Page 31 of Mating Mia
My sore clit throbs with every movement, and my asshole burns from Kane’s thorough claiming, making me wince visibly. Jace’s arm is linked with mine, supporting most of my weight as I hobble forward like I’ve spent the night riding a horse instead of my alphas. The thought makes heat rise to my cheeks despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.
It’s been four years since I stormed out of this place, swearing never to return.
“You okay?” Jace murmurs, his eyes scanning my face with concern. “We can come back tomorrow if you need more time to... recover.”
“No,” I shake my head firmly. “If I don’t do this now, I might never do it.”
I’ve always wanted to ask about my adoption, but my parents have always been close-lipped about it for some reason. Memories of the farmhouse rush through me the closer we get to it. There were good memories of my siblings, but most of my memories here weren’t great.
We’re halfway up the gravel driveway when the screen door bangs open and a figure emerges, rifle in hand.
My breath catches in my throat as I recognize the stooped silhouette of my adoptive father. He’s aged dramatically in the four years since I left. His once-broad shoulders now hunched, his hair completely white, probably from the stress of yelling at his children all day.
“Who the fuck?” he calls out, rifle not quite aimed at us but not pointed at the ground either. His rheumy eyes squint in the morning sunlight, struggling to make out our faces from a distance. “Get outta my property. Now!”
I feel Kane tense beside me, his alpha instincts flaring at the potential threat to his pregnant mate. Finn moves subtly to my right, positioning himself to intercept any danger. The silent coordination between them makes my heart soar.
“It’s me,” I call back, stepping around Kane despite his low warning growl. “It’s Mia.”
Steve Jenkins lowers the rifle slightly, recognition dawning on his weathered face.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he grunts, shaking his head. As we draw closer, I can see the missing teeth in his scowl, the deep-set wrinkles that map a life of hard work and harder drinking. He’s wearing the same stained overalls he always wore for farm work.
“Hi,” I begin, unsure of what to say.
“You’re back, huh?” he says when we reach the porch steps. “After all your rebellious ways and high-falutin’ talk about never settin’ foot on this property again?”
The familiar sting of his aggressive speech makes me shrink back slightly, old insecurities rushing to the surface. My alphas bristle around me. I can feel it in their energies, but I had warned them before coming here not to say anything that would sabotage anything.
“I just want to talk,” I say softly, hating how easily I slip back into the meek persona I adopted for survival in this house. “Just a visit, that’s all.”
Steve’s gaze shifts to the three men surrounding me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And who the hell are these fellas? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got yourself mixed up with more trouble.”
“They’re my friends,” I answer quickly. Then, grabbing Kane’s hand, I introduce him. “And Kane is my boyfriend.”
I feel both Jace and Finn stiffen at being described as just my friends. It’s a necessary lie for now. Explaining that I’m mated to three alpha werewolves and carrying their pup would not carry over well.
Steve snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Boyfriend, huh? Well, I suppose he’s a step up from that tattooed delinquent you ran off with.”
The casual mention of Justin makes my stomach turn. Somehow, my adoptive father always knew how to reduce me to nothing in his eyes.
“Can we come inside?” I ask, changing the subject. “I’d like to see Momma.”
He eyes us for a long moment, his gaze lingering on Kane’s imposing frame with apparent distrust. Finally, he grunts and turns toward the door. “Suit yourself. But don’t expect no warm welcome. You made your choice when you walked out that door.”
The interior of the farmhouse is exactly as I remember—worn furniture arranged with military precision, doilies placed on every surface of furniture. The smell of strong coffee and something baking fills the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of pine cleaner that my adoptive mother, Martha, uses obsessively.
I can hear her in the kitchen, the aggressive clatter of pots and pans announcing her presence before she appears.
“Who was at the… ?” She stops dead in the doorway, dishrag still in hand, when she sees me. Martha has aged as well, but differently from Steve. The lines around her mouth are deeper, her eyes colder, her hair pulled back in the same severe bun she’s worn for as long as I can remember.
“What are you doing here?” she asks coldly. “You’re not welcome here.”
“I’m just here to ask you something,” I start, my heart beating hard with fear. I can’t help it after being scolded for years of my life.
Through the window, I can see my three adoptive brothers working on the farm: Ben, Mark, and Thomas. In the distance, my two sisters, Rachel and Mercy, hang laundry on the line, their movements synchronized from years of shared chores.
As if sensing my gaze, Ben looks up from his work. Our eyes meet through the glass, and for a brief moment, I think I see excitement in his expression. He’s the youngest of my siblings and closest to me. Then he quickly looks away, returning to his task as if he had never seen me at all. One by one, the others do the same—a fleeting glance, then deliberate avoidance. They’ve been turned against me.
