Page 7 of My Pucking Mates (Pucking Werewolves #4)

Present

T here was nothing I could do to prepare myself for what it would feel like to touch her.

The tingling explosion of the mate bond.

The depth of care reflected in her bright green eyes.

I was drowning in her scent: vanilla, mint, and hope.

When Dolos joined the embrace, the effects of the bond were somehow strengthened even further.

My knees buckled, my wolf howled, my fangs itched, and if I didn’t get her out of my space, I was going to fuck her senseless and mark her, now. That couldn’t happen, yet. But fuck…I wanted it to.

Everything suddenly made sense. Well, partially anyways. How the strongest and broodiest man I’ve ever met—my Alpha— could be turned into a pup by a woman. But if that’s what a mate bond feels like, how can they mean so little to others?

Our father, Roman’s father, and Khaos’ father were all fortunate enough to be granted their fated mates, but they didn’t care for them like they should have; they didn’t appreciate them. Khaos’ father cheated but stayed. Roman’s father abused and killed. Our father cheated, abused, and left.

What determines which man you become when you find your mate and complete the bond?

Is it the man or the bond? Would it be possible for my kind and happy brother to become something darker in the face of a bond?

Or would he flourish and be the perfect mate while my darkness drowned them?

What if I’m not good enough for her, for them? I don’t want to taint their bond.

“Woah,” Dolos breathes.

I wait, knowing his thoughts are about to catch up to his mouth and come pouring out any minute.

My heaving chest slows just as his eyes turn wide— here we go— “There’s no way you didn’t feel all of that. Eris…” His eyes pleading as he trails off.

We’ve never talked in depth about the thought of having mates. We were always adamant that we never wanted one after we saw the pain Mama went through to recover from the loss of hers, no matter how awful he was.

“Eris,” he repeats.

Is he pleading that we complete the mate bond? Or is he pleading to understand?

I run my hands through my hair, growling as my wolf whimpers beneath my skin.

“There’s something you don’t know,” I finally say through gritted teeth. I meant to tell him this so long ago. There was never a right time, and after long enough, it didn’t matter anymore.

He stills, looking at me with a serious yet wary curiosity, and “What?” is all he asks.

I pace in front of the trunk at the foot of my bed, rearranging my thoughts so when they come out of my mouth, they make sense and deliver the least possible blow to my twin.

It’s not the act that I’m worried about him reacting to.

It’s the fact that I didn’t tell him. It’s the fact that I did it on my own; we have always done everything together… for the most part.

Finally stopping and dropping onto the trunk, I rest my elbows on the top of my thighs and catch my head in my hands. “I’ve tried to tell you this so many times,” I begin.

Ever the attentive brother, Dolos dramatically lands on the floor, crosses his legs like a pup, and scoots closer to me with an obnoxious smile on his face, letting me know he’s ready for whatever bomb I have to drop on him.

I try to smile back at him, but the muscles in my face feel rusty and unused. “Remember the night Pop left?”

Suspicion dances across his features briefly before he schools them and says, “Yep,” popping the P.

“I went looking for him,” I start again, preparing myself to tell my twin something that I buried deep ages ago.

“We didn’t know for sure what happened to him, and I wanted to know.

He had either left Mama and severed their bond, or something happened to him, causing it to be severed.

One way or another, I was going to find out. For Mama.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

“Well…I found him. Alive and well. Well, not entirely well. He was slobbering-fucking-drunk-wasted and sexually smothering a willing participant outside the pub.”

His eyebrows scrunch together, and his previously relaxed stature hardens into one that reflects his temper that’s beginning to simmer.

“When I confronted him, he didn’t give a shit about any of us and basically told me to fuck off, and that he never had to see any of us again.

” The words send my blood boiling when I remember the way he spoke of my mother and brother.

Words they will never know because it would needlessly hurt them.

He’s just watching me when he finally says, “What does it matter what he said? We knew he left. We didn’t need him back.” There’s a dejected tone in his voice that I hate. He knows how our father felt about him, and it’s why I did what I did.

As quietly as I can, while still being heard, I allow myself to say the words I never thought I’d say.