Page 143 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

His hips jut up into me as he comes so hard his face blanks. Aftershocks rock our bodies and flush through all four of us.

Trick embraces me and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He rocks us gently while we all settle from the overwhelming feeling of the bonds being completed and all that comes with it.

We did it.

I’m covered in bruises and bite marks.

The guys are scratched to hell too.

It’ll be enough. It has to be.

And it’ll be for us alone how loving, sweet, and sexy all of it was.

It was . . . perfect.

Now to convince everyone else.

Chapter Twenty

“It may have been precursors for a heat,” I say. “Maybe my body sensed I wasn’t tethered anymore and just snapped.”

My case worker, Marta, sits on the other side of her cheap desk in her dingy office at the Admin’s central Addevale location.

“One minute she was perfuming, and the next thing I know my teeth are in her,” Trick says.

“Our own bonds are still fresh,” Mason adds. “That’s a reason why you don’t normally approve omega matches for new packs, right?”

The adjudicator leaning against the wall uncrosses his arms and comes to perch on the edge of the desk.

I’m sure he has a name. I’m even sure he told me what it was.

The uncomfortable chair irritates how sore I am.

To be convincing, we reported the incident in the morning—after we’d notified everyone’s families and Jolie of course.

We didn’t even shower. The dispatched emergency medical team seemed impressed, frankly.

“You expect us to believe that you spontaneously bonded the first night your chip is off, immediately after your exclusive courtship application was denied?”

“The subconscious wants what the subconscious wants,” Trick replies.

The suit flips open the manila folder on the desk and fans out eight-by-tens of my bruises and bites, and I think of the other gift my guys gave me this morning.

When I woke up, I caught Vin taking a candid selfie of everyone asleep in bed. He then took another less salacious version of only our feet under the comforter.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

He pursed his lips and turned onto his shoulder to show me his phone.

“When we show you this later, you’re going to act surprised.”

“Okay . . . ”

On the screen, a private account popped up.

@The.Wyatt.Pack

The feed was filled with candid shots and clips, all tasteful, of the four of us on every date over the last month. It even included a few I know happened before Bradageddon but weren’t added until the day after, when the account was created.

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