Page 17 of Just Right
Shit.
I just thought about Finn, too. The kind and somewhat gullible twin I’ve spent most of my time with the last few days… how would he react if he knew that I was so desperate, I let Colt fuck me instead of him.
I know how he would react. It really would break his heart.
Squeezing my legs together, hiding the proof of my arousal from them—though, considering how good a bear’s snout is, they probably know if they’re anything like their counterpart in the wild—I’m thinking about slinking away when Rowan barrels down on his brother.
“Exactly. We decided?—”
Colt’s head jerks up, a flash of temper returning. “Youdecided.”
Rowan bares his teeth. All pearly whites for a world that doesn’t have toothpaste, but after a second, I realize that they’re not just teeth. They’refangs.
Colt backs off immediately. “Right. She’s our… guest.”
Again with ‘guest’. Why do I get the feeling that, every time one of the bears says ‘guest’, they mean something else?
If they do, they aren’t telling me. And I wish I could blame the fever for how much I feel out of the loop right now, but nope. I have no idea what’s really passing between the oldest and middle brother, only that I was so sure I was moments away from getting some relief, and now? If something doesn’t change andsoon, I’ll have to figure out another way to break it.
Turns out, that’s not necessary.
Of the three bears, Rowan is the one who most has kept his distance from me. That all changes in the next moment as he stalks around his brother, bends just enough to place one hand behind my back, the other behind my shaky knees, before tipping me back into his arms.
“Grab the bucket,” he snaps. “Start filling the tub.”
Colt nods, then he dashes into the trees.
Rowan strokes my forehead, pushing some of the damp tendrils of hair away from sticky skin. “You okay, Goldie?”
Goldie… To Colt, I seem to be his ‘little thief’. Finn has this adorable habit of calling me ‘honig’; when I finally asked, he told me that honey used to be his favorite thing, and thathonigis what they call it in the ‘old language’. But Rowan? Serious and stoic and probably wishing my time in Blackmoor was up already, he’s the only one to actually use my preferred nickname.
I lean into his caress. “I don’t feel so good.”
He sighs. “I know. The fever… I’ve heard of this happening. When the magic in the forest thinks that its visitor is ignoring what it wants… what it’s supposed to do… the fever takes hold.”
Blackmoor will have its due…
“I don’t understand. Is this because I haven’t really started the search for Char yet?”
“No. That’s whatyouwant from the forest. But that’s not what the forest wants from you.”
Okay. “Then what does the forest want, Rowan?”
“For you to recognize the bond between you and your fated mate.”
My stomach twists. From the first moment I heard one of the brothers mention ‘mates’, I’ve had the sinking suspicion that this was why the village council accepted my petition to test the beasts of Blackmoor. It all seemed so coincidental, right? They were in search of a desperate blonde who was willing to sign away three weeks… because that’s how long it would take to re-run our version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears?
Only… that’s the problem. All three Brown brothers are stunning. Strapping.Gorgeous. They work hard, tend to my every need, and except for Rowan, make it obviously clear that they’re attracted to me. I haven’t bothered hiding the fact that I reciprocate their lust, and the more they treat me as something special… something to be treasured… the most I find myself drawn to them.
Even Rowan.
Especially Rowan.
But could I choose? Is that how it works anyway? Do I get to choose? Or, if this is some fated thing that I agreed to because I got blindsided by the ‘three weeks’ clause of the contract and might’ve missed the ‘you’re the soul mate to a paranormal creature’ part, is it already written in the stars?
I can’t deny that there’s something tying me to these brothers. A bond, maybe, or something else. But if there’s one who I was picked specifically to be given to, I can’t tell.
Can they?
