Page 71 of The Butcher

But I don’t know.

I snapped at Clay because I don’t fucking know, then I ran back to my nest and didn’t come out until breakfast this morning.

It was rude and very misplaced, and I was worried I’d made a mess of things between us.

Nope.

Not at all.

As a matter of fact, they both told me I had nothing to apologize for when I tried, then Nash apologized for making me uncomfortable or anything else I might have felt, and then it was business as usual as he likes to say.

Except, I have a new problem.

I looked up Stockholm Syndrome, and while I don’t think it entirely applies to this situation, these men are definitely not abusive, but someone could try to say I’m a hostage here. Even if that is incredibly inaccurate. Still, I suppose I understand why Mona said what she did. I’ve found myself not only wanting to be with Nash and Clay as frequently as possible but I’m attracted to them. And after being forced—accidentally since it came from a place of kindness—to think about going into heat in a new place with nothing but a bunch of strangers around, my thoughts have wandered into a very unknown territory that I have no clue how to deal with.

Needless to say, the slightest, most insignificant contact, like Nash’s hand brushing against mine, is soliciting many things I have no business thinking or feeling.

Like, what if I just stayed? In Obsidian Falls, at their house. What if I could convince them to keep me?

I’ve been more anxious than ever but I could get past that. Eventually, with more time and things to occupy me.. Because I’ve also been happy. Some of the things my mother talked about, the little things that seem insignificant but actually hold so much meaning, I’ve got to experience some of that over the last few weeks, and happy is the only word I can think of to describe how they’ve made me feel.

But those are the more innocent thoughts or feelings I’ve had lately.

The real problematic things are more along the lines of could they love me the way they love each other? Or wondering what it would be like to interact as freely as they do with each other. Leaning against them when we’re sitting in the bedroom, a hand on my thigh, an arm around my shoulders. I wonder what it would be like to genuinely hug one of them, to be held by them, and that leads my thoughts into the scarier part of foreign territory.

I’ve seen Clay and Nash kiss.

Nothing wild or unbridled, but I’ve seen it, and it makes me want that.

Foster, he kissed. There were a few alphas over the years who did, even one who had it worked into his contract, but it was never the way I’ve witnessed between Nash and Clayton.

They love each other.

That’s the difference.

Being in love and being allowed to express it freely and openly. It isn’t forced, it’s not something that has to happen or else they’ll be punished. They kiss simply because they’re in love, and I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything so badly before.

Love and affection.

I want those things, and not just from anyone, but from them.

Adding that to my growing fear of going into heat at any moment and, of course, it brought the conversation my mother had with me about sex racing to the front of my mind. I’m attracted to them, I’m drawn to them, and I’m starting to believe what my mom said because of them. The real world is nothing like the ranch. Not all alphas are bad, neither are all men. Relationships—love and sex—it can all be beautiful with the right people, and in the right scenarios.

I keep telling myself that Nash and Clayton, even Bramley, they’re the first men I’ve had any contact with outside of the ranch, the first ones to ever show me any form of kindness or concern, so my feelings aren’t real. My attraction is because of that, and it’s also why I want them to keep me, but if these men aren’t like the ones I’ve met before, there have to be more out there. More men, more people who are good and kind, and I shouldn’t settle for Obsidian Falls just because my luck temporarily changed.

I can’t seem to convince myself that leaving is a good idea, though, no matter how hard I might try.

Which, truth be told, isn’t very hard at all because I don’t want to leave.

I want to stay, I want them to want me to stay, and those feelings have somehow morphed into wanting to see Bramley again despite the fact that he hates me.

All of my thoughts and feelings about these three men kind of scream Stockholm Syndrome, especially the one who rescued me and then basically threw me out of his house. And true to definition, I don’t really care because staying with them feels like it’s what I’m supposed to do.

There is so much more wrong with me than I originally thought.

“Well, look at that.” Nash grabs my hand as he stops, every inch of my body tensing over the brief touch before it sends heatracing up my arm. He quickly lets go but presses his palm to the small of my back and flannel jacket or not, I swear it’s like we’re skin to skin. “What the hell is that shithead doing with Arrow?”

Following his line of sight, I frown when I see Arrow getting into a huge truck with a nice-looking man. One who actually?—

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