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WREN

My eyes felt gritty, like someone had poured sand into them as I slept. It was the kind of feeling you got after an especially hard sleep. I blinked against the light in the room.

The first thing I saw was Locke. He sat on the bed, propped against the pillows, looking down at me with concern. “How do you feel?”

My brows pulled together in confusion, but then it all came back to me, memories from the night before flashing in my mind: the lights going out, feeling like I was back in the pit, fighting Locke, and then Puck.

I quickly scanned the room. They were all here. Heat hit my cheeks as I remembered Puck holding me in the bathtub.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“Birdie,” Puck said, his voice firm. “You don’t have to apologize for a damn thing. ”

I swallowed the burn in my throat, acid coating my esophagus. Shame. That’s what fueled the pain.

The mattress dipped as Kingston sat. He squeezed my leg through the blankets. “We all have stories, Little Warrior. We all have demons.”

I toyed with the edge of the sheet. “I’m not great with darkness. Between that and the storm... I’m sorry.”

A growl sounded from the chair in the corner, and I saw Brix’s eyes flash silver. “No. More. Apologies.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

Kingston squeezed my leg again, reassurance in his touch. “His wolf is on edge. He’s worried about you.”

I pressed my lips together but nodded. Guilt swirled through me. I didn’t want to cause any of them pain, even Ender, who might deserve a shot to the balls.

“Wren,” Kingston began, and my gaze moved back to him. “Can you do me a favor and drop your scent shields for a moment?”

I stiffened. The guys might’ve scented my supernatural sides before, but I didn’t make a habit of allowing it. I’d trained myself to keep the barriers up so none of my secrets could be discovered. The training was so ingrained in me that it had become second nature.

“Why?” I asked, suspicion lacing the word.

Locke shifted next to me, taking my hand in his and squeezing. “I did some research while you were out. There have been cases where true mating bonds were blocked because of certain shields. The wolves didn’t realize they were true mates until the shield was dropped.”

A buzz lit in my muscles, and shock coursed through me. I couldn’t deny that I felt a pull toward all five men. One so strong it didn’t make logical sense, given the short time we’d known one another. I’d considered the possibility that we might be potential mates, but true mates?

I shook my head. “There’s no way. ”

“Then there’s no harm in seeing,” Kingston said calmly, his hand not leaving my leg.

I’d heard the stories. How with one skin-to-skin touch, you’d instantly know it was the mate the universe had destined you for. And in that moment, you would get a glimpse of what your future would hold.

My breaths came quicker as fear and anxiety swept through me. I was terrified of either outcome.

Locke leaned in, placing his forehead against mine. “It doesn’t matter if we are or aren’t,” he said softly. “I want you. You have me, all of me.”

A fresh burn lit behind my eyes. “Okay,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes and focused on my shields. The scent and emotional shields were separate, but I had to be careful not to lower both, or it would overload my empathic gift. Grabbing hold of the metaphysical fabric of the scent shield, I let it fall.

The second it did, electricity zinged through my veins—fire and ice and deep knowing. My lips parted on a gasp as a moving picture flashed in my mind: Locke in a field of wildflowers, but he held the hands of a toddler. A little girl with dark-brown curls and light-blue eyes the same shade as Kingston’s. He beamed down at her as she struggled to walk toward me, babbling out nonsensical chatter. My arms were outstretched, ready and waiting.

And then the image was simply gone.

Grief and pain swept through me as my eyes flew open. Because I wanted it back. Wanted to feel that pure joy again.

Locke looked at me, wonder in his gaze. “Mate,” he whispered. And then his mouth was on mine. His tongue stroked in, his spicy-chocolate taste exploding in my mouth. I let out a soft moan as comfort and heat spread through me until a throat cleared.

I jerked back, realizing the rest of the guys were still there. That heat was back in my cheeks.

Kingston shifted forward, a soft smile on his lips. “So beautiful,” he crooned, ghosting his knuckles across my cheek .

That foreign energy was back, zipping through me. All fire and ice and certainty. A new image filled my mind. I looked up into Kingston’s eyes, now lined with wrinkles, taking in the gray threaded through his hair. He swayed us back and forth to a Christmas song as stockings lined the fireplace. “Merry Christmas, Little Warrior. Thank you for giving me everything I ever dreamed of.”

Then that picture was gone, too. But tears sprang to my eyes. “How?” I whispered.

“Because you’re mine, and I’m yours,” Kingston said, leaning forward and brushing his lips across mine.

“It’s bullshit. This isn’t real,” Ender snarled as he stalked toward the bed. He reached down and grabbed my wrist.

The energy was more ice than fire this time, the two sensations seeming to battle until they took me under into the images of the future. I gasped, the feelings grabbing hold before the pictures did. Ender’s hand gripped my hair, just shy of pain as he pounded into me. The sun baked into our bare skin, and a creek babbled in the background, but all I could feel was him: his power, the force of how badly he wanted me. “Wife,” he growled. “Look how beautifully you take me.”

And then it was gone. Ender dropped my arm as if he’d been burned. “Sorcery,” he growled. “This is some sort of caster spell, and I won’t fall for it.”

He stormed out of the room without another word, and all I could do was gape. Brix stood then, crossing to the bed. His expression was impossible to read, but those blue-green eyes swirled, both colors darkening. “I already know the truth,” he rasped. “But don’t worry. I won’t saddle you with a mate like me.”

And then he, too, disappeared, trailing after Ender. Pain lanced my chest, his words like acid poured into the wound. My gaze couldn’t help but travel to Puck then, seeking out some sort of comfort.

But I didn’t find my usual joking charmer there. Instead, I found a look of agony. Shadows rimmed Puck’s green eyes as he stared at me from his spot near the wall. It was then that I realized he was as far away from me as he could get.

Puck’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m sorry, Wren.”

It was possibly the first time he’d used my formal name. And it felt like a dagger to the chest. But the next two words dealt the death blow.

“I can’t.” And then he was gone, too.