Page 83 of Bound By Alphas 1: Bound

I needed to escape. Immediately. Before they woke up and things got even more complicated. Before I had to face the fact that I’d practically begged them to touch me, to claim me, to?—

Nope. Not thinking about that right now. Escape first, existential crisis later.

Moving with the care of someone defusing a bomb, I attempted to extract my leg from Keir’s grip. His response was to tighten his hold and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like “mine” against the pillow. Great. Even in sleep, they were possessive.

Next, I tried to slide out from under Logan’s arm. This proved equally unsuccessful, as he immediately pulled me closer, his arm like an iron band around my waist. I was beginning to think werewolves were just exceptionally clingy sleepers, but then I caught the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth.

The bastard was awake.

“I know you’re faking it,” I whispered, poking his side. “Let me up.”

His eyes remained closed, but his smile widened. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, little fox. I’m sound asleep.”

“Your acting skills need work,” I hissed, trying to pry his fingers from my hip. “Seriously, Logan, I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t,” Cade murmured against my neck, making me jump. His arm joined Logan’s across my torso, effectively pinning me to the mattress. “You need to stay right here.”

I turned my head to glare at him, which was a mistake. Morning Cade was unfairly gorgeous—all tousled hair and sleepy blue eyes and stubbled jaw. My traitorous body responded immediately, heat pooling low in my belly despite my determination to maintain some semblance of dignity.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I lied, trying to sound authoritative rather than desperate. “Unless you want me toprove I’m part fox by marking my territory right here on your fancy sheets.”

Keir’s laugh vibrated against my leg, confirming my suspicion that all three of them had been awake and enjoying my predicament. “Always so dramatic,” he said, finally opening his eyes to reveal that mischievous glint I both loved and dreaded. “Fine, bathroom break allowed. But then you’re coming back to bed.”

“I am not—” I began, but Cade’s lips on my neck cut off my protest. The sensation sent electricity racing down my spine, memories of the previous night flashing through my mind in vivid, technicolor detail. “That’s… not fair,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Never claimed to play fair, little fox,” Cade murmured, his teeth grazing my earlobe in a way that made my toes curl. “Not when it comes to you.”

With obvious reluctance, they loosened their holds enough for me to scramble out of bed. I immediately regretted the swift movement as various muscles protested, reminding me of exactly how thoroughly I’d been… attended to the night before. I was also acutely aware of my complete nudity and the three pairs of eyes tracking my every move with predatory interest.

“Stop staring,” I muttered, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing—one of Cade’s shirts, which hung to mid-thigh on me. “It’s creepy.”

“It’s appreciative,” Keir corrected, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better view. “There’s a difference.”

“The difference being?” I asked, pulling the shirt over my head with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Creepy would be if we weren’t allowed to look,” Logan explained with infuriating logic. “Appreciative is when your mates admire what belongs to them.”

“I don’t belong to—” I started to say automatically, then stopped as the word “mates” registered. Right. That was a whole other conversation I had no intention of having. Not now. Not ever, if I could help it.

I escaped to Cade’s bathroom, closing the door firmly behind me. The face that greeted me in the mirror was a stranger’s—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and unmistakable redness along my jaw and neck where their rough stubble had scraped against my skin. My hair was a disaster, sticking up in directions that defied physics. And was that… I leaned closer, squinting at a dark mark just below my collarbone. A hickey. An actual hickey, like we were in high school.

“Real mature, guys,” I muttered, examining another mark blooming on my shoulder. “Three powerful alpha werewolves with the self-control of hormonal teenagers.” The irony wasn’t lost on me—these supposedly sophisticated businessmen marking me up like possessive adolescents discovering their first relationship. Except instead of dating, we were… what? Mating? The word still felt foreign in my mind, too primal and permanent for what I was ready to admit.

But something was different. I stared at my reflection in shock, hands flying to the top of my head. My fox ears were gone. The furry appendages that had stubbornly remained since the lake incident had finally disappeared. I twisted around, checking behind me—the tail was gone too. Somehow, during the night’s… activities… my body had finally managed to pull itself together.

“Well, that’s one way to fix a partial shift,” I muttered, running my fingers through my now completely human hair. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or disturbed that apparently intense sexual pleasure was the key to controlling my fox features. That wasn’t in any shifter manual I’d ever read.

I turned on the cold water and splashed my face. The shock of it helped clear my head, though it did nothing for the warmthstill pooling in my core at the memory of their hands on me, their mouths, their?—

Nope. Not going there.

I used the toilet, washed my hands, and then stared at the door like it led to a firing squad rather than a bedroom containing three incredibly attractive alphas who had spent the previous night bringing me to heights of pleasure I hadn’t known were possible. This was fine. Everything was fine. I just needed to act normal, like this wasn’t a potentially life-altering development. Like I hadn’t crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

“We can hear you overthinking from here,” Keir called through the door, his voice tinged with amusement. “Come back to bed, Finn.”

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door with what I hoped was an expression of nonchalant indifference. “I’m not overthinking. I’m just wondering if you three plan to lie around all day or if someone’s going to make breakfast. I was promised pancakes after nearly drowning, if I recall.”

It was a weak deflection, but it was all I had. Food as distraction—a time-honored tradition of the emotionally constipated.

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