Page 19 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

I’m floating, completely undone, almost naked on the rug where my world dissolved into theirs, and nothing’s quite real anymore.

Nixon’s lips trace lazy kisses along the curve of my spine, lingering at my waist before drifting lower.

He presses his mouth to the place where we were joined, lapping at the slickness, marking me as his animalistically.

His scent of winter breeze, earth, and forest surrounds me like a protective shield. It fills my lungs.

Finn’s fingers drift across my shoulder, sliding slowly and teasing until they find my nipples, one then the other, coaxing them into tight peaks that bloom under his touch. His fingertips are soft but confident, like he’s inside my mind and knows exactly what will make me stir.

Reed, ever the smiler, is enthralled by my hair, threading his fingers through the red strands over and over, like he’s memorizing its texture.

It’s quiet, except for the hum of our breathing and the faint creak of shifting weight. The silence is a weighted blanket pressing gently against my skin.

I need them to speak. I need words.

I need to know who I am now that I’m with them.

My mother’s voice rises in my mind: What would people say? Who are you, letting three men touch you, taste you, fuck you… Watch you? It finishes with the huff of disapproval. You should know better.

I almost pull away, but their touches anchor me now rather than unravel me. I sink into the pleasure and the gravity of their bodies around me, and I let them pet me.

Nixon’s hand curls around my waist, lifting me gently, his intention clear.

I don’t even need to stand. I follow the gentle current of his strength until I’m boneless and wrapped in his arms, flanked by his brothers.

We bypass my bedroom and end up in a grand room across the hall, which is large and quiet, with a bed big enough for all of us.

He sets me at the center of the mattress as if laying out the world at his feet, eyes never leaving mine. Finn and Reed settle on either side of me, creating a cradle of warm flesh and the promise of comfort. Each one presses kisses to my shoulders, my hips, the crease of my thighs.

Nixon lies behind me, tracing the line of my collarbone. “You’re ours.”

It’s a statement of fact, not a question. No one has ever staked a claim on me with such confidence.

“For tonight,” I whisper back because, of course, he means temporarily. He knows I’m leaving. I’m pretty sure they’ll want me out of their hair tomorrow, when the sex-haze has left us all, and the new light of the morning reminds us who we are and where we belong in the world.

He doesn’t disagree, but then again, he doesn’t agree.

He keeps stroking me until Finn climbs between my legs to slide his tongue through my folds and over my sensitized clit.

Reed sucks my nipple, connecting streams of pleasure I didn’t know were possible.

Then Nixon is next to me, kissing my mouth like he’s sipping dessert wine, until three brothers beckon another orgasm from me, and I drown in the deep water of pleasure, drifting into the coma of sleep.

***

I wake up to the soft scent of roses and the quiet absence of bodies around me.

The bed beneath my bare skin is cool, the linens tangled from a night I still can’t quite believe happened.

Beside me, a single red rose lies on the pillow, dewy, unblemished, and beautiful.

I draw it close, inhale deeply, and let the sweetness fill my lungs.

When I glance down, the marks that reveal the heat of what we did last night are the first thing I notice.

My nipples are still tender, peaked from the memory of mouths and hands.

Hickeys bloom across my hips and belly in scattered clusters.

I haven’t worn marks like these since high school.

Rather than juvenile, there’s a possessive, territorial quality to them.

I trace a bruise with careful fingers and the echo ripples through me. Their touch, their voices, the pleasure they gave me again and again until I drifted, not drowning, but flying. Soaring.

I stretch slowly, testing my ankle. It pulses with stiffness, but not enough to stop me. With a little help from the painkillers in my bag, I could probably drive today.

And I should.

I can’t stay forever.

A note sits on the nightstand, scribbled on a napkin:

At the yard. Finn will return for you at 11 AM.

I glance at the clock: 10:30. I slept three hours past my usual alarm, and I didn’t even stir. My body must’ve needed it.

I shower quickly, sorry to reluctantly wash away our night of passion, and dress in jeans, a loose tee, and boots.

Even though they’re everyday actions, I’m dazed, as if I’m still in the rhythm of last night’s surrender. As I move through the cabin, every step stirs memories. The way Nixon kissed my spine. The bubble of Reed’s laughter against my thigh. Finn’s fingers, reverent and patient.

The place is empty now. But it’s not cold. The cabin still carries their energy that surrounds me with warmth.

At exactly 11:00, Finn opens the door, freshly shaven, dressed in a soft gray shirt and well-worn jeans.

He looks like morning should: crisp and calm, except for the warmth in his eyes when he sees me, and the passion that stirs in his lips when he kisses me, pulling me close with a possessive arm around my hips.

“You ready?” he asks, like it’s any other day, and he didn’t watch me come apart beneath his brothers and then take me to pieces himself. Like I’m not a random woman his brother rescued in the woods and brought home like a lost orphan.

“I think I am.” I push my purse strap onto my shoulder, shift my crutch, and follow him to the truck.

“You guys started early,” I say as we pull onto the road winding through arching trees that seem to be leaning in to listen.

“We had a delivery,” he says, opening the window.

Dappled light paints the hood of the truck, and I draw in the scent of the woods, and the crisp, clean air clears the last of sleep from my head.

When we’re a minute away from the cabin, he lifts his head and scans both sides of the road and then slows, pulling the truck over at an unmarked patch of shoulder.

“What is it?” I ask, watching the way he lifts his chin.

“I need to go into the forest.” His hand is already on the door.

“What for?”

“Stay here.”

He’s out of the car before I can object, taking his keys with him and striding toward the tree line. I glance around, remembering the man who attacked me and how comfortable he was in the forest, and make a quick decision to follow Finn. I’m a sitting duck in a truck with the windows open.

I trot after Finn, crutch and feet crunching over the fallen leaves, adrenaline driving me, even though my ankle protests.

“Finn—wait!” I call, voice echoing between the trees.

He is already quite far ahead, but he halts abruptly, a glaze in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. Is he angry that I ignored him?

“I’m sorry. I was scared to wait in the car.” He steps out of the shade, and we make our way to a point between us. I’m about to apologize again when a soft whimper cuts through the air. It’s so pitiful that I stop mid-step.

“What’s that?” I ask, already stepping in the direction. Finn puts his arm out as if to stop me, but I’m close enough to see a small writhing shape under a looming, wide-trunked tree.

It’s furry and gray with a pointed muzzle. A lot like the wolf creature that came into the cabin last night. Does this baby belong to him?

“Is it a wolf?” I ask, as Finn moves level with me.

“Yes.”

When I glance at him, his jaw tightens in a way that’s more like Nixon than I’ve seen.

He kneels, and the creature looks up, its nose rising, scenting the air. Finn places a hand gently beside it, but he doesn’t touch it, and I don’t understand why.

My chest constricts. I limp forward, crutch abandoned, compelled by instinct. I bend and scoop it into my arms. It’s tiny, trembling, its body is cool, and its fur is matted and wet. It’s clearly in distress. Why is it alone?

“Finn—please,” I whisper, pressing it tight against my chest, feeling the chill through its damp coat. Its whining breaks my heart.

He stares at me, his face pale and stunned. “Scarlet… don’t… You shouldn’t have…”

But I’m already holding it like a newborn, rocking it gently. “It’s so cold.”

The whimper becomes a twitch, then a shudder, and under my fingers, something shifts. Fur ripples into soft skin, paws shrink into tiny fists. A gasp escapes me as the cub arches its back, and suddenly, it’s not a cub. It’s a baby.

A human, pink-cheeked, red-haired, tiny and bewildered, putting a thumb to her sweet pink lips, blinking up at me with eyes that search my face.

Finn stands, arms flaring out like he’s ready to catch but also ready to recoil.

I press the girl closer, wrapping her in the folds of my shirt. Her hair is damp and scented with a powdery baby smell that ripples through me like an ache I can’t explain.

“What…”

Finn shakes his head, as disbelieving as I am.

“What the hell is going on?” I continue, voice shaking.

Around us, forest sounds press in, but all I can hear is the baby’s quiet inhale, and the sharp intake of breath from the man who seems as shocked as I am at the transformation that happened before our eyes.

Or is he?