Chapter 11: The Advice and the Awakening
The scent of rosemary and roasted sweetroot lingered in the air, a domestic anchor against the deeper, wilder smells still clinging to Wren’s skin. She sat cross-legged in the center of the rumpled bed, a chipped ceramic plate balanced on her thigh, picking at the remains of her meal. The warmth in her belly was a comfort, but the true warmth radiated from the room itself.
Xaden leaned against the far wall, sharpening a dagger with a rhythmic shink-shink that was more habit than necessity. Violet was curled in a wide chair by the cold fireplace, mending a tear in a riding coat, her silver hair a fall of moonlight in the dimming afternoon light. Liam and Bodhi were playing a silent, complex game of knivesies on the low table, the soft tick of blades hitting wood marking the time.
And Rowan paced.
His boots wore a path on the rug at the foot of the bed. He’d been talking for ten minutes, a low, anxious stream about his parents, about Kieran, about the paralyzing fear of history repeating itself.
“They looked at you like you’d brought a plague into the house,” Rowan said, his voice tight. “I can’t… I can’t stand the thought of them looking at Kieran that way. He’s not a political statement. He’s just… him.”
Wren swallowed a bite of bread, watching her brother. He had their father’s height but their mother’s expressive mouth, currently pinched with worry. “They looked at me that way because they were scared,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. The others’ movements stilled; they were listening, a respectful, protective silence. “Not of me. For me. The rebellion was still fresh. Marked ones were being hunted in the streets. They saw a death sentence when they looked at Xaden. At all of them.”
“And now?” Rowan stopped, turning pleading eyes on her. “Is it different now? Or am I just walking into the same wall?”
Wren set her plate aside. She patted the mattress beside her. “Sit. You’re making me seasick.”
He sank onto the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched.
“You’re not me,” she began. “And this isn’t then. The war is colder now. Marked ones aren’t just rebels; they’re riders, council members, healers. It’s not safe, but it’s not a guaranteed execution.” She leaned forward, catching his gaze. “But that’s not what matters. What matters is you don’t give them a united front to rail against. Don’t march Kieran into the dining hall with Dad and Caelan glowering. They’ll default to protect-the-family mode, and that means circling the wagons against the outsider.”
“So what do I do?”
“Start with Mom. Alone. Take Kieran to her solar when Dad is at the drills and Caelan is in the archives. Let her see him. Not as a marked one, but as the person who makes your hands stop shaking.” Wren smiled faintly. “Mom reads souls, not sigils. If she sees the bond in your eyes, the way you are when you’re with him… she’ll remember what it felt like to choose Caelan, even when it wasn’t the easy path. She’ll be your ally. Then, the two of you can manage the other two.”
Rowan blinked, some of the tension leaching from his frame. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not. It’s going to suck. There will be shouting. There will be accusations. You have to be ready for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.” She glanced at Xaden, who gave a single, slow nod. “You have a place here. For you and Kieran. No matter what.”
The gratitude in Rowan’s eyes was a tangible thing. He reached out, squeezing her hand. “Thank you. For not… resenting me. For having this chance.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said, but her voice was thick. “I want you to have the chance I didn’t. Now go. Before I start weeping and ruin my terrifying reputation.”
He laughed, a short, relieved sound, and stood. He nodded to each of her mates—a gesture of respect, of inclusion—before slipping out the door.
The quiet that followed was different. Lighter.
Wren finished her meal in silence, the exhaustion of the past days—the emotional whirlwind of homecoming, the physical claiming, the visceral encounter with Nyxari—settling into her bones like lead. She set the plate on the floor, shimmied down the bed, and simply collapsed into the nest of pillows and linens. The murmured conversation of her mates blurred into a pleasant hum. The last thing she felt was the weight of a blanket being draped over her, and the press of a kiss to her temple.
She surfaced from sleep not with a jolt, but through a layer of thick, honeyed sensation. Her body was warm, heavy, deliciously used. The room was dark, lit only by a single glowstone on the far wall. The silk sheets were tangled around her thighs, cool against her skin.
And there was a mouth between her legs.
The realization seeped into her drowsy mind. A gentle, rhythmic pressure. A slow, deliberate lick from the very base of her slit to the swollen peak of her clit. Wet. Hot. Unmistakable.
A low groan escaped her lips. Her hips lifted of their own accord, seeking more.
“There she is,” came a murmur against her inner thigh. Violet’s voice, dark with sleep and wanting.
Wren blinked her eyes open. Violet’s head was indeed between her thighs, her silver hair a waterfall over Wren’s stomach. Her tongue circled Wren’s clit again, not teasing now, but with a focused, filthy pressure that made Wren’s breath hitch.
Fingers carded through her own hair. She tilted her head back. Xaden lay propped behind her, his chest her pillow, his amber eyes watching Violet’s movements with a possessive, gleaming intensity. One of his hands was splayed on her stomach, holding her down with a gentle firmness.
“She woke up hungry,” Xaden said, his voice a rough scrape in the dark.
On her left side, Liam shifted. His hand, calloused and warm, stroked from her hip to the curve of her waist, a steady, grounding touch. “We were waiting for you to come back to us,” he said.
At the foot of the bed, Bodhi knelt. He was just watching, his gaze a physical brand moving over her naked body, over Violet’s head between her legs, over the possessive hands claiming her. He was fully hard, his cock jutting thick and eager from his body, and he made no move to touch himself. The waiting was his pleasure.
Violet hummed, the vibration against Wren’s sensitive flesh making her jerk. “Taste like sleep and us,” Violet mused, then dipped her tongue back inside Wren’s cunt, fucking into her with shallow, maddening thrusts. “And a little like dragon. Fuck, that’s hot.”
The crude words, the explicit admission, sent a fresh rush of wetness against Violet’s tongue. Violet moaned, sucking at her entrance, drinking her down. The sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room—wet, sucking, messy sounds.
“Let me,” Bodhi said, his voice tight. He moved then, crawling up the bed. He didn’t go to Wren. He went to Violet. He put a hand on the back of Violet’s head, not pushing, just holding. “Let me taste her on you.”
Violet lifted her head, her chin glistening. She turned her face to Bodhi and kissed him, open-mouthed and deep, sharing the taste. Wren watched, dazed, as Bodhi licked into Violet’s mouth, a low groan rumbling in his chest.
“My turn,” Xaden growled. He shifted Wren in his arms, turning her so she was straddling his lap, facing him, her back to the others. His cock, hard and hot, pressed against her stomach. He kissed her, a devouring claim of his own, his tongue mimicking the act his body demanded. He broke the kiss, his breath hot on her lips. “Need to be inside you. Now.”
He lifted her easily, his hands under her thighs. She felt the broad head of his cock nudge against her soaked entrance. He didn’t ask. He lowered her onto him, impaling her in one smooth, relentless drop.
“Gods,” Wren choked out, her head falling back as he filled her, the stretch a perfect, familiar burn. He was so deep, seated to the hilt, his pubic bone grinding against her clit.
Behind her, she felt Violet’s hands on her back, pushing her forward gently until she was braced over Xaden. Then Violet’s body settled over hers, skin to skin. Violet’s lips found her ear. “Remember the other night?” she whispered, her own breath coming fast. “When Liam was in me while I was on you?” Her hand reached down, guiding herself onto Wren. Not with a cock, but with the smooth, hard length of a polished obsidian strap, harnessed securely to Violet’s hips. Wren had seen it in the drawer but never felt it. The cool tip pressed against her other hole, the one still tender from Xaden’s earlier claiming.
“Violet,” Wren gasped, the warning lost in a moan.
“I need to feel you, too,” Violet pleaded, nipping her shoulder. “Every part.”
Xaden’s hands tightened on Wren’s hips. “Take it,” he ordered, his own control fraying. “Take us both.”
He pulled her hips down as Violet pushed forward.
The double penetration was an unbearable, exquisite shock. Xaden stretching her cunt, Violet’s strap filling her ass. She was split open, claimed in two directions at once, so full she could barely breathe. A broken sob tore from her throat.
“Yeah, fuck, just like that,” Bodhi muttered from somewhere beside them. She heard the slick sound of his fist pumping his own cock.
Liam moved then. He positioned himself behind Violet, his hands on her hips. He pressed his cock against Violet’s slick folds, entering her in a single thrust while she was sheathed inside Wren. The chain of connection was complete again, a relentless, driving circuit.
Violet cried out, the sensation of Liam filling her making her drive her strap deeper into Wren. Xaden growled, his thrusts turning punishing, jarring Wren forward onto Violet’s length with every drive of his hips. The rhythm was chaotic, brutal, perfectly synchronized in its desperation.
Wren was the nexus. Every movement echoed through her. Liam fucking Violet, who was fucking her, while Xaden fucked her. The pleasure was a tidal wave, building from a deep, impossibly full ache. She felt owned, used, connected, essential.
Bodhi’s voice cut through the haze. “I want her mouth. Need to come in that pretty throat.”
In a tangle of limbs, they rearranged her. Xaden pulled out with a wet sound, flipping her onto her hands and knees. Violet withdrew, the loss of fullness making Wren whimper. Bodhi was instantly there, on his knees before her, feeding his cock into her hungry mouth. She sucked him down, greedy for the taste of salt and skin.
Xaden re-entered her from behind, his cock slamming back into her sore, dripping cunt. This angle was deeper, harder. He fucked her with a driving pace that rocked her whole body forward onto Bodhi’s length. She gagged, tears streaming, as Bodhi held her head, fucking her throat in time with Xaden’s thrusts.
Violet, still harnessed, knelt beside them, her hand working between her own legs, rubbing her clit as she watched, her eyes glazed. Liam was behind her, his mouth on her neck, his hands kneading her breasts.
“Gonna come,” Bodhi snarled, his thighs trembling. “Swallow it. Swallow every fucking drop.”
His release hit the back of her throat, hot and bitter. She swallowed convulsively as he pulsed, her own climax coiling tight, triggered by the submission, the fullness, the raw debauchery of it.
Xaden felt her inner walls begin to flutter. “Now, Wren,” he commanded, his voice shattered. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
His permission was the final splinter. Her orgasm detonated, a silent, searing rupture that locked her muscles and stole the world. She convulsed around his cock, her scream muffled by Bodhi’s softening length. Xaden drove into her twice more, then stilled, roaring as his own release flooded her, mixing with the mess already there.
They collapsed into a heap of panting, sweat-slicked bodies. No one spoke. The only sounds were ragged breaths and the soft rustle of shifting limbs.
Slowly, carefully, they separated. Bodhi fetched a warm cloth, cleaning Wren with a tenderness that contrasted violently with the usage moments before. They settled around her, a wall of heat and scent and steady heartbeat.
Xaden lay on his back, Wren curled into his side, her head on his chest. Violet nestled against her back, Liam behind Violet, Bodhi spooned against Liam’s back, his hand resting on Wren’s ankle.
In the profound quiet, Violet spoke, her voice slurred with near-sleep. “Rowan’s a good kid.”
“He is,” Wren whispered.
“We’ll be there,” Liam said, the promise simple and absolute. “When he tells them.”
Xaden’s arm tightened around her. The unspoken words hung in the air: We’ll be there because you weren’t allowed to have us there last time. It wasn’t a guilt trip. It was a vow.
Wren closed her eyes, the ghosts of her past finally, truly, quiet. The only screams left were the pleasurable ones, echoes in the stone, and the only fear was for tomorrow, faced together. She let the wave of their combined breath, the smell of sex and safety, pull her under.