She tried to open her eyes and talk but her tongue and lids were weighted and sluggish. Muffled whimpers were the only noises she was capable of making, and her limbs were uncoordinated and languid.
“Shh, I’ve got you.”
Diskant’s voice washed over her like a soothing balm and she settled, guided by an instinct that wasn’t present previously. Before she could contemplate the significance of that, he eased free of her sore and burning sex and helped her roll to her side. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he swaddled her in the warmth of his much larger frame as he formed a protective cocoon around her body.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered against her ear. “You’re mine now. Trust me to take care of you.”
Too exhausted to argue or debate the fact, she went limp against him and passed out.
Chapter Seven
Diskant was scraping the last remnants of pancake batter into the frying pan when he heard the door to the garage creak open. Only one person had the key to his place, and he wasn’t surprised Trey would want the 4-1-1 on what went down after he left the club with Ava.
Alphas, as a general rule, weren’t known for their patience.
“Get out of here, Oscar.”
Sidestepping the groveling mutt crowding his legs, Diskant managed to toss the now-empty bowl into the sink and retrieve the spatula just as Trey strolled into the kitchen with a smug grin on his face. His conceited smile only broadened when he caught sight of the smorgasbord waiting on a breakfast tray. He walked directly to the table, snagged a sausage link and popped it into his mouth.
“Take anything else,” Diskant threatened, “and I’m coming after it.”
“There’s no way she’ll eat all of this.” Trey motioned at the mile-high stack of pancakes, mounds of sausage and pile of eggs.
“Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood.”
Trey arched an eyebrow and backed away from the food. “Are you still pissed about last night? I only won the lap dance to keep you from ripping some dumb schmuck a new one. I didn’t think you’d want to ruin her birthday completely.”
He whipped around, abandoning the steaming pancake. “Her what?”
“Her birthday.” Trey went silent, studying him. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, damn it,” he confessed guiltily and returned to the thin confection of flour, milk and eggs. “We didn’t waste a helluva lot of time talking.”
“Things must have gone well. It’s obvious you gave her the first mark. Your mating scent is all over the place.”
The innocent remark brought on his foul temper again, and he removed the flapjack so carelessly it almost landed on the floor.
The first mark.
Fuck if that wasn’t one of the worst things he’d ever had to experience. He’d been aware the process was painful and knew of some mates who put off the second and third marks because of it. For the longest time he couldn’t understand why a male wouldn’t force compliance and claim his mate with or without her consent. It was what was expected, what they had to do to guarantee the longevity, safety and strength of the shifter race. The second stage of the bloodbond wasn’t as draining, although it was as excruciating. It was the third mark mates dreaded most, the final stage that cemented the union, when the animal within the shifter became a part of the human.
He’d planned to bloodbond Ava to right away, to ensure she would always remain at his side.
But now… Now he didn’t want to imagine Ava suffering like that again.
How the mighty have fallen.
Trey slid into an empty chair at the table. “So how did she take the news?”
“The news?”
“About shifters.”
Diskant hesitated before he answered, “She already knew about us.”
Trey got very quiet, which wasn’t a good thing. Diskant knew what he was thinking, because he’d had the same concern when he learned Ava wasn’t as naïve as he believed. Few humans knew of about the existence of supernatural creatures, and the majority who did was comprised of people who studied them out of curiosity or hunted them down to kill them off.
“Did she happen to explain how?”
“No.” He shook his head and walked to the fridge to retrieve the orange juice.
“D, this isn’t something you can pussyfoot around. If she’s involved with the Villati, she’ll have to make a clean break.”
“She’s not involved.”
“How do you know that?”
Diskant plopped the orange juice on the table, braced his hands on either side of the carton and leveled with Trey. “Brett McGovern would never allow a member of the Villati to work for him. He’s better at blending in and likes to keep appearances but wouldn’t take the risk. He does a full background on his employees and from what I gathered,” he growled at the memory of the warlocke’s eyes on Ava and stood tall, “he knows my mate better than he should.”
“You need to talk to her.” Trey patted his leg and Oscar obediently scrambled over for attention. “There are rules and protocol to follow. Does she realize just how much her life is going to change?” Trey stopped lavishing attention on the dog and sat up when Diskant didn’t respond, narrowed amber eyes glowing honey-gold. “Tell me that you told her what was going to happen before you marked her.”
“What does it matter? It’s not like it would change anything.” He snatched the small glass from the tray and plopped it down in front of him. “You know how this works. We find, we mate, we claim. All of the discussion in the world won’t change shit. It is what it is.”
“And do you think she’s going to be fine with quitting her job, turning her back on her old life and embracing the pack as her family? What if she has a family of her own? Did you think about that? What are you going to do if she refuses to play along and begin the painful process of cutting them out of her life before they begin to notice she’s not aging?”
Diskant turned from Trey and stomped to the pantry. There wasn’t much he could say. Eventually Pinkie’s friends and family would begin to notice the subtle changes that signified the marks between them. Aging was the most apparent physical system her friends and family would notice, but her accelerated rate of healing and enhanced senses would inform Ava something was different.
Trey wisely changed the subject. “How did she come through the first mark?”
“With a hell of a lot of pain,” he grumbled and swiped the bottle of syrup from the top shelf.
“Did she pass out after?”
He closed his eyes at the vision of Ava resting peacefully in his arms. She was beautiful when she slept, her small blonde head nestling perfectly into the crook of his arm. He must have lain there for an hour taking her in, enjoying the feel of her shallow exhalation against his skin, the rightness of her body pressed against him.
Opening his eyes and turning around, he nodded. “She didn’t even stir when I climbed out of bed.”
“That’s good. She needs the rest.”
The men lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as Diskant dressed the tray. The situation was fucked up, and they both knew it. Trey was twice as old and had been waiting twice as long for his mate. Pretending it wasn’t an issue was like ignoring a rabid, child-eating circus elephant dressed in a pink tutu that was coming right at you.
As Diskant was placing the glass of orange juice in the only space remaining on the serving dish, Trey breached the quiet. “What did Kinsley have to say about the missing cat? Did they find anything?”
Relieved for the change in subject, he asked, “Aside from the vehicle?” Diskant peered up and at Trey’s affirming nod answered, “No.”
“Damn.” Trey’s thick brows came together as he frowned.