Page 42 of Savage Fire

Tensing, her body flexing at the threat before her, Tessa watched as Amelia seemed to morph from bitch to monster right before her eyes. A slow smirk turned up the sides of Amelia’s bright red lips. “You think you’re so much better than me? After you basically whored yourself out to be one of Fang’s women?”

At the horrified look she no doubt had on her face, Amelia grinned evilly.

“Yeah, we know all about that. How you thought you were special because Fang singled you out. Well, now you know that youaren’tspecial. You are just one of several who all thought they were special, too, until he seduced them into agreeing to be part of his fucked-up harem.”

Cold hands of numb disbelief slithered up from her soul and grasped at her.

“Amelia!” Trouble barked, his big frame tensing where he was standing beside the bar. Next to him, Odin, Hawk, and AFK were standing, just as tense, their expressions hard. But it was the pity in their eyes that punched holes in her gut.

“You knew?” she asked, her voice a harsh rasp that seemed dragged from her throat.

They all—on queue—looked away.

It was true.

She stared at them unblinkingly, ignoring the snickering Amelia, who was clearly enjoying Tessa’s public shame. Humiliation and rage wrapped themselves around her, sucking out every last bit of trust she’d held for the men before her.

“You knew,” she snarled. “You knew and you let me fall right into his plan. You knew exactly what was going to happen, how he’d introduce me to his women, expecting me to just fall in line because he would dick-matize me, right?”

Odin took a step forward. “Tessa—”

“No!” she cried, throwing her hands up to ward off his next, useless words. “You knew what would happen, and you let me go into it blind. You let me think that he wanted more with me when what he really wanted was to make me less, just a small piece of a whole rather than his everything.” Vibrating with rage, she could barely get out the rest of her words. “How dare you? How dare you call yourselves me friends, go on about how you’re going to protect me, when you are far more dangerous to me than anyone—because Itrustedyou. And you stabbed me in the back.”

Throwing out her accusation, Tessa swung around and stomped out of the room, headed to Fang’s suite, ignoring the biting pain from her ribs and head.

She didn’t know Liz was still there until she felt the other woman’s hand on her arm. She was following Tessa, giving Tessa the quiet she needed but also letting her know she was there.

They knew.She couldn’t wrap her head around it, though her heart already felt the pain. They knew what Fang was planning to do, that he already had five women at his beck and call—his harem, a sick, immoral benefaction to the gods of chauvinism and treachery. They’d known and they let her fall right into his trap.

Fuck them! Fuck all of them! She couldn’t be there, couldn’t be surrounded by the betrayal, the pitying looks, the knowing expressions from all those people—those people she’d believed were herfriends—who’d known all along that Fang was using her.

He’d been putting it off for too long, and now he had to sack up and face the women in his life that had meant the most to him. Until Tessa.

Striding through the home he’d shared with his Hive for the last five years, he took a mental catalog of all that had changed. When he first bought the house, it was a modern monstrosity of cold whites and chromes, and all angles. He’d immediately remodeled, making the inside match the Spanish Mission Revival touches of the outside. When he’d met Stella then Libby and moved them in, they put their own touch on everything. Then Anise. Then Sipha. Then Lacy. Each one of his women had put a bit of themselves into the home, and he could see it everywhere. Stella like bright colors, especially reds—like her hair. Libby liked clean lines but warm colors. Anise liked country touches, with pics of horses, sunsets, and First Nation woven rugs and wall art. Sipha was Filipina, so she loved to fill her bedroom and her claimed parts of the house with pottery and handmade ornaments. Lacy was all bubble gum pinks and purples, rock and roll, and fuzzy fabrics. His house was a palace where his women had settled in, looking to make his home a sanctuary for him. And up until last year, it had been exactly that. A sanctuary where he could come, unwind, relax, and get his dick wet. He’d never really cared about the decorations as long as it wasn’t ugly and uncomfortable. His bedroom was his own; none of his women were allowed to decorate his personal space. He’d claimed that one room in the fourteen-thousand-square-foot house.

At the sound of his motorcycle boots beating against the tile floors, two heads popped around the archway from the living room area and into the corridor leading from the front door. They were waiting for him.

Squealing, their smiles wide and bright, Lacy and Sipha hurried toward him, their hands reaching for him, their lips moving in to press against his cheek, chin, and neck.

That’s what they would have done if he hadn’t raised his hands to stop them. He stepped back, his gaze on them careful.

Not used to that reaction, both women halted, their eyes wide. Lacy’s blue eyes showed hurt, but Sipha’s dark brown eyes showed wariness. She had reason to be wary. None of this was going to go well.

“Where’s Anise, Libby, and Stella?” he asked, moving around the stalled women and into the large living area, making sure to evade their hands. He didn’t want anyone but Tessa to touch him.

What the hell is wrong with me?Before, he’d be soaking up the touch, affection, and sexual caressing, diving in to offer the same. They three would move into the living room, a writhing trio of pleasure, woman-man-woman, their mouths, hands, enticing, teasing, thrilling one another until Fang ordered them into his room and his five person bed, where they’d complete their coupling. Throupling.

That wasn’t happening today.

Would it ever again?Dios, what was going on with his head? He knew he’d made a mistake with Tessa, but did that really mean giving up his Hive? They hadn’t done anything wrong—they’d only ever done everything right, making his last five years heaven on earth. While his brothers were hooking up with random pussy or tying themselves down with an old lady, Fang was living the life of a fat, contented sultan in his harem.

Make it right with Tessa. You need Tessa.

Fuck. He pictured Tessa at his dining room table, her adorable nose scrunched up in disgust, her lush lips pulled back into a sneer. She’d been shocked then horrified then disappointed in his lifestyle. There was nothing about how he lived that appealed to her.

Leave her be, she hates you. Don’t ruin the good thing you have going with your Hive. Those women wove their lives with yours, you can’t just cut them off like they mean nothing.

Right. He couldn’t. But he also knew that Tessa might say she hated him, but from the heat still rising up between them, even in her anger toward him, he knew she still cared about him under all the pain and betrayal she was feeling.

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