Free Web NovelChapter 51: Under The Stars
Water streams down between us, and his brown eyes are warm and kind as they search my face.
"Mad at you?" He sounds genuinely confused. "Why would I be mad at you, Frankie?"
I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Because... because of what happened. With Ezra. And Leo seemed so angry, and I thought—" My voice breaks. "I thought maybe you all were upset that I... that we..."
I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t articulate the fear that’s been growing in my chest, that I’ve somehow broken something, that by being with Ezra and Leo, I’ve ruined whatever this is with the rest of them.
Corrian’s expression softens even more, he cups my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "Oh, princess. No. No, we’re not mad at you."
"But Leo—"
"Leo was being an alpha," Corrian says, and there’s amusement in his voice now. "Alpha bullshit, that’s all it was. Territorial posturing. He wasn’t actually angry with you, he was jealous that Ezra got to you first."
He reaches for a washcloth and body wash, lathering it up before starting to wash my shoulders, my arms, my breasts. His touch is clinical but tender, focused on cleaning me rather than arousing me, and that makes it more intimate.
"All we want," he continues, washing down my stomach, my hips, "is for you to be happy. Safe. Satisfied." He kneels in front of me, and I gasp as he starts washing my thighs, getting close to where I’m most sore. "If Ezra and Leo made you feel good, then we’re happy. That’s how this works."
"But the growling, and the teeth—"
"Alpha dynamics," Corrian says simply. He’s washing between my thighs now, and I hiss at the sensitivity. He immediately gentles his touch, his movements becoming even more careful. "We’re possessive creatures, sweetheart. Territorial. But that’s not about you doing something wrong. That’s just... how we are. Especially when it comes to our mate."
The word ’mate’ sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the temperature.
"You’re ours," Corrian continues, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "All of ours. And that means we all get to claim you, to be with you, to make you feel good. There’s no jealousy in that, not real jealousy. Like I said, just alpha bullshit." He grins up at me, and despite everything, I find myself smiling back.
He’s washing my centre, so delicate and careful, cleaning away the juices. I’m waiting for the embarrassment, from having him clean me like this, but instead it feels like love.
"You’re sore," he observes, his fingers barely brushing my swollen folds.
"Yeah," I admit, my voice small.
"Ezra’s not exactly small," Corrian says with a chuckle. He shakes his head, still smiling. "Your body was made for this. Made for us."
He stands, rinsing the washcloth and starting on my back, my ass, down my legs.
"We’ve been waiting for you," he says quietly, washing down my calves, my feet. "For so long. And now that we have you," He stands again, pulling me close so we’re both under the spray. "Now that we have you, all we want is to make you happy. Take care of you. Show you what it means to be loved by a pack, your mates."
Loved.
There’s so much I’ve learnt all at once. Mating bonds, and claiming, and heat, and ruts and knotting. The primal need to possess and be possessed. But love? That’s something different.
"You love me?" I whisper.
Corrian’s answering smile is so soft and genuine. "Princess, we’ve loved you since before met you. Since before we even knew your name. That’s what the mating bond is, it’s not just physical. It’s everything. Heart, body, soul."
He reaches for the shampoo again, washing his own hair quickly. Then pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me under the warm spray. I let myself lean into him. Let myself be held.
"So no," he murmurs into my hair. "I’m not mad at you. We’re just grateful. So fucking grateful that you’re here and ours, and accepting us."
I feel tears prick my eyes, mixing with the shower water. "I was so scared," I admit. "Scared that I was just– just a body to you. Just someone to fuck."
"Don’t ever think that," Corrian pulls back enough to look at me, his hands cupping my face again. "You’re everything. Our mate. Our female. Our future." He kisses my forehead, soft and sweet. "Yes, we’re going to fuck you. A lot. Because you’re intelligent, and witty and so beautiful. Perfect, we can’t keep our hands off you. But that’s not all you are to us. Not even close."
He reaches behind me and turns off the water. The sudden silence is jarring after the constant sound of the spray. He grabs a huge, fluffy towel and wraps it around me, then grabs another for himself.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand again. "Let’s get you dried off and fed. You need to eat something, and then you need to rest. Really rest, not just pass out in a pile of horny alphas."
I laugh, the sound watery. "They are pretty horny."
"Understatement of the century," Corrian says with a grin. He starts drying me off with the same attention he used to wash me, patting my skin dry rather than rubbing, being extra gentle around my sore pussy.
"We’ve been celibate for years, Frankie. Waiting for you. Now that we have you," He shakes his head. "Let’s just say you’re going to be very, very busy." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
A flutter of anticipation unfurls low in my belly. Even sore and exhausted as I am, the idea of being the center of their world makes me feel powerful. Wanted. Loved.
Corrian finishes drying me and wraps the towel around my body, tucking it securely. Then he dries himself off quickly and wraps his own towel around his hips.
He takes my hand again, always touching me, I realise now, always maintaining that physical connection, and leads me out of the bathroom.
He pulls open his bag and extracts a soft t-shirt.
"Arms up," he instructs.
It’s huge, clearly his, and when he pulls it over my head, it falls to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past my elbows. He rolls them up carefully.
He kneels in front of me and holds a pair of cotton shorts out for me to step into, shimmying them up my legs. They’re also his, loose and comfortable, the waistband sitting low. Finally a thick pair of socks, the type made for hiking or camping, which hang off my toes and bunch at the ankles. I look ridiculous, but he gazes up at me with such affection I feel beautiful anyway.
"Perfect," he says.
One arm under my knees and the other supporting my back, he scoops me up, and I squeak. They do this often, even though I’m perfectly steady on my own legs.
"Corrian, I can walk—"
"I know you can," he says, already moving toward the door. "But I’d like to carry you."
The whisper of command in his tone has me relax into his hold. This is what he needs. Taking care of me isn’t just for my benefit. It’s for his too. It’s how he shows love, how he expresses the bond that’s forming between us.
So I let him carry me through the house, down a hallway I don’t remember from earlier, into the massive kitchen that’s all gleaming stainless steel and dark wood. He sets me on the counter, not the cold marble from the bathroom, but warm butcher block that’s been worn smooth with use, and moves to the refrigerator.
"Stay," he says, pointing at me, and I can’t help but smile.
"I’m not going anywhere."
"Good girl."
The praise sends a flutter through my stomach, and I watch as he pulls out a pitcher of water and fills a tall glass, adding ice until it’s nearly overflowing. He brings it to me and holds it out, his expression serious.
"Drink it all," he says. "Every drop. You’re dehydrated."
I take the glass and bring it to my lips. The water is so cold it stings, but feels incredible once it hits my parched throat. I drink and drink, the ice clinking against the glass, and he watches me with those warm eyes, nodding approval with each swallow.
When I finally drain the last of it, he takes the glass from me and sets it aside. Then he makes this deep, rumbling noise that comes from his chest. Satisfaction, that I’ve obeyed, that I’ve taken care of myself under his direction.
The sound makes me liquid and safe.
He moves around the kitchen, pulling out a cutting board, a knife, containers from the refrigerator. I watch as he slices strawberries and arranges them on a plate with blueberries and chunks of melon. He adds cubes of cheese, something sharp and aged that smells incredible, and a handful of crackers. A sandwich last, layering turkey, lettuce and tomato with careful precision.
He cuts it into triangles. freewebnσvel.cѳm
My mom used to cut my sandwiches into triangles when I was little, and I haven’t thought about that in years. But watching Corrian do it now, watching him take such care with something so small, makes me feel cherished in a way I can’t quite articulate.
Satisfied with the plate, he scoops me up again, balancing me in one arm and the plate in the other. He carries us through French doors, out onto the deck that will take my breath away every time I see it.
We’re high up in the mountains, and at night the landscape stretches out before us in shades of silver and shadow. The moon’s nearly full, hanging low and huge in the sky, and its light paints everything in ethereal beauty. I can see the dark shapes of pine trees, the jagged silhouettes of peaks in the distance, and far below, the glimmer of water.
The air’s cool and crisp. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. Perfect.
Settling us on the large outdoor couch, he pulls a huge blanket over our laps and arranges me so I’m tucked against his side, warm and protected, and then he picks up a strawberry and holds it to my lips.
"Open," he says softly.
I open my mouth and let him feed me. The strawberry is sweet and cold, and juice runs down my chin. Corrian catches it with his thumb, bringing it to his own mouth and sucking it clean.
He feeds me slowly, piece by piece. A cube of cheese. A cracker. Another strawberry. A triangle of sandwich. Between bites, I find myself asking the questions that have been building in my mind since Ezra first touched me.
"What does it mean?" I ask quietly. "The marking. The knotting. I know the basics, but... what does it really mean?"
Corrian’s quiet for a moment, feeding me a blueberry before he answers.
"Marking is permanent," he says finally. "When one of us bites you during the height of pleasure, it cements the bond between us. A connection that can’t be broken. You’ll be able to feel us, our emotions, our presence. And we’ll feel you."
"All of you?" I ask. "Or just the one who marks me?"
"All of us," he confirms. "The pack bond is collective. However, even though once you’re marked by one, you’re marked by all, the effects felt are diluted in the others. In an ideal world, it happens individually with each of us. But..." He pauses, feeding me another piece of cheese. "There’s significance in being first. It’s a claim. A privilege. And we all want it."
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. "Is that why Leo was so angry? Because Ezra almost—"
"Yes," Corrian says simply. "We’re competitive by nature, princess. Especially when it comes to you. But it’s not anger at you. Never at you. It’s just... wolves." He grins, and I find myself smiling back.
"And knotting?" I ask, my voice smaller now. "What does that do?"
"The knot is there to lock us together at the moment of release," he explains, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "It’s how we ensure our seed takes, how we claim you completely. When an alpha knots his mate, it’s... it’s everything. Connection. Possession. Love. All of it at once."
He feeds me a piece of melon, and I chew slowly, processing his words.
"The first time you’re knotted and marked together," he continues, "that’s when the telepathic bond activates. It’s intense. Overwhelming. Beautiful."
I swallow hard. "I want it," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I want all of it. The marking, the knotting, the bond. I want—" My voice breaks. "I want to be yours. Completely."
Corrian’s arm tightens around me, and he sets the plate aside so he can turn me to face him. His brown eyes are intense in the moonlight, searching my face.
"You’re already ours," he says softly. "But I understand what you mean. And we want it too, Frankie. All of us. We’re desperate for it," he brushes my hair behind my ear. "Take your time with everything though, OK?"
He picks up the plate again and feeds me another triangle of sandwich, and we sit in silence for a moment.
Just breathing together under the stars.
