Page 53 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Ares

There’s a pulse in the air– and not the sexy, charged kind. It’s a slow, dull throb, like a motor left idling overnight. As I slowly come to, I realize it’s the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears, the steady thump reminding me I’m still alive.

The gnawing ache in my shoulder is also a pretty solid indication.

I open my eyes to the silvery-pink half-light of dawn leaking through the window, the city just starting to wake up outside.

There’s a warm weight splayed across my chest, a slender arm draped over my ribs, bare skin pressed to mine from collarbone to thigh.

The scent of freesia and vanilla– my favorite brand of addiction– wraps around me, grounding me in the moment.

I’m not alone.

Miley is here, exactly where she belongs.

With me, in our bed.

She’s curled up halfway on top of me, the side of her face smushed against my shoulder, long lashes fanning over her cheeks. Her hair is a golden snarl against my bicep, her left leg thrown over both of mine. I just stare at her for a minute, fighting the urge to touch, not wanting to wake her.

Then she sighs, and I feel it everywhere .

Unable to resist, I slide a hand up her back, gently sweeping a few rogue strands of hair away from her face. She blinks awake, lids fluttering like she’s annoyed to be summoned by reality. Then she meets my gaze with those stunning violet-grey eyes and for a second, neither of us moves.

“Hey,” I rasp.

She blinks, a faint smile curling her lips. “You’re up,” she whispers sleepily.

I dip my chin in a nod. “You’re here,” I say, my voice scraping out roughly from my dry throat.

Her smile dissolves on a dime. A little crease forms between her brows, a haunted expression coming over her face. “Where else would I be?”

“I wasn’t sure,” I admit, swallowing thickly. “My memory after the challenge is a little hazy.”

Miley shifts to prop herself up against my chest, the sheet slipping down her back to bare one perfect shoulder and the soft curve of her hip.

“You almost died , Ares,” she says, her voice strained.

“One minute you were standing, and the next…” she trails off, gaze lingering on the pulse point in my throat like she’s been watching it all night.

“Did I pass out?” I ask with a wince.

She nods solemnly.

“Well shit,” I sigh, pain flaring in my shoulder as I lift an arm to card my fingers through my hair. “There goes my street cred.”

She huffs a soft little laugh. “You never had street cred, Raines.”

“Did too,” I protest. “I’m supposed to be a big bad Alpha wolf, not some wimp that passes out from a few scratches.”

Miley arches a brow, giving me a hard look. “You wouldn’t have almost bled out if it was just a few scratches.”

I heave another sigh, blinking up at the ceiling. My memories of last night are pretty blurred, but I try to sift through them the best I can, slowly piecing everything together. “How did we get home?”

“Some giant named Drake claimed you two were friends, and I couldn’t turn down the muscle,” she answers. “He carried you to your truck, drove us back here, then checked your injuries and tucked you in.”

“Oh god,” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face and trying not to wince at the pain sizzling from my shoulder.

“I’m kidding,” she says with a smirk. “About tucking you in, I mean. The rest is true.”

I grin. “So you tucked me in?”

She smiles faintly, fingers tracing over the fading bruises on my ribs. “Drake told me that just being close would help you heal faster. That it’s a fated mates thing.”

“Told you we were fated,” I tease.

“Too soon, asshole,” she grumbles, flicking my ear.

I chuckle to myself, settling back into the pillows. “So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

My chest tightens. “Well, if you still wanna get outta here, then we can make it happen.”

She blinks, furrowing her brow. “But you won.”

“So?” I scoff. “You’re not a prize to be won.” I reach out to cup her cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. “You’ll always have a choice with me, Miley. So what do you want?”

She chews on her lower lip, averting her gaze. “That depends. Is this… real?” she asks, her voice catching. “Not the fated thing, but me and you. How much of the past couple months was actually real, and how much of it was for the sake of the lie?”

I shift underneath her, hyper-aware of every inch of our bodies lined up together. “It was all real for me,” I tell her. “Every damn minute. But they say if you love something, you should set it free, so…”

“You love me?” she blurts, breath catching.

“Of course I do,” I murmur as I wrap both arms around her and squeeze, ignoring the ripple of pain it elicits. “Not to be a sap, but I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you at first sight across that bar, babe. But you still have a choice.”

She pulls back, staring at me so hard I start to worry I might’ve said the wrong thing. Then her eyes go glassy, a shaky breath sawing from her lungs. “ You’re my choice, idiot,” she declares. “I love you too, I just… dammit, why is it so scary to say that?”

My face splits into a grin. “It isn’t for me.”

“That’s because you’re fearless to the point of insanity,” she snorts. “If you go trying to die on me again, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

“Isn’t that kinda counter-productive?” I laugh.

She rolls her eyes, swatting at my chest with a hand, and I just laugh harder. Can’t help it, I’m fucking giddy. Lightheaded, too– probably a little due to the blood loss, but mostly because of her .

She loves me. Miley Beckett– the smartest, most beautiful, wickedly clever, impossibly stubborn, incredible girl I’ve ever met– loves me .

I’m the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet.

I haul her on top of me, ignoring the dull pain that comes with every movement and cup her face in both hands.

She lets me pull her in for a kiss, and it’s clumsy, a little messy, but perfect.

I slide my tongue along the seam of her mouth and she opens for me, her hips grinding down.

I shift my own beneath her, cock thickening as it rides against her center.

Miley suddenly draws back, palms pressed to my chest. “We can’t,” she says, voice soft but firm. “You’re still healing, you need to rest.”

“No, what I need is to claim my mate,” I growl, reaching for her.

She shakes her head, pulling away. “I promised Drake I’d make sure you rested up.”

“Didn’t know he was such a cockblock,” I mutter.

She rolls her eyes, running a hand through her tangled hair as she pushes up to sit across my hips. “Look at us, Ares,” she says, pointing between our bodies. “We’re filthy. You’re still covered in blood. The last thing we should be doing is fucking right now.”

I glance down, realizing she’s right. Not about the fucking– I’d literally choose fucking her over anything else– but about the fact that we’re a mess. There’s dried blood and dirt caked on our skin, gruesome evidence of what we survived.

“So, shower first, then?” I suggest, wagging my brows.

She heaves an exasperated sigh but cracks a smile, nonetheless. “Only if you swear you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah right,” I scoff, swinging her off me and onto the mattress. “As if I could ever be naked with you and keep my hands to myself.”

I haul myself upright and slide out of bed, ignoring the fireworks of pain in every nerve ending as I offer her a hand up.

Miley lets me pull her to her feet, padding ahead of me toward the bathroom.

She stops to check her reflection in the mirror above the sink, prodding at the crusted blood on her collarbone with a clinical sort of detachment.

She looks like hell– a beautiful, ferocious kind of hell that makes my dick hard just to be near her.

She catches my eyes in the mirror and smirks. “We look like we committed homicide.”

“And buried the bodies,” I chuckle, stepping up behind her and bracketing her hips with my hands.

She’s still got streaks of my blood down her stomach, splashed on her thighs.

My gaze trails over every inch of her visible in the mirror as she softens against me, leaning back into my chest. I rest my chin on the crown of her head, and for a second, we just stand there wrapped together, taking in the residual evidence of last night’s carnage.

Eventually, she wriggles out of my grip, flicks the shower lever, and lets the water run hot. She gestures grandly for me to enter first, but I just point back at her and say, “Ladies first.” Not out of chivalry, but because I wanna admire that perfect ass of hers.

She rolls her eyes and turns to step in, treating me to a view of the goods.

I follow after her, the two of us crowding together under the shower head so the spray hits us both.

The first pass of heat stings when it hits my tender skin, but then it’s all good, the pain slowly dulling as the water soothes and cleanses.

We scrub each other down with washcloths and our hands, neither of us able to go more than a few seconds without lingering.

She circles the cloth over my chest and abs, taking her time, pausing whenever her fingers brush over a fading bruise.

I gently scrub her clean, running my palms up her thighs, across her hips, over her tits.

Every spot I touch makes her shiver, and every shiver makes my cock harder.

Her usually pristine hair is a tangled mess, so I lather my hands up with shampoo and work it into a thick foam, massaging it into her scalp.

Then she closes her eyes and tips her head back to let me rinse.

A contented little moan slips from her throat, and I grin to myself as I stand there with my whole world in my hands, overwhelmed by the simple domesticity of the moment and how damn good this feels.

No more pretending, no more living in survival mode. We can finally breathe and just be us .