Chapter 15

~ Lucas ~

Isobelle walked out onto the front porch, looking flustered to hell. My God, she looked good when she’d just been roughly kissed. Her lips were still swollen, her blue eyes searched for me as her golden hair danced around her shoulders in the summer breeze. I took my time to admire how beautiful she was, standing there shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. I wanted to remember the imagery, cataloging every detail so I could drag out my sketchbook and let my pencil work its magic. She was my muse, a vision of perfection, and I needed to immortalize her onto a canvas, turning her into one of those sempiternal paintings that never alters, never fades.

That’s how I felt about love. I wasn’t a man of many words, but what I lacked in etiquette, I made up for with skills. Whether it be fixing up cars, building a motorcycle from scratch, or painting something that inspired me, I donated my time and effort, leaving a piece of me behind. That was how I breathed life into my work, whether it was a finely tuned engine or a brushstroke on a canvas, it derived from love. But Isobelle — she was a masterpiece in her own right. She complemented us, not the other way around. I took care of what belonged to me. Things that mattered most.

I might not find the right way to explain how I feel, but actions speak louder than words.

Isobelle’s eyes locked with mine and narrowed into an amused scowl. “There you are.” She swatted the air and made her way toward me.

She thought I was hiding on purpose, not standing there mesmerized like a lovesick pup. Moments later, she joined me under the shady forest canopy and my eyes flicked down to her footwear.

“Nice walking boots,” I complimented her.

Izzy flung her eyes up and down and clicked her tongue. “Oh, these . . . they’re practical. I think I picked up men’s boots by mistake. I wanted a pair with pink laces, but they didn’t have my size.”

Isobelle’s words died on her lips as if she was worried that she was babbling. I didn’t mind listening to her talk because her voice sounded heavenly. It made me wonder whether a guy had knocked her confidence about blabbering too much, and the thought twisted my gut with rage.

“So . . .” She came up with a little icebreaker.

It was cute because it meant she was interested in getting to know me. That was the concerning part. I could tell her everything there was to know about me in one sentence and have nothing left to talk about. I wasn’t as alluring as Alex, or as witty as Grayson, nor am I as gallant as Mason. I was just me, and I was hoping that it would be enough.

“You’re a mystery,” she continued, curling her fingers around the crease of my elbow. “Tell me something about yourself?”

We took a slow walk, breathing in the warm alpine scent, our boots kicking through the loose chippings as if time didn’t exist.

“Why don’t you figure me out for yourself?” I dared her.

What else could I say? She wouldn’t be interested in talking about bikes, shock-absorbers, becoming one with my wolf, and I was sure as hell not ready to let her check out my sketchbook. That would be as intrusive as reading my diary — if I kept one, which I didn’t. I sketched. I painted. I fixed things. And I preferred the simplicity of nature. That was all there was to learn about me. I didn’t want to bore her with that.

“There’s something sexy about a strong, silent, mysterious man,” she commented, bumping my side playfully. “One who spends half the night brooding in his shed, doing goodness knows what.”

I flashed a grin, knowing differently.

“What about you?” I diverted the question. “Aside from being a hot science chick, what do you do for fun?”

I cast my eyes diagonally and witnessed her shy away. “You think I’m pretty?” she murmured diffidently.

The doubt in her voice felt like a shock to my skull.

Has she never looked in a mirror? Seriously?

I brought us to an abrupt stop and tilted her chin up to face me.

“You’re more than pretty. Look at you. You’re gorgeous,” I told her, even though I could see that she didn’t believe me.

I made a mental note to punch the guy or guys who made her feel otherwise.

She bit her lip as she looked up at me, and my heart melted. “You’ve got four deadly wolf shifters who’ll beat the crap out of anyone who tells you you’re not.”

I didn’t know what I did to earn what happened next, but at that moment, she kissed me. And in return, I poured my heart and soul into showing her just how beautiful she truly was.

~~*

~ Alex ~

I huffed in annoyance as Grayson entered the kitchen and dumped his dirty laundry beside the washing machine. The laundry basket was tucked neatly in its space beneath the countertop — but no, Grayson neglected to acknowledge it. A lone sock skidded away, threatening to abscond beneath the vegetable rack. It was lucky I saw where it went because now, I could reunite it with its twin. We could’ve had an odd sock situation, and that was one of my all-time pet peeves.

I had just finished cleaning the breakfast dishes and wiped the kitchen surfaces with antibacterial spray. With five people living in a small cabin, standards could easily slip into pandemonium. An organized home was a happy one. I refused to let our mate live in a pigsty.

Grayson was glossing through a magazine and stopped on a page displaying adult pacifiers.

Whatever floats his boat, I suppose.

My eyes zoned in on his abandoned coffee mug and saw he had failed to use a coaster.

Fuck my life. I’m living with a bunch of slobs.

I stalked across the open-plan living space to retrieve his empty mug. He was lucky it hadn’t left a ring mark on the surface. For the next ten minutes, I busied myself sprucing the place up, plumping the pillows so they looked plush. If everything had its space, there would never be a thing out of place.

As I finished, Lucas sauntered through the front door, stopping only to toe-off his boots, abandoning them beside the coat rack.

“Mason is just showing Izzy his Mustang,” he mentioned.

“Hey, that is not the designated area for footwear,” I pointed out.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Hold on a sec, while I count all the fucks I give.” He paused for a moment, pretending to count on his fingers, then balled his hands into fists. “That’s right . . . none.”

Grayson slouched on the couch and placed his feet on top of the freshly polished coffee table. He pointed the TV remote at the fifty-inch flat screen and began flicking through the channels.

“Who’s rattled your cage?” Grayson grumbled.

“I’ll tell you who.” I point directly at him. “Since when has the floor become the laundry basket?”

I knew I sounded like an agitated mother who was admonishing her offspring, but I was the carbon copy of my biological father. We thrived on structure, routine, and conducting our lives in an orderly fashion.

Grayson cast an indignant scowl. “The laundry basket is full,” he retorted. “That was Mason’s job. He was supposed to have taken care of that this morning, but he must have forgotten because he has a life. Anyway, I did my chores. I took the trash bags to the garbage site, changed the bedsheets, and I even washed your car because I’m considerate like that. Do I get a ‘thank you’?” he cupped his hand around his ear, waiting for me to say “thanks”.

Pressure throbbed in my temples. I couldn’t argue with him. It was Mason’s turn to do the laundry, and he had gone AWOL right after breakfast. What was the point of me making a chore chart if no one was going to adhere to it? I might be the eldest, but I was not here to be a wet nurse for my brothers.

“Thanks,” I mumbled begrudgingly. “I appreciate you washing my car, but it is basic common sense that if a job needs doing, you should do it. Leaving your laundry next to the washer will not ensure it gets washed. If I leave our dinner next to the stove, would it cook by itself?” I continued my rant, hitting him with logic.

“You just need to get laid, dude. You’re beginning to piss me off,” Grayson retaliated. “There’s a tube of lubricant in the nightstand drawer. Take it, and this magazine into the bathroom and rub one out.”

I immediately saw red. “You disgusting little shit,” I hissed, my expression twisting with outrage.

“What’s going on here?” Isobelle’s voice chimed around the cabin walls.

I straightened my posture, turning to greet our mate with a civil smile. “Isobelle, did you enjoy your walk?”

Grayson’s jaw dropped at my change in demeanor. Isobelle blushed and Lucas cast her a flirtatious wink. I rolled my eyes, huffing my chest and crossing my arms. They’ve kissed. The scent of arousal still lingered between them like a guilty secret. Two of my brothers had gotten to taste her, and I was frustrated as fuck.

“Can I talk to you alone, please?” I didn’t know why it came out as a question when I meant it as a command.

Isobelle’s brows raised with surprise. “Of course. What’s the matter?” she asked, sounding sweet and innocent.

That would change when we take her to bed. She was going to be taken in so many ways, come so many times, she would forget her name because she would be far too busy screaming our names.

Lucas and Grayson grabbed a couple of beers and headed outside to talk to Mason. They took that as a subtle hint I wanted a moment of privacy and would advise Mason to tread with caution.

“I want to know if you’re okay or if there’s something you need,” I prompted. “If you don’t like the décor, we can change it. If there’s something that you prefer to eat, I can cook it for you. I just want to help you feel at home here. The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy.” I shrugged my shoulders, aware that I was scowling at the rug and not maintaining direct eye contact like I was accustomed to.

I corrected my mistake, pinning her on the spot with a penetrating glare. I was either calm or intense, 0 to 100 within a millisecond. I didn’t have an in-between or an emotional filter, so it seemed.

“Alex,” Isobelle cooed my name, smiling up at me.

The corners of my eyes twitched as I wondered what was so amusing about that statement.

“Everything is fine,” she assured me, glancing around. “You have a beautiful home.”

“We do,” I corrected her. “This is your place too.”

Okay, so her visa would run out in three months, but we could work around that. Our Alpha would smooth over the finer details when she becomes part of our pack. Speaking of Alpha White, he would want an update about how things were going with Isobelle. We would need to solidify the mate bond soon. The urge to fuck was driving me insane. It was partly the reason I had been walking around like a tornado, cleaning the cabin like a lunatic.

Isobelle stroked her fingers around my jaw, raking them through my short, groomed beard. I couldn’t help but mirror her smile as she chuckled softly.

“You look even more handsome when you smile,” she mentioned.

I grabbed her hand in a swift swoop and held her wrist between my finger and thumb.

“You know . . . women hate it when men say that to them.” I let my gaze drift down to her mouth as I used an example. “You look so pretty when you smile, you should do it more often.” I flicked my gaze back to catch the flare in her eyes as she realized her mistake.

“I was just trying to be nice,” she chuckled.

I seized her other wrist as she tried to pull away. She gasped, her pupils enlarged, and I dipped low enough to feel her breath against my lips, deliberating whether to kiss her now or make her beg me for it.

“You drive me crazy; do you know that?” I told her the understatement of the century.

The way she leaned on her tiptoes and tried to steal a kiss from me made my cock kick with arousal, but I refused to grant her wish. Isobelle stilled, unsure whether it was a command to wait or a flat-out rejection. I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes, so I gave her what she wanted, devouring her mouth the way I wanted to taste her. Dominating, commanding, unyielding. She struggled against my grasp, so I released her wrists, allowing her the freedom to slide her palms against my chest, her fingers mapping out a route to my neck, reaching their destination as they drove through my hair to hold me there.

“Mm, don’t stop,” she whimpered as I pulled back, breaking the kiss.

She was not supposed to be calling the shots, but she demanded, and I obeyed. I drank my fill like I was dying of thirst. She was my oasis in the desert, and I would crawl on my hands and knees just to get a taste of her.

“I promise to smile for you every single day if you’re going to kiss me like that,” I uttered breathlessly.

“Promises, promises,” she murmured, like the sultry little minx she was.