needed too.
All things he’d craved, but never believed possible. Until now.
Still, the switch-up startled him a little, tossing the usual red flags, raising his internal alarm system. Old habits died hard. Wick shoved them aside anyway. Locked down doubt, let the tension go, and accepted that things had changed. He didn’t need to be on his guard with her. Jamison would never hurt or betray him. His secrets were safe with her, and so was his heart.
Unable to resist, he pressed his hands into the coverlet on either side of her. As he leaned in and touched his mouth to her temple, she reached out. Her palm slid across his pillow. A frown marring her brow, she murmured his name.
He kissed her softly again. “Sleep,
The moment she settled, he pushed away from the mattress and, conjuring his clothes, rounded the end of the bed. Worn jeans and a faded T-shirt brushed his skin. He didn’t bother with boots. He wouldn’t be that long. Would slip right back into the bed next to his female the second he finished his errand.
Which… shit… wasn’t going to be pleasant.
To be expected. Apologizing, no matter the circumstances, sucked.
Bare feet silent against the hospital-grade floor, Wick crossed the recovery room. His choice of beds furthered his goals. Had been purely strategic, for a number of reasons. First, he hadn’t been able to wait to make love to Jamison again after the mating ceremony, and—fuck him, but his own bedroom had seemed too far away at the time. And second? Forge. Laid out one room over, the male was passed out, recovering from brutal injury and sleeping like the dead.
Or had been until a few minutes ago.
Dragon senses keen, he heard the voices. Uh-huh. No doubt. The wonder twins were up and at ’em. Not surprising, considering the lateness of the hour. Walking past a round table with a pair of chairs, Wick glanced at the clock above the bank of stainless steel cabinets. Each ticktock sounded loud in the quiet, skinny hands walking around its wide face, speeding time along. 2:43 P.M. Mid-afternoon, prime wake-up time for the Nightfury warriors. So no time like the present. He needed to get a move on and the conversation over before B and the others rolled in to check on Forge.
Unleashing magic, Wick flicked the handle and shoved. The connecting door swung wide. Strides even and sure, he crossed over the threshold and—
“Bloody hell.” Propped up in bed, looking like a thundercloud, Forge scowled at his apprentice. A deck of cards between them, amethyst gaze narrowed, he studied his cards as Mac tossed his hand down on the mattress. The Scot cursed under his breath. “You wanker.”
“You wanna win?” Seated in a chair next to the bed, Mac reached for the pot. Colorful poker chips rattled as he raked them in. “Beat me fair and square.”
“Fucking Irish,” Forge grumbled, tossing his own cards. Spades and diamonds slid against the bedspread, triple sixes bumping into a pair of jacks. A sliver of pleasure thrummed through Wick. Straight Up Texas Hold ’Em, his favorite game. “Bone-headed brats, every last one of you.”
With a snort, Mac flipped his buddy the bird, then gathered up the deck and started shuffling.
Standing just inside the room, Wick closed the door behind him. The soft click joined the quiet buzz of halogens. Two pairs of eyes swung his way. Only one, though, concerned him. He met Forge’s gaze. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I want tae beat the shite out of Mac.”
Their resident water dragon rolled his eyes.
Wick’s lips twitched. “Better then.”
“Aye.”
The male’s low tone drew Wick further into the room. He stopped at the end of bed and, planting his forearms on the lip of the footboard, leaned in. He frowned at the individual stitches dotting the top of the handmade quilt, then cleared his throat. Jesus. How to start? What to say? Where to begin? He didn’t know. Remorse never entered his equation, but as he looked up and saw the thick bandage crisscrossing Forge’s chest, regret hit him hard. God, he’d almost killed one of his brothers.
The thought made him sick to his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring at his hands, his throat so tight the words came hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” Shifting against a pile of pillows, Forge sat up a little straighter. “Friendly fire, lad. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
“Tae every male, if he lives long enough.”
He shook his head. Despite Forge’s willingness to forgive, Wick couldn’t let it go. A mistake had been made. He must pay for his part in it. “I owe you restitution. A blood debt of—”
“Bullshite. You owe me nothing,” Forge growled. “’Tis the other way around. You shared your female. Saved my life by letting J.?J. feed me.”
“Neither was I.” Expression serious, Mac split the deck with one hand. A pro move. Not surprising. The newest member of the Nightfury pack excelled at the poker table. Was a regular card shark, even by Wick’s lofty standards. “Venom and the others held me down too when Tania took her turn. And Rikar?”
Wick raised a brow, waiting for the punch line.
“The corridor turned into a winter wonderland. Total Frostville the second Ange entered the fray. We couldn’t hold him back, so Bastian hammered him. Knocked him out cold.” Mac huffed, cards moving rapid-fire, a silent shuffle in his hands. “You should see the shiner he’s sporting. Ange is still babying him.”
“Seems tae be going around,” Forge said, gesturing to the back of Wick’s hand. “You’ve gotten some of the same.”
“More than just some.” He flexed his fingers, making the mating mark move across his knuckles. Pride settled deep. A swirl of happiness followed. “Didn’t think I had the balls to claim her, did you?”
“Courage isn’t your problem, Wick.” Picking up a poker chip, Forge flicked it at him. He caught it in midair and, running his thumb over the ridged edge, turned the piece over in his hand. Mischief in his eyes, the Scot smirked. “People skills, on the other hand?”
“Fuck off, Forge,” he said, unleashing his favorite phrase.
As intended, the comeback made both males laugh. And just like that, the tension eased, and it was over. Apology accepted. Back to normal. Forgiveness sent and accepted. Fantastic. But as relief took away the burden, another worry popped up to replace it. A big one that had nothing to do with the warriors already safe inside the lair.
Skirting the end of the bed, Wick unloaded on the mattress. His back against the footboard, he stretched his legs out on top of the quilt and crossed his feet at the ankles. Gaze ping-ponging between his comrades, he asked, “Any word from Gage and Haider?”
Mac shook his head. “Nothing. B’s worried.”
Wick was too. The Metallics never went this long without checking in. The fact they’d gone radio silent wasn’t a good sign. “What about Nian?”
“Sloan’s sending him messages, but so far he hasn’t answered.”
“Shite.”
“No kidding.” Sliding into a slouch, Mac leaned back in his chair. Plastic creaked as he lifted his legs and set his shitkickers down beside Wick’s bare feet. “We got another option, though.”
“Azrad,” Wick murmured, picking up his buddy’s line of thought.
Forge hummed. “A good bet, considering his connection tae Nian. The male might know something.”
Fingers crossed. Information was step one. Action would come next. “Is Bastian setting up another meeting?”
“Yeah. Not sure when it’ll go down,” Mac said. “He wants Forge on his feet first.”
Wick nodded. Made sense. “All hands on deck.”
“Bloody well better be.” A sour look on his puss, Forge glared a warning. “You leave me at home, I’ll kick your arses from here tae Saint Paddy’s Day.”
