Page 73 of Saving Destiny

“Oh, you probably haven’t even seen it yet!” Bren says, gushing with excitement. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s listened in. “Rhett spends more time in there than he does sleeping. It has everything from weights to treadmills to exercise balls. They’re fun to bounce on.”

Zosia stares over my shoulder, and her expression changes from slight embarrassment to bewildered awe. The look confuses me until I follow her gaze. Bren has removed his wet t-shirt and is using a towel to dry his chest. His wet jeans are slung low on his hips, and he probably has no idea that he’s making our mate drool. I should be irritated, but I’m amused.

“That’s my baby brother you’re objectifying,” I whisper loudly. Her expression changes from hunger to horrified embarrassment. I chuckle at her obvious mortification. She lifts her palms to her burning cheeks, but it can’t hide the beautiful rosy color that suffuses her entire face.

When I glance back at Bren, he surprises me by winking at her. It’s the first time I’ve seen him purposefully flirt with a woman, and the sight of it makes my heart feel lighter for the first time today. My beast doesn’t growl with protest, and I really hope the obstinate griffin is starting to understand the situation. I’m so tired of arguing with him.

When Bren starts unbuttoning his pants, Zosia covers her eyes. She might not be a virgin any longer, but she’s still unused to seeing men naked. I grab another towel and wrap it around her braid, squeezing to wring the water out. Her hair is thick, and it holds a surprising amount of moisture.

“I can do that myself,” she mumbles.

I decipher the words with difficulty. “I know you can, but can you do it while keeping your eyes covered?” My teasing is shameless, and her next string of stammered words is unintelligible.

The slap of wet denim on concrete sounds behind me, but I keep my gaze on Zosia. I’ve seen my brother naked before – totally by mistake – and I’d rather not see it again. The beautiful shifter in front of me is the only one I want to see naked, but I know it probably won’t be today. My beast cries with aching need, but I convince him that patience is the best way to get what he wants. It’s difficult to make the case when my human desires are just as strong.

I’ll wait until she comes to me, and then she’ll be mine , or ours, forever.

Chapter 37

Zosia

These men will be the death of me. After one glimpse of Bren’s toned chest and flat abs, I feel hot and definitely bothered. Garrett’s touch simply adds fire to the blaze already roaring inside me as he dries my hair with a gentleness I’ve never seen from him.

His confession still echoes in my ears – he’s my mate … my fated mate. It shouldn’t matter, but I feel more assured that I didn’t coerce him into being a guardian. I’m still not sure I believe in fated mates, though. Predictably, the concept isn’t as straight-forward as they portray it in movies or books. If this were a movie, we would have fallen in love at first sight, every problem would have a magical solution, and we’d live happily ever after. The fictional representations are fiction for a reason; humans naturally seem to avoid the easiest paths.

I’m soaked to the bone, the library doesn’t seem keen to help too much, and Garrett sent Avery away. He knows I’ll need at least one of them to help me dress, and the idea is mortifying. Although I’m used to needing help, I’ve also managed on my own over the years. I use a chair or my bed when getting dressed, so the stone steps complicate matters. The shirt isn’t an issue, but my leggings are definitely an issue. They can help me with their eyes closed, I decide. I’m not prepared for either of them to see me naked right now.

Garrett surprises me when he trades my braid for my hand. “I haven’t really looked at this yet,” he says quietly. His attitude is less jealous than either last night or this morning, and he traces his finger over the gold and blue lotus on my inner wrist with thoughtful appreciation.

The simple touch lights up every nerve in my body as my awareness centers on the place we’re connected. Garrett is huge and sometimes rough, and the care he shows me is sweet and sexy. If I thought having sex would satisfy me for a couple days, I was very wrong. It’s driven my lustful nature into overdrive because I have a better idea of what I need to satisfy my cravings.

“What?” Bren peers over his brother’s shoulder. He seems to lack any modesty, but I don’t blame him. If my body looked as perfect as his, I’d proudly show it off, too. He has dry pants on now, but he hasn’t put on a shirt yet.

My eyes devour the skin on display before I realize I’m looking. I know he doesn’t put as much effort into his body as his brother, but he still looks amazing. He might not have the fabled six-pack, but his abs are flat and he has well defined chest muscles and biceps. Thevof his hips, something I’ve only read about or seen on underwear models, is fully visible because he wears his jeans loose and slung low. The expanse of skin is incredibly smooth except for a light trail of hear leading from his navel to the top button of his jeans. My fingers twitch, my mouth dries, and my pulse races faster.

“Isn’t it pretty? Just like Avery’s wings. Will my mark be golden too?” Bren talks about receiving his mate mark as if it’s the most natural and inevitable thing in the world. It almost shocks me out of my lust-filled ogling – almost.

Garrett grunts when he sees me objectifying his brother again. I expect more teasing, but he might pity my inability to look away. “My griffin doesn’t mind this mark,” he says instead. I don’t know which of us is more surprised by his admission.

“Really?” I ask.

“It feels less threatening because he knows that bonded mates will protect you. They’re not a threat to him. I’ve also been teaching him about multiple mates and relentlessly arguing the situation. I have to reassure him that you having another mate doesn’t mean you’re not his mate. It’s starting to get through to him after this mark because you still smell like his.”

Although I’m somewhat eased that his jealousy might be waning, his glaring use of a singular pronoun sticks in my head. He speaks as if his beast is the only one who wants me. Usually, I would dwell on this and fret over it. Bren pulls his shirt on, though, and the play of his muscles is a beautiful distraction. What would it feel like to slide my hands along that smooth skin?

I breathe deeply and seek something else to focus on. Looking at Garrett is a horrible idea. His wet jeans cling to his body as he bends over the basket. This shifter never skips leg day – or ass day, if that’s a thing. I can’t decide if I’m impressed or just amazed. Will lying next to him feel like sleeping with one of the stone gargoyles?

I blink several times while my brain searches for an innocent question. “What does it feel like to be separate from your beast?” My tone is far less casual than I intend and my mouth refuses to comply with my brain’s instructions to minimize the accusatory pronouns.

Garrett stands and turns back to me. He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he strips off his wet shirt and I swear he’s getting back at me for staring at Bren because … sweet mother of … muscles.

A sound escapes me, and I can’t even describe it. I might be drowning in drool. The library within my head decides to provide an anatomical diagram, although I’m uncertain why I feel the need to label every muscle on the living model in front of me.

Garrett didn’t stop with a six-pack because he’s clearly an overachiever; he has an eight-pack. The information in my brain tells me that some people can’t achieve more than a six-pack based on their genetics. I argue with it. If the shifter hadn’t been born with eight, he would have created them through sheer willpower.

His nipples are dark and flat and he’s smoother than I thought he’d be. The muscles that connect his thick neck to his shoulders – my chart labels these as the trapezius muscles – flex powerfully as he dries himself off. I note the clear delineation between his biceps and triceps, and I could probably label every other muscle if I had a couple of hours.

He knows I’m staring. When I force my gaze back to his face, his eyes twinkle with smug pride. He’s earned the right to be proud, I admit grudgingly. He spends a lot of time on his body and refuses sugary cereal in lieu of questionable sludge.

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