Page 54 of Bonds of Pain
“They can fight for it.”
Chapter Fifteen
MAYA
It’s hard to decide if I’m angrier at Logan or myself as Poe and Ares as they clatter down the stairs of the basement room, Cillian trailing behind me.
I was stupid to think that Logan wouldn’t push any advantage that I give him. Tearing through boundaries is just how he operates. I’d thought that his obvious jealousy of my time would be enough to maintain a fissure in the pack dynamic, but he outplayed me with this.
Poe and Ares are more excited than I’ve ever seen them. I doubt that a night with me is the sole reason, they just seem obsessed with the competition of it all.
They practically bounded down the hallway after deciding on a venue for their fight, pushing and shoving like children on the playground. Cillian followed more sedately behind them, but the resigned set of his shoulders tells me he’ll be absolutely no help in putting an end to this.
I could have just insisted on staying with him, and maybe I should have. But the nights I’ve already spent in bed with himstill feel etched in my head. How good it felt to wake with his skin pressed against mine. The bond is too seductive. Biology working against my mental faculties, whispering and cajoling me to fully accept it. It isn’t love, I know that but feels so similar that it’s hard to tell the difference. I know the more time I spend with him, the harder it will be to ignore the pull of that cursed bond.
At the top of the basement stairs, I freeze. A familiar scent nearly doubles me over: the lingering traces of my and Cillian’s compelled heat, now overlaid with the equally alluring and repulsive smell of Logan’s spend. My stomach churns with revulsion and urges that I would very much like to pretend I don’t feel.
Cillian hesitates on the stair just ahead of me, immediately sensing that I’m no longer following him.
“It’s better to get this over with quickly,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that the others can’t hear. “If you let them get really rolling, one of them is going to get hurt.”
I hate admitting to the weakness. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he replies tonelessly, turning fully around to face me. The familiar mask has descended over his features, impenetrable as the whiteout of a snowstorm. “You’ve already managed far worse.”
“I don’t want to go back down there.”
His hand twitches once as if he plans to reach out and touch me, but falls back to his side before he does. “It’s just a room. The memories are in your head, and avoiding this place won’t make them go away.”
The words shouldn’t be comforting, but they are. I’d run from Logan a year ago and fallen into a far worse situation. Then I tried to run again, only to find myself not only back where I started, but somewhere far worse than I could have imagined.
Running won’t solve anything.
Below us, Poe and Ares are already clearing space in the center of the room, pushing together floor mats and clearing debris with alarming efficiency.
“Are they actually going to fight?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just for the right to have me in their bed for the night? That’s all?”
Cillian’s lips quirk into something resembling a smile, but his eyes remain serious. “They’ve fought over significantly less in the past.”
“Like what?”
“The last piece of bacon. Who gets to drive. Which movie to watch.” He shrugs. “It’s how Alphas settle things when they’re part of the same pack. Physical dominance without permanent damage.”
I watch as Ares strips off his shirt, revealing muscles that ripple beneath his skin like they are each an individual living thing. Poe remains fully clothed but rolls his shoulders and neck with deliberate precision.
“And what about you?” I ask, not looking at Cillian. “Aren’t you going to fight for your chance?”
“Would you want me to?”
The question catches me off guard. Would I? The truth is that Cillian’s bed is the only one where I’ve felt something close to safe.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Then I won’t.” He steps past me, heading down the stairs. “Come on. The sooner they start, the sooner we can all go to sleep.”
Cillian gestures for me to precede him down the stairs. My shoulder just barely brushes his chest as I pass him, and I feel the heat of it even through our clothes. I instinctively lean away because of just how strong the urge is to lean closer.
I follow Cillian down the stairs, unable to tear my eyes away from the spectacle unfolding before me. Ares stretches his arms overhead, muscles rippling beneath his skin like living things. Poe is more subdued, but I recognize the predatory focus in his eyes—the same look he had before slitting Darius’s throat.
