Page 128 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

“What?”

“You’re perfuming,” Trick informs me. “It’s driving us all fucking insane. If you don’t stop, I’m going to bend you over in this parking lot and fuck my knot into you.”

Shivers wrack my body at his crass words. This is so unlike Trick. He doesn’t lose control.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice thready.

“I fucked up. I did it the way the Admin tells us, but I should’ve done it our way first.”

My mind clouds from their presence. Being surrounded by them overwhelms all of my good sense.

Mason marches away and takes several breaths of fresh oxygen. He braids his hands together on top of his head.

“He okay?” I ask.

“He’s about half an inch from going into a rut,” Trick informs me.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Vin says with a snicker.

I clear my throat, to purge my mind of the fog and my throat of the frog taking residence, and ask my question more forcefully.

“Why are you here?”

“We need to make right what happened earlier. You got the wrong impression, and that’s on us and not you. We were following the protocols and should’ve recognized that was a bad idea.”

“Okay . . . ”

“We want to court you, Izzy Sutton. It’s not some scheme. We want you. You’re ours, and we’re yours. Every day of the last three weeks without you has been torture. Waking up without you in the house is traumatizing. Not seeing you in our home when I come through the door is a constant sadness. Come back. Please.”

“You’re a brand-new pack.”

“Of professional athletes who blew a huge chunk of our savings on the best pack lawyers money can buy.”

When I frown at him, he continues.

“We had them expedite our pack recognition and then petition for the right to pursue an omega immediately. Submitted to the evaluations, med exams, and financial reviews. Add to it that our omega has hidden from the Admin for years, was on suppressants, and hasn’t cleared the mental health screen yet, and I’m pretty sure we’ve bought all of our lawyers Caribbean vacation homes.”

Fucking therabitch.

“Worth every penny,” Vin murmurs.

“That’s a lot of work.”

“We’d do that and more for you,” Mason says, still keeping his distance. “Anything it takes. If you ask us to get your name on the stadium as penance, we’d find a way to make it work.”

The thing is, I believe it from Vin and Mason.

It’s the man in front of me that’s concerning.

I examine him under the moonlight. Bags are exaggerated by shadows. He’s a little too pale and a little too gaunt.

“How are you managing the bonds?” I ask.

“They’re incomplete. They feel incomplete without you, Isabelle.”

My heart soars. I wanted to believe them so badly, and now I do. Standing under the dim light, with their scents around me and the formality of earlier evaporated, I can take everything in and let my senses attune to it.

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