I let you go back to that fucking place alone, so don’t argue.

We’ll go, get your shit, and make ourselves scarce. ”

They haven’t talked about what happens after they leave the hotel room.

Avery won’t have anywhere to go, and Sascha certainly can’t help him.

Wedged so far under his father’s thumb, he doesn’t have his own income, as he was never allowed to get a job due to his health.

The closer the conversation gets, the more anxiety builds in the back of Sascha’s mind, in his gut, choking his veins so his blood stutters every time his heart tries to beat.

He doesn’t want Avery to leave, but doesn’t know what other options they have. Not for a lone werecreature with no friends, no allies other than a broken cougar shifter who isn’t strong enough to lead his own pack.

Well aware he’s trembling but not wanting to acknowledge it, Sascha kisses Avery quickly. “Go shower. I’m gonna order more food, then we can… get ready.”

“Alright,” Avery says softly, kissing him back before drifting toward the bathroom.

He’s dressed in nothing but the filthy t-shirt Sascha was wearing when he first found Avery on the side of the road, and Sascha watches him pull it over his head, pausing to yawn when it’s only halfway off.

His narrow hips have been darkened by hickeys and bruises shaped like Sascha’s fingers, and there’s a fading bite mark on his asscheek.

Then Avery disappears behind the bathroom door, closing it behind him with a click of the latch that sounds a bit too final.

Crouched outside the admin office on Dennings’ property, Sascha begs his heart to stop pounding.

Cougars aren’t small animals, and even with his sleek body enrobed in darkness, he feels terribly exposed.

On a farm patrolled by other shifters, none of them alphas to his knowledge, he’s safer than a rogue werecreature, but any enforcer worth their salt would be naturally suspicious in the presence of such potent fear.

It’s only been a couple minutes since Avery walked inside the otherwise empty building, but every passing second ratchets Sascha’s tension higher until he’s panting from nerves…

which makes his anxiety more noticeable.

In the distance, he smells another shifter prowling about, but despite Sascha’s worries, whoever it is doesn’t seem to find his presence noteworthy.

Their presence fades from his awareness shortly after.

Familiar footsteps have Sascha’s ears perking, and he huffs in relief when Avery makes it outside, intact and unruffled.

Sascha rushes to his side, sniffing the fabric of the cheap t-shirt they bought from a drug store on the way back into Bliss.

There’s no scent other than factory chemicals, so Sascha bumps his forehead against the back of Avery’s knee, herding him in the direction of the car.

Suddenly, Sascha’s ears prick at the sound of someone approaching, the scent he caught earlier growing stronger.

A pale, mushy-looking man steps from a door at the side of the office building. His gaze immediately descends upon Sascha, full of hostility and derision. Sascha flattens his ears and crouches, a growl rumbling in his throat.

Avery, gone stiff as a board, pats Sascha’s hunched shoulders. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

“Is this that shifter you’re fucking? Gotta be,” says the man, voice slimy and grating.

“What do you want, Atwood?” Avery demands.

The name sends tension shooting down Sascha’s spine. This is the bastard who nearly killed Avery.

In biped form, Sascha would be able to examine this information logically.

He’d be able to calculate the best way to handle this situation.

Talking to Avery has taught Sascha that werecreatures do not process their animal affinities the same way as shifters.

Avery views his ursine as a separate being invading his mind, while Sascha, in this form, simply becomes a cougar because that’s who he is.

No second presence, no asynchronous instincts.

“I hoped you’d be stupid enough to come when you got that text,” Atwood says, wiggling his phone in a meaty hand.

Avery scoffs, though Sascha can see how his hands are trembling, and he pushes his forehead into Avery’s palm.

“That’s smarter than I thought you were capable of.

Thanks, though. I got everything.” He casually waves his chunky wallet in Atwood’s direction, the worn leather stuffed with all that’s left of Avery’s life.

Atwood’s smug expression turns stormy. “You’re a little shit,” he spits. “You’ve been a little shit since you started working here, and you’ll continue being a little shit wherever you go after this, so someone should really spare the rest of the world your continued existence.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna turn into a stupid-looking death bird to punish me for not fucking you again?” Avery’s fingers tighten around Sascha’s scruff, though not to hold Sascha back. Not that he could, but Sascha can tell it’s to ground himself. He’s more afraid than he’s letting on.

“I could have had Uncle Howard shoot you. He said he would,” Atwood snarls, voice raising above the snarl in Sascha’s own throat. “But I’d rather kill you myself, you fucking freak.”

Avery staggers back, Atwood steps forward, and Sascha, who is an enraged wild animal, lunges to take the bastard’s throat in his powerful jaws and jerks his head sharply.

The sound of Atwood’s neck cracking isn’t enough, so Sascha sinks his teeth in with more force, presses a paw on the limp man’s chest, and yanks .

Atwood’s larynx comes free in Sascha’s mouth; he quickly spits it out, gagging at the foul taste of his blood.

Now Sascha’s soaked in it: The blood of a man who would have murdered Avery.

Operating with the straightforward logic of an animal, Sascha has no regrets about killing Atwood before he could make good on his threat to once again harm the person Sascha loves.

In this form, this mind, there’s no space for fretting over implications or consequences.

Maybe later, what he was willing to sacrifice for a werecreature he’s known only a few weeks will affect him.

For now, he has to get Avery to the car.

They run together, Avery aiming for the handle of the back seat door so Sascha can jump inside, allowing Avery to take the wheel without waiting for Sascha to shift.

He wonders if anyone will shoot before they reach the vehicle because Sascha has it on good authority that Farmer Dennings is a gun-toting redneck who won’t hesitate to put down a werecreature or a shifter if he finds either a threat.

No guns fire, though. What happens instead is much worse.

A cloaking spell releases, filling Sascha with horror to see his car surrounded by snarling wolves, with a biped woman crouched on the roof. Celeste’s eyes are bright and cold, bathing her cheeks amber where she stands just outside the office’s shitty fluorescent lighting.

“Sascha Madison,” she says, and clicks her tongue.

Beryl, in their were-tiger form, whips around the side of the car. Growling, Sascha crouches, preparing be wiped out in a rematch now that they don’t have to face alpha magic without backup, but Beryl swerves around him, heading for Avery.

The growl catches in Sascha’s throat as one of Celeste’s other werecreatures, the one who controls the magic she relies on, lunges forward and? —

And Sascha’s muscles freeze .

The werecreature is a large woman, biped form shorter than Sascha’s but bulkier.

She scruffs him like a kitten, getting her other arm around his neck to secure him in a chokehold.

Her paralysis spell breaks but no matter how Sascha thrashes, he’s incapable of bucking her hold.

A current of alpha dominance surges to the forefront, demanding she release him, but it’s too late.

His brain is going fuzzy, and Celeste’s uninhibited alpha magic is smothering his, commanding submission.

The last thing Sascha is aware of is looking over his shoulder, desperately seeking out Avery’s small, blurry form trapped behind the wall of snarling wolves and werecreatures. Avery calls out once, then Sascha knows nothing else.