Page 68 of Mated Exile

Moments later we come down, panting together. Finn grabs my hips and eases me onto the bed beside him. He kisses me deeply and passionately, his tongue telling me how good he feels even as I sense it within him.

We don't have to say anything. There's no need.

As he closes his eyes and trails his mouth down my cheek and neck, I quietly let the connection fade, proud of my abilities even as a little bit of fear shoots through me. I have no idea what this means for my future in the pack—or if the other wolves will be as accepting of what I can do, given that it won't be like this for them. Even Finn may not appreciate my touch against him when he realizes it means he won't be able to keep secrets from me easily.

My eyes fall across his strong, broad body, and no surprise flickers in me as I see them.

Threads. Thin yet binding, glowing softly in the late afternoon sunlight that streams through the window. These are distinctly silver, edging on white.

There are thousands of them.

Finn's eyes flutter open, and he glances down my body, blinking as he sees them too.

"Well, that answers that question." Looking up at me, he places his hands at my waist and tugs my naked body against his. "I guess you're going to have to ask Cat for some advice about juggling lovers. I bet she has a few suggestions for creative sex positions."

Rolling my eyes, I drop a kiss on the tip of his nose, glad that things are as easy with one of my lovers.

Now I just have to hope that we all survive to the Summit—and past it—long enough for it to even matter that we could be mated.

Twenty-Nine

Delilah

Cat is waiting for me when I get back from another fruitless vampire patrol with the guys, this time with Finn and Lance. While we didn't find anything to worry about, somehow that worries memore.I also can't stop thinking about the threads I saw stretching between me and each of them, which didn't show up while on patrol, making me wonder if they were a fluke.

"You look stressed." Cat motions for me to join her at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of her and a glass of whiskey in her hand. "Join me for a little drink."

Though I look with longing towards the table, the office upstairs is calling me. "I have to do some more reading. Last night I got to a spot in one of the curse books on cursing certain boundaries of land. I'm sure it's just a few more leaps until I get to something about cursing a werewolf pack, or the bonds between wolves."

"That can wait a little while longer." She pulls out the chair beside me and beckons with a firmer look in her eyes. "You and I haven't had any one-on-one time in a while, and it's long past time that we chat."

Nodding, I head over to the chair and take a seat, the brand new cushion molding to my tired bones. Bastian has turned out to have a real skill for reupholstery, which has saved me much-needed funds on the house. Between that and all the help from the guys, we're maybe a few days away from being fully finished here.

Which means from now on, when they visit the house, it'll be because theywantto.

Not that they didn't before. There's just something different about it. No more showing up with tools or a list of tasks. They'll just stop by, and I'll let them in, so we can get to know each other.

Then one day, very soon, it won't be dating anymore. I'll have to make a choice. I just wish I knew by now what it would be.

"You've got a lot of thoughts on your mind," Cat notes, raising a brow at me. She pours me a finger of whiskey in a short, clear glass and pushes it over with her fingertips. "Drink and spill."

Sighing, I let the knot of tension in my chest unwind as I tip back the glass. Dark, bitter liquid coats my tongue, burning down my throat and dropping slowly into my stomach. I take another few sips as I sort my thoughts out, feeling Cat's keen eyes on me.

"I don't know if I can do it," I tell her bluntly. "Not the curse, or fighting to be a part of the pack, or telling this new alpha to turn around and stuff it once he shows up. But the stuff that comes after. Sticking around and—and being someone's...somebody."

"Mating, you mean." Cat chortles, grabs her mug of tea, and takes a long drink of it. Immediately afterwards she chases it with a long, smooth sip of whiskey. "I won't pretend to understand your werewolf mating rituals. God knows us humans don't exactly have love figured out. But it seems to me that the magic should help you with that particular decision, regardless of the rest of it."

"You'd think." Shaking my head, I laugh hollowly, then stare down at the tabletop. "The magic seems to have decided that I could mate equally with any one of the guys."

"So fate isn't choosing for you?"

"Fate rarely makes that big of a choice," I confess. "Sure, sometimes two intendeds turn out to have no threads at all, and the pack has to make a new choice. Or two people meet and something just flares to life between them. But it's not like waving a magic wand—you tend to have mating threads with anyone you open yourself up to, it's just that they catch easier with some people is all. Luckily for me, they seem to be catching like wildfire everywhere I turn."

"There are worse problems to have," Cat points out. "Including your other problems."

I give her a soft smile. "I know, I know. But how am I supposed to juggle it all? All those feelings and testosterone. Not to mention the time in bed."

Arching a brow, Cat wickedly suggests, "Get a really big bed and have them line up for you."

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