The magpie’s gaze snapped up, her mouth parted with a soft gasp as Geralt turned her hand over to kiss her palm, then the tender underside of her wrist. Over her shoulder, Cato met my eyes, and my grin turned feral just as his sharpened. Without warning, I snapped up her throat, collaring her and wrenching her out of that lovesick bubble Geralt always made without even trying.
“Aedan,” I hissed as I closed in on her, lost in her wide, watery eyes, in the way the gold slashed the green like she was so much more than human. “Say it back to me.”
She squirmed, hands flying to my forearm and tugging to no avail. Refusal to obey a direct order resulted in me squeezing, and she winced, tongue swiping across her lips in the most fucking distracting display that I growled.
“A-Aedan.”
“Louder.”
“Aedan,” she offered with a little more gusto, squealing as Cato busied himself with her nipples, pinching and plucking and twisting. Geralt, meanwhile, stole one of her hands from my arm, back to kissing it, to mapping the pale veins under her flesh.
I, meanwhile, pressed just hard enough to the ones in her throat, highly aware of the pressure needed to make her head spin. “Louder.”
“Aedan!” My name ricocheted around the room like a wayward bullet, pinging and clanging. It made my cock ache and my heart sing, and my cheek twitched, feral smile wavering, because if I didn’t bury this cock in her cunt fucking soon, I’d lose it.
Muffled laughter erupted from the other side of the invisible glass.
We all stilled. Heat flared in splotchy red patches across her cheeks, her eyes darting there, to them, and Cato bared his teeth. Rage raked up my back, and had it not been for these cuffs, for all the supernatural kryptonite embedded everywhere in this bloody prison, I’d rip their heads off and fuck their gaping mouths for sport.
The air crackled and hissed, our raw power pushing back against the sigils, against the spells that bound us, but instead of losing it like I would have before she walked through the door, I thought of someone outside our little group for a change. While Cato snaked his arms around our magpie, hugging her, claiming her with something as simple as one arm cut across her body between her breasts, the other snug around her waist, I shifted my stance so she couldn’t look for them. Those dancing greens eventually settled on me, no longer hunting for the windows, and Geralt quickly fell in beside me, all of us blocking out the howling, nattering guards.
“Little magpie,” Cato purred as he nuzzled her hair, then nipped at her temple, her sharp cheekbone, “those ingrates are inconsequential now. Ignore them.”
No one with a brain would defy Cato, but I’d seen it before, and with this exquisite virgin, a human who clearly had no fucking idea what she was doing with her precious life, I felt the message needed an extra push to really land.
“And if you don’t,” I informed her as Geralt peeled the last of her dress away, the big lug distracted once again with her body, “I’ll paint your ass raw before we even get started.”
Eyes closed, our magpie nodded, but rather than basking in her surrender, Geralt just snarled, his presence suddenly suffocating.
“I cannot resist much longer,” he seethed, his scowl burning a hole straight through my skull. “Enough of these games.”
“Patience, brother,” Cato insisted before I could pop him in the jaw. “She is worth the wait.”
This time, when our magpie blushed, it wasn’t with humiliation. No, something about the warmth of the red sheen, the flutter of her lashes, and the biting at her lower lip—that flattered her.
Oh, darling, we can make you feel so good.
This was nothing.
A drop in the ocean of the worship male leviathans heaped upon their chosen mates.
“Isn’t he merciful?” I whispered, sweeping some of that thick black away from her face, swooping it behind her ear as I eased closer. “Cato is your judge, jury, and executioner… On your knees, magpie, so he feels your gratitude.”
That word—magpie—came out a sneer, because I craved her actual name and my patience was wearing thin. Still, there were games to be played, and when she slowly started to fold, I grabbed her and whirled her around.
“Continue.”
Back to me, our magpie sank to the ground and settled on her knees. Without prompting, she fisted the base of Cato’s rock-hard cock, but just as she sat up straighter, lips parted, he caught her chin in one hand. Cradling it, stroking her jaw with his thumb, he locked onto those stunning emeralds, and briefly, they were lost to each other. Connection sparked, hot and wanting, the room suddenly dipped in hellfire.
Longing—yearning—tugged in my gut, the sensation shared so viscerally by Geralt that it seemed to pain him. His features darkened, that long white mane spilling forward as he bowed his head with a growl, tresses just begging for her sweet caress.
It really is her, isn’t it?
Ours.
The one we’d been waiting for, hunting for, since we were young, pampered, spoiled halfbreeds running wild on our mothers’ estates, tormenting servants and searing damned human souls for fun.
Well then.