Page 192 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
We had to adjust.
Our alignment. Our rotation. Our gravity.
To find our orbit around the newborn sun.
This was a radical change to our system, but one desperately needed. Without Nelly, without our star, then we’d keep listing through the universe. We’d never be complete. There was no way to calculate the future, no way to track our trajectory, if we had no anchor.
Bodies moved. Hands touched. Lips kissed.
No words were needed. We'd lived together, worked together, fought together long enough to communicate through glances and subtle gestures. Now, that unspoken language expanded to include Nelly, who seemed to instinctively know what was coming next.
“Can we mark you, Nelly?” Wade asked. I didn’t even recognize his voice right now; the was tone so grizzled with hunger.
Nelly's eyes widened at Wade's question, her pupils dilating further until they finally swallowed every bit of hazel. Her smell shifted as she thought. Anxiety. Fear. Excitement. Longing.
“I’m not good with pain,” she whispered.
“It’s a good kind of hurt,” Wyatt rumbled, pushing forward.
She blinked at him, face so trusting it shot through my heart. Trust like that wasn’t pragmatic. Trust like that meant you jumped off a cliff, knowing someone will catch you even if you can’t see them on the faraway ground below.
“Yes,” her voice caught on the word, breaking. “Please, yes.”
Wyatt's green eyes, normally so sharp, softened as he gazed at our Omega. He moved with purpose. The rest of us shifted, making room for him. First, he offered Nelly a gentle, brief kiss. Then, he pulled her against his body, pushed her ginger hair away from her neck, and leaned down.
He locked his teeth onto her with little hesitation.
Nelly writhed in his arms, gasping and moaning against the sensation.
I watched as my pack brother drank her in, mouth locked over precisely where one of her glands resided. When he pulled away, he continued supporting Nelly, who was unsteady on her feet. Wade approached, taking Nelly away from his twin like they were dancing at Shorty’s, passing a hot date back and forth while the strains of country music pushed through the jukebox.
Wade whispered something to Nelly that I couldn’t hear, and then he mirrored his brother, gathering her long, curling hair into one hand and pulling it away from the other side of her neck. He didn’t rush to bite her, instead he kissed her lips and then her cheek, then the line of her jaw. He fluttered his lips down until he was in position. When he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, she melted against him with a mewl of pure, unashamed pleasure.
I wasn’t sure why, but I hung back, waiting patiently as Boone and Levi both claimed Nelly, leaving behind bruising red impressions in her skin. Both wrists. Both sides of her neck. My mind raced. I didn’t want to bite the same place twice, on the off chance that would cause discomfort rather than pleasure. What made the most sense? There was no way to work out the answer with pen and paper.
As I struggled with not only where to mark our Omega, but also with a gnawing feeling I was redundant—just like I was doing the ranch accounts these days—I stared at the floor.
My inner Alpha pushed at my ribs, trying to force me into action.
Of course I wanted her to mark her.
But I felt paralyzed by indecision.
Paralyzed that I wasn’t necessary.
Soft fingers against my chin startled me.
I hadn’t even heard or felt or smelled her approaching.
I only had to tilt my head back up slightly to see Nelly in front of me. So small, delicate, and breathtaking.
She took my hand and lifted it to her body.
She pressed it over her heart. The thrum of her vital organ beating ghosted through my palm.
“Here,” she murmured.
Had she read my mind? Was my inner turmoil plain on my face?
