Page 172 of Promised to the Alpha Prince

Dmitri groaned into Johannes’s armpit. “It wasn’t about that, my love. It was about—”

“She knows what it was about,” said Corentin. “I was that for her.”

“What?” I snorted. “No, you weren’t.”

He shifted a little, which made his still-hard knot move in a delicious way, and I let out a breathy noise.

“Don’t do that, Corentin,” Dmitri said firmly. “We all need to rest.”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Corentin.

But we all felt Dmitri’s directive like a soft blanket, encasing us in drowsy relaxation. I could tell we felt it, because it tugged on each and every one of my bites. I could feel them all, and they could feel each other, too. That was wonderful. And Dmitri was good at leading us. We needed him.

“I was exactly that, love,” said Corentin, smiling lazily from where he was pillowed on Nikolai’s flesh. “Your escape. Your freedom. Your rebellion.”

“But not anymore,” I said. “Because now we’re this.”

“I never wanted to be free,” said Corentin. “I was drowning in freedom. I was untethered and lost and drifting. I just wanted connection. I didn’t rebel to get free, I rebelled to get someone to look at me.”

“I looked at you,” I said.

“I know,” he said, shutting his eyes.

“Funny,” said Nikolai, “how you can want things that seem like opposites, but they’re the same things in the end.”

We all sighed with that, as if it made sense, because it did.

But I couldn’t have explained why at that point.

Later, after more sex, more knots, alpha secretions drying on my skin, the bright taste of them mingled on my tongue, later, I realized that freedom isn’t about having no one and nothing.

It’s about feeling free to do anything, and knowing you have the safety of love and acceptance regardless.

This was why Nikolai said that I should stop reading the comments on social media—because those people’s opinions were not the opinions that mattered. And the opinions of my mates were supportive. They gave me the ability to spread my wings and to be confident, because I could trust that they would accept me, always.

That was why the pack was freedom.

For each of us.

Later, in Dmitri’s lap, his knot buried in my ass, lounging spent and sweaty against his broad chest, one of his hands idly tracing the outline of my curves, he said, “About this schedule, you guys.”

“Seriously?” said Johannes and hurled a pillow at him.

It hit me. “Ouch,” I said.

“That didn’t hurt,” countered Nikolai.

“You like it, anyway,” said Corentin, who was face down on the nest with Johannes knotted in his ass.

“Look,” said Dmitri, “I’m not forcing this on you guys. I get it, okay? I thought that if I told everyone what to do, I’d be free, because I’d be in charge, but it’s not like that. Being in charge, it’s like this anchor around my neck, weighing me down. There’s freedom in surrender.”

“So, why even bring it up?” said Nikolai.

“What if we fight?” said Dmitri. “What if we get jealous and possessive? What if these bites, it’s not a cure-all, what if after she’s not in heat and we’re not all focused single-mindedly on pleasing her—”

“The schedule does not solve any of those problems,” muttered Corentin.

“I think it’s just about connections,” said Johannes. “We’re, you know, all in love with each other, so, it won’t be like that.”

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