Her Mates

15

I think I actually never had a bigger regret than going to that party last night. I mean we had fun but man o man my head is killing me.

"Jesus, no more." I don't know how often I already threw up. But way to many times. Someone was stroking my back and another someone was definitely holding my hair back. With a short glance I could see Emilia and Dorian.

"It's gonna be okay, little mate." I think they really do thought that to be true.

The thing is, even though I felt like absolute shit, there was something incredibly comforting about their presence. Normally, I'd want to suffer in solitude—lock myself in my room and ride this hangover out alone. But right now? Having them here, their hands warm and steady, their scents a mix of woodsy, musky, and something darkly sweet from Dorian, made me feel... safe.

I hated to admit it, but maybe—just maybe—I didn't have to fight this whole soulmate thing as hard as I thought.

With a groan, I wiped my mouth and leaned back against the cool wall. Dorian, still crouched beside me, reached for a damp washcloth and gently wiped my forehead. His touch was featherlight, careful, like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply.

I still had a pounding headache. A stomach that twisted in protest. The overwhelming scent of too many people and too much alcohol still clinging to my skin. Yeah, I was paying for that party. 

I groaned as I curled into the plush blanket someone had tucked around me. Dorian sat beside me on the bed, his hand resting on my back, rubbing slow, steady circles. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my body. Emilia had long since abandoned her place by my side, muttering something about getting me tea and dry toast.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn to block out the midday sun. I was grateful for the quiet, even as I could sense the tension brewing in the air.

It wasn't just Dorian here.

I could feel them—all of them. The energy in the room was thick, humming, waiting. The bed dipped slightly as someone else shifted, and when I cracked one eye open, I saw Hunter sitting at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. Zac stood near the doorway, looking like he was holding himself back from pacing. Juri was perched against the dresser, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wood, while Damon leaned against the wall, exuding a quiet but deadly kind of frustration.

And then, of course, there was Emilia, who returned at that moment, a steaming cup in hand. She sat down beside me, offering the tea with an expression that wasn't entirely forgiving.

"So," she said, her voice deceptively casual. "Wanna tell us what the fuck you were thinking sneaking out last night?"

There it was. The storm I had been waiting for.

I took the cup and wrapped my hands around it, more for the comfort of warmth than the actual desire to drink it just yet.

"I needed space," I said simply.

Hunter let out a sharp exhale, and Zac pushed off the wall, pacing now. "Maeve, we understand needing space, but you—fuck, you don't get to do that." His voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the concern underneath.

Dorian's hand on my back stilled. "You were vulnerable, intoxicated, and surrounded by humans who wouldn't be able to protect you if something happened."

I swallowed, the guilt creeping in now. "I wasn't alone. Claire and Benjy were with me."

Juri scoffed. "Two werewolves. Who wouldn't stand a chance if someone—or something—decided to take you."