Page 105 of Bonds of Pain
Poe shakes his head, his attention never leaving the arena below. “Someone needs to stay clearheaded.”
The crowd roars again, and I take a long swallow of my lemonade. The blush adds a strange sweetness that masks the drug beneath. My hand trembles slightly as I set the glass down, already feeling a pleasant warmth spreading from my stomach outward.
A sudden crash from the arena draws my attention back to the window. Logan has Viktor pinned against the barrier wall, blood streaming from both their faces. The Western prince breaks free with a savage elbow to Logan’s ribs that makes me gasp.
“He’s fine,” Ares assures me, his voice already taking on that distant quality that tells me the blush is hitting him too. “Logan’s taken worse.”
I take another long drink, draining half the glass. The edges of the room begin to soften, the roar of the crowd becoming a pleasant buzz rather than an assault on my senses. The panic that had been clawing at my throat recedes, replaced by a dreamy detachment.
“Better?” Ares asks, watching me with dilated pupils.
I nod, a smile spreading across my face without my permission. “Much.”
The sounds from the arena continue, but they feel distant now, unimportant. I settle back into my plush seat, Logan’s fight suddenly seeming like something happening in another world entirely. Through the pleasant haze of blush, I can watch without feeling, observe without caring.
Ares settles into the first row of box seats, and I don’t resist the urge to sink down beside him. The blush loosens my limbs, making my body crave the solid warmth of his presence. My head feels pleasantly fuzzy, thoughts drifting like clouds across a summer sky.
Poe remains standing at the window, rigid and watchful. His voice floats toward us, describing the fight below in a deliberately flat tone.
“Viktor has Logan in a corner—he’s using his weight advantage. Logan’s favoring his left side. That last hit connected hard.”
I nod vaguely, processing his words through the pleasant haze of blush. The sounds from the arena—grunts of pain, the thud of flesh hitting flesh, the crowd’s bloodthirsty roars—seem to come from somewhere far away.
“Logan just barely escaped a neck lock,” Poe continues, his voice flat. “That could have ended it. He needs to be more careful.”
My unwanted mate might be minutes from getting himself killed.
Probably taking me with him.
Without really thinking about it, I shift closer to Ares, then slide onto his lap. His arms automatically circle my waist, steadying me. The solid heat of him feels right, anchoring me when everything else seems to be floating.
“Comfortable?” Ares murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
I nod, leaning back against his chest. Through our thin clothing, I can feel every plane of muscle, every steady beat of his heart. The bond with Logan pulses distantly, muted by the blush, but I’m aware of its presence like a faint thread connecting me to the battle below.
My thoughts drift to Cillian. Where is he watching from? What is he feeling through his bond with Logan? I reach for our connection, trying to sense him through the pleasant fog in my mind, but I hit a wall. He’s shut himself off from me completely, leaving only the faintest traces of his emotions—cold determination…and fear.
Is that how he would face death? With that same stoic resolve? I wonder if that’s what I’ll feel from him if Logan falls, just before I follow them both into oblivion.
I realize I’m absently stroking Ares’s arm, my fingers tracing the ridges of muscle beneath his sleeve. He tenses slightly, shifting beneath me.
“Maya,” he says, voice strained. “Maybe you should?—“
I turn to look at his face. His pupils are huge, nearly swallowing the green of his irises. The blush has affected him too, but differently. There’s something primal in his gaze now, something hungry.
I watch, fascinated, as he stares at the arena below. His breathing changes with each blow Logan lands or receives, his body responding to the violence like it’s a physical touch. This is more than just concern for a packmate—this is Alpha bloodlust, pure and undiluted.
He’s beautiful like this. Dangerous. Raw.
I shift in his lap, and that’s when I feel it—the hard length of him pressing against me through our clothes. My body responds instantly, a rush of heat flooding between my thighs.
I should be embarrassed. I should move away.
Instead, I grind down against him, a slow, deliberate movement that draws a sharp inhale from his lips.
The blush sings in my blood, turning every sensation into pleasure. The violence below, the thick scent of Ares’s arousal, the distant thread of fear through my bond with Logan—it all swirls together into a heady cocktail that makes me feel both powerful and desperate.
“Maya,” Ares warns, his hands tightening on my hips. But he doesn’t stop me as I rock against him again, seeking friction.
