Beginning of Chapter 27

Rowan

He hated her.

He hated that she'd stolen Zen from their hearts, turned him obsessed and smitten, wrecked and ruined. Zen wavered. In the darkened forest, Rowan had seen his mate brush fingers over withering flowers with soft, confused eyes—eyes for her, not for him. He'd seen his mate pluck dying blossoms and press them into a shrivelling bouquet, had seen him lovingly sort each branch, each falling petal, legs kicking, body bouncing.

Excitement.

It thrummed through Zen, burning brighter than a star. It had his mouth blossoming into a sweet little grin, his cheeks flush with glee. But when Rowan had leapt into his room with mirth in his eyes and tease on his tongue, Zen had lied. His mate had been startled, a vase on the desk tumbling, ribbons fluttering. He had shoved the flowers behind his back like an animal caught in a trap, eyes too wide, blinking too hard.

He'd stuttered out a name, Icarus.

But Icarus hadn't received those flowers that night. Rowan had pressed for answers, hungrier than usual for his mate. He had allowed his lover to slide and rut against him, cock catching against his hip. His hands spanned his waist, sliding to knead his ass. No sex, just painful foreplay. No orgasms without Euodia, without Quinn, only escalating pleasure.

"Zen," Rowan had breathed, and Icarus laughed.

"Don't fucking utter another man's name while you're in my arms."

"He wanted to give you flowers."

"Did he?" Icarus had flipped him over, fingers dipping into the slicked-up whorl of his suckling hole. Rowan had groaned, all arched hips and curved spine. Icarus's tongue was on his scent gland, laving flesh, violating his throat. "Must have given it to someone else."

"He said your name."

"Cold feet?" Icarus smirked, voice drawled into a low raspy hum. "I'd be fucking him if he'd given it to me." And maybe that was why Rowan had sought him out in his tent, had pressed himself to Icarus with batting eyes hoping to see Zen in his bed.

"Do you like flowers?"

Icarus had chuckled and hammered at his hole with a flat palmed hand. No penetration. Rowan couldn't do it without Quinn flavouring his tongue, without Quinn ruining the spell of eternal damnation. Rowan moaned, cheeks painted summer rouge, cock dribbling cum. But it was all just a side quest to the main ordeal. "No," he shrugged. "It'd be a fucking waste on me or anyone in our pack. You should know that."

"I do," Rowan answered, mouth pushed into a pout, bottom lip bitten all raw. Icarus's words confirmed things, things he wanted to forget. "I thought he knew too." He had dropped the questions when Icarus had sunk to his knees to eat him out, all slobbery, messy, and smug.

Rowan found those flowers in the forest the next day, dried out, crumpled and wilting. Rowan knew Zen. And his brows had pinched, expression darkening with knowledge of who those flowers were for. He'd crushed the bouquet with his paw, snarl rippling from his lips.

Quinn.

But it wasn't all about Zen, God, he tried to pin the ache in his chest on that hatred, tried to trap his feelings deep in the bowels of rage. He'd stormed through the battle, teeth sinking into old blood, mouth stained with the putrid taste of the Lonely, and his mind too damn far away.

His dreams were honest.

Rowan had been drenched in the sun's kiss, flecks of snow sizzling on hot skin. He was as malleable and pliant as caramel. His hips were lifted—feline-like, with his back arched for an Alpha. The lip of his jeans plucked downwards, desperately shoved over his ass to puddle at his knees. His hole would be dripping so eager to be stretched to melting, cock all russet and painfully swollen. The Alpha would fuck him, chuckle soft in his ear, breath hot, body smelling like peach juice. A soft hand on his shaft, a thumb on the eye of his cock.

He'd smile through his Heat.

He could finally cum.

Rowan had woken, gasping with heat boiling in his cheeks and sweat dewy on his nape. Then he'd been flooded with memories—Quinn's eyes when he'd ordered her to strip, Quinn's scent when he'd assaulted her, Quinn's hatred. His Alpha hated him. He'd swallowed, gulped thick hungry breaths, guilt shining wet and cold on his hairline, regret dripping through his veins like a collar to his throat. It brewed into a waking nightmare, of him pacing so hard that there were tracks in the earth.

There would always be tears in his eyes.

Rowan lived part of his life on the streets with his ass up and cum heavy on his lashes for wood to burn and cash to eat. But he had utter control when he'd shed his clothes with red, angry cheeks and smoke in his lungs. He'd consented to the union, to the Alphas that groped his flesh. He had wanted to be used.

But Quinn?

Rowan could only hate her. He had to hate her. He had to hate her first.

He'd followed Helios, already knowing what his mate was up to, already aware of his mate's destination. Home. They'd been spiralling on the battlefield, lost needy, hungry. They'd feasted on one another, ravaged each other like beasts. It was hunger that Rowan hadn't known until he'd tasted Quinn on his mates. And it had turned him mad with a craving he couldn't describe.

It almost tasted like love.

But Rowan fought it, had drowned himself in the people he should have been starving for. He'd begged for it with his fat tongue out, waiting for the hot drizzle of cum to splatter in his mouth and pool in his throat. And his mates had pounced on him, had fed bruised-purpling cocks deep into his throat, satin-like head bumping against his tonsils.

They'd fucked his throat till his nose was buried in curls and his lips were pressed to the flat of their groin; till spiderweb cum flooded deep in his belly, and his nostrils were filled with the sweet musky stench of their pleasure. And he'd gulped it all down, chocking on slobbering wet girth with tears in his eyes, shamelessly suckling for more.

But it wasn't enough.

He needed more.

And so, to see Helios tasting her, to see him descend upon the chalice of her cunt? It was a cruel sort of torture that had his wolf growling to take her too, to pounce upon them and take his place by Helios's side—slurping a swollen clit, drinking the sticky gush from buttery folds.

But he couldn't, he couldn't join them, couldn't touch her, not after what he'd done to her.

He deserved this pain.

And so he stayed angry and waiting, tasting her from Helios's tongue. She was ripe, so fucking sweet he almost had to cry. It was good, too good. It had his knees shaking, his body heaving, tongue dry for more. And he wanted to right then and there, wanted to take what his body was lacking, pull her panties aside, spread chubby lips and suck at the gummy centre of her core.

He fucking hated himself when he came.

He hated that he could cum with her taste on his tongue, hated that Helios's eyes had reflected with his surprise. He hadn't questioned it, hadn't asked. But his mate had stared, now privy to the knowledge of Rowan's cure.

Quinn was his answer to heaven. Quinn broke Euodia's spell.

Rowan was a jealous, uptight bastard and a fucking tattle tale. And so, he'd dragged Helios back with a growl. But only after he'd licked the juices off Helios's chin, and sucked his tongue so hard there was nothing left but the taste of Helios. He'd wiped the evidence of his sticky-fingered sins on his pants and adjusted his tacky crotch hoping no one would learn of the truth.

Only Quinn could make him cum.

"I found him," he snarled, slamming the flap of the tent wide open with a grunt. "Licking her cunt like a dog." Helios had snapped at him, feathers fluttering, wings shifting, but shame coloured his cheeks. Still, he fought back, eyes flashing with rage. It was easier to hate her first, it was easier to hate everyone first.

"You know how she smells like; how hard it is to stay away from her—"

"We had an agreement."

"You kissed me right after I ate her out, and we both know it's because you want her just as much as I do! You're just as hungry as I am—"

"This is about the rules you've broken!" Rowan snarled. "Pack always comes first." Pack settled his guilt and ended his regret, after all the Alpha was temporary. And soon they'd all sin together, and Quinn would be gone from his life—dead.

"We're starving," Helios had wrung his hands, and spun on his heels. "We can't wait another fucking day, and no one had the balls to say it. We need the Alpha, we need to make her fucking happy. We need to sink to our fucking knees and suck her motherfucking clit. We're dying, we look fucking awful. And I'm not going to wait until one of us turns." Helios's eyes were red, and rage made his cheeks splotchy and his words far too sharp. "Our time is fucking ticking, Rowan. And I'm hungry."