Grinning, I kiss my mate on her lips. She stirs slowly, beautiful grey eyes blinking tiredly up at me. Love, fucking utter and complete adoration, spills over the bond (me for her, of course). My wolf wags his tail, barking happily at his female. I would be embarrassed, but the sleepy smile my Ili-doll gives me is worth the worshipful feelings zipping along our connection.

"Good morning," she murmurs.

"Good morning, Doll," I whisper back, kissing her again.

"Breakfast," Sean interrupts our tender moment because he's an ass. To be fair, he's an ass who made steak and cheese omelets this morning, but he's still a feral ass.

"I'm starving!" Ili sits up, her eyes brightening. "Sean, you cooked?"

Jealous, I pick up the glass of orange juice I placed on the nightstand before kissing her. "I poured the juice." She takes a sip, unsuccessfully hiding her smile.

"Eat," Sean says softly. "The Alpha has given us permission to take you for a run if you like."

Scowling, I hurry to snatch up my phone. Sure enough, there's a message from Conner. Patrols this morning have confirmed that the area around the cabin is clear.

"A run?" Ili says doubtfully as Sean helps her sit up and places the tray in her lap. I hurry back to them and tuck a pillow behind her.

She looks at us in bemusement. "That might be nice," she admits slowly. My wolf yips, spinning in circles in excitement. I try to stifle his obvious excitement. I fail, which I know at the spike of amusement in Ili's eyes as she takes another sip of her juice.

Sean reaches out and starts to cut up the giant omelet before spearing a piece on the fork and offering it to Ili. Tentatively, she opens her mouth and accepts the bite. I still want to throat-punch Sean, if only for shits and giggles, but Ili looks happy and the feral fuck is right, she needs to eat. I stand there, uselessly grinning at her until a niggle from the bond disrupts my ogling. Her bashful joy in being tended to so carefully by Sean is tainted by a sick fear, pushed deep down into her psyche.

I sit next to her and snuggle her into my side, supporting her even while Sean feeds her in small bites. I wait for her to shake her head at Sean, signaling that she's full, before I speak, "Babydoll, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"She worries that we fed the other female," Sean replies in a cool, calm voice. His face betrays nothing, but the metal of the spoon is warping in his white-knuckled grip.

There's a beat of quiet. My brain, completely engrossed in Ili, catches up with what Sean is saying. Georgina. My stomach pitches and roils. Pissed, I ask him, "did you feed her?"

"Yes," he says.

I punch him... not in the throat and it's a weak strike. I'm still sitting on the bed with my right arm tucked behind Ili. Sean's head cracks backward. He curses softly, then, as if he doesn't have a thin drip of blood oozing from his nose, he returns to calmly cleaning up the breakfast tray.

"Braxton Grim!" Ili hisses at me.

"I slipped. My muscles... spasmed. Ow," I roll my shoulder emphatically.

Ili glares at me, then shoves my arm off her shoulders. That hurts. Pouting, I stand up and move to help Sean rinse the dishes. "You're an asshole," I mutter to him as Ili stomps into the small bathroom and shuts the door with a definitive click.

"We know," Sean mutters. His eyes are hard. He's scrubbing the egg pan so hard I'm afraid he's going to wear a hole right through the steel.

"We're going to have to deal with the blond bitch, you know," I tell him.

"We are aware," he says through gritted teeth.

"Yo. You fucked up bad, but I guess you're here now," I say as reluctant sympathy rolls through me. After all, I know all about having a crush on a female who isn't your mate. Not that I was the bastard who acted on that crush, but I'm wondering just how badly Georgina got into Sean's head.

I take a deep breath, "when are you going to Mark her?" I ask quietly.

Sean's fingers clench hard enough that I think the sponge in his hand may now be completely wrung dry. "When she isn't afraid of our love anymore," he says, his voice raspy. "When she believes it."

I think it over. My bond with Ili is strengthening. I can feel the hint of Sean in it, dark and feral, a monster lurking around the edges of our connection, guarding that strand that binds us all together. "What do you really want, Sean?"

"Our mate," he replies swiftly. "We need her to be happy."

I peek into the bond, into Ili's psyche. "You need to compliment her more, let her know how beautiful you think she is. You don't really tell her that much. She thinks you still prefer Georgina's looks to hers."

Sean turns a little green. In a low voice, he rasps out, "our mate was always too pretty." I wait, but he doesn't elaborate on that statement and the peek I have through the bond is like peering at him through murky pond water.

I look over my shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "Should you and I, Mark each other?" I mumble quietly. It would strengthen our ties, our three-way bond. Thanks, Dad, for making sure I knew all about it.

"We don't know," Sean replies quietly. "What if she doesn't want that?"

The bathroom door opens. Ili walks to the closet to grab new sheets for the bed. I rush to help her, stripping the bed and bagging them in the laundry tubs. As I shove them in, I hesitate. They smell of Ili and me. I love the scent. My wolf wants to roll in the sheets some more.

"Brax, can you grab this side?" Ili asks me. Obediently, I help my female make the bed with military precision. She even fluffs the pillows before carefully placing them in their spots.

When she purses her sexy mouth in concentration and smooths out the lumps in the blanket from where she was kneeling to place the pillows, Sean starts to chuckle. I join him as Ili shoots me a warning glance. "What?" she snaps.

"Nothing," Sean and I reply in unison. Ili smiles and it breaks some of the tension tightening up Sean's shoulders. That feeling still hovers, though, so I pick Ili up and toss her on the perfectly pleated bed.

"Braxton!" she screeches. Tackling her down, I start to tickle her sides until she's breathless with giggles and begging me to stop and the bed is entirely wrecked. "Stop! Sean, save me!"

I feel Sean wrap his arms around me and haul me off our female. Before Ili can sit up, Sean has taken my place, dramatically covering her tiny body with his. "We'll protect you, mate," he coos. I crawl in next to him, growling and pretending to try and steal her away.

Iliana dissolves into giggles. Her sparkling gaze meets mine. Cheeks flushed, grey eyes bright, she's so utterly perfect, I love her so completely. Her laughter fades, leaving behind only her beautiful smile.

"Let's go run?" she asks softly.

---

"You will be fine, mate," we murmur to her. Soulful, frightened grey eyes stare up at us.

"I haven't shifted much," she confesses. She wrings her fingers together. Her fingers are thin, delicate, feminine. Her nails are unpainted and trimmed short, looking beautifully natural. Hands meant to be graced with gold and diamonds. Her hair is straight, each strand like gossamer silk. It's healthier again, thick masses drifting down to brush her shoulder. Her shoulders are so slim, strong, but there is nothing about her that doesn't remind us of the Brat's dumb pet name for her. She's a precious doll, an angel.

"Our mother celebrates the human Christmas," we tell her. Her nose wrinkles, looking confused at the abrupt change in subject. "She has a tree," I explain.

"Yeah, Mom tried that once. Someone ate it," the Brat interrupts cheerfully.

"You ate it," our mate says with a smile.

"Allegedly," the Brat says. He is trying to tease her out of her fear, but we believe she needs reassurance.

"She put an angel on top," we glare at the Brat as he stretches out his muscles and jogs around the backyard of the cabin in the nude, putting on a show for our mate.

"You can put dolls on Christmas trees?" our mate asks, looking adorably confused.

"She does," we confirm. "It looks like you," we blurt out. "An angel." We watch her expectantly. Everyone knows that angels are the prettiest of females, right?

She just blinks up at me. "Umm... your mom's angel has brown hair and grey eyes?"

"She has blue eyes, we think," we reply without thinking. Our mate winces. The Brat growls in exasperation. We think he knows, that he is giving us time to compliment our mate. It's not easy.

The other female gave us words to use with her. She called herself beautiful, sexy, perfect, and we parroted her words back to her as she preened like an over-stuffed peacock. Our mate is not like that. We have to think of the words, ourselves.

"The angel is perfect," we say quietly. "We would stare at it for hours all month long. Delicate. Beautiful. We were not allowed to touch her."

Our mate takes pity on us. She slides one palm around the back of our neck and goes up on her tiptoes, graceful as usual, tilting her mouth up to us. Leaning down, we obliged and kiss her softly.

"Thank you, Sean," she is smiling, thanking us for our idiotic compliment even though we blundered it so badly. We shove the guilt and shame down. Later we can obsess over the pain we've caused to our precious female. Right now she needs our help.

"Ready to shift, babydoll? Take your time," the Brat says.

"Can you go first?" she asks him. With a grin, the Brat shifts into his dark brown wolf. He towers over our mate, his tail slightly wagging as he gently sniffs her cheeks, making her giggle

"Brax!" she scolds, but she scratches his head. Taking a deep breath, she nods, "OK, but... she may not be the prettiest, OK? She's... skinny and scratched and chewed on her paws a lot."

We beat down our fury with ourselves and just nod. She takes another deep breath, then her bones begin to break. Her skin melts, fur erupting, as her face changes from human to canine.

It takes much longer than it should. When she is finished, her wolf stands, breathing rapidly. We examine her with a critical eye. She's the same beautiful white-grey. With her eye color, she looks just as doll-like as our mother's angel, even as a wolf.

"May we touch you, mate?" I murmur. The Brat is already running his big, shaggy head over hers. The she-wolf eyes us warily, but we can see acceptance in her eyes.

We run our hands down her sides. She has put on weight, but her ribs still show. She does have patches of fur, especially on her paws and lower front limbs, that are rougher and show signs of stress. No open sores or raw patches of skin, though. We stroke her face, peering into her open mouth as she pants. Her teeth are strong. She is a big female, but even on paws, she looks like the Brat's doll.

"Strong," we murmur, scratching her ears. She needs to be fed in this form to appropriately gain weight. Her feet is healthier right now than her paws.

Her tail wags shyly at our compliment. She noses our palm, impatient for our shift.

We take a step back and let our body change to paws. We stand still, letting our mate examine us. Eyes wide, the female circles us, not touching, but mere inches from us. She does the same to the Brat. The Brat and I stand side-by-side so that she can sniff us at her leisure, take in our scents, familiarize herself with the males who are so much larger and more muscled than she is.

She makes her way back to our snouts, bowing her head skittishly when her eyes catch ours. She backs away a step, a whine trembling from her maw. We make her nervous. The fur on her back starts to rise, and she races away into the woods.

We chase. She only runs for a few minutes before circling back to bark and growl at us, furious at the two males who circle her. We nudge and nip at her flanks, ignoring her furious snarls at our audacity.

She begins to run again, occasionally snapping her jaws at us when we wander too close. We stray too close, purposefully, several times until she is too used to us to keep protesting. The Brat is more playful, weaving in and out of the trees, ahead of her, then at her side, then the other side. Her ears flatten to her head every time he gets too close, but she stops snapping at him. Our paws keep a steady pace, just behind her, not letting her put more space between us, but not getting too close, either.

When she is tired she starts to jog. We guide her, gently persuasive, to a nearby stream to rest and drink. The Brat yips at me before tearing off into the brush. He comes back ten minutes later, a fat rabbit clenched in his jaws. Wagging his tail happily, he drops his offering in front of our female.

She devours it ravenously. Bits of white fur float in the air around her red-stained muzzle. She does not share. We delight in our perfect angel acting so ill-mannered. As the Brat sits next to her, panting happily, we let him know it is our turn to hunt.

We take over half an hour. Our prey is not a fluffy rodent. We will bring back a meal, not a snack.

Our mate's eyes widen comically as we drag the deer to her. She stands, barking, as we place the deer carcass in front of her. The Brat huffs, amused at our competition.

Our female tears into the deer carcass, growling at the two males who hover. Patiently, we wait and watch as she gorges herself on the meat. Minutes pass, then longer, until, finally, our mate stands on swaying legs, her belly plumped out from her thin, adolescent frame as if she were pupped. She staggers to the stream and drinks delicately, as if she were not a little glutton.

The Brat and us finish the deer quickly. We approach our female, first. The Brat waits, knowing that we brought her the better meal. Sniffing her face, we lick off some of the blood while she looks at us lazily. Sidling behind her, we nudge her rear flank. Huffing, letting out a small growl, she spins a bit, flashing fang at our approach. We lick her muzzle again, then try for her flank. It takes six tries before she huffs and presents herself.

We mount her as gently as we can. The Brat watches, caramel eyes amused even on paws, as we lock ourselves into our little glutton female. The sound of our rut fills the forest, growls and whines and flesh as we mate our beautiful she-wolf.

We finish, feeling the gush of liquid pour into her. A thrill runs through us. It is possible, though not probable, that a female wolf can become pregnant if mated on paws even without a heat.

The Brat approaches while we are still locked together. The two of us clean her, the best we can while waiting for our knot to release her. When it does and we gently extricate ourselves from our mate's pliant body, the Brat wastes no time. She is more receptive to him, either because she is tired, or because he is so persistent.

But he brought her a rodent and we brought her a deer.

---

I let my head drop on Braxton's shoulder, curled up on his lap under the soft blanket we snatched from inside. Every so often he flicks his foot at the post on the back porch, sending the rocking seat moving again. I watch Sean chopping firewood, his muscles flexing as wood chips fly through the air.

"We should get a fireplace for our house," Braxton murmurs. I can hear the amusement in his voice. He knows that watching Sean chop wood, shirtless and sweating in the cool fall air, is making me shamelessly horny.

"Our house?" I ask him.

He hums. "We'll need a house, babydoll. The three of us." He kissed the top of my head. "And our pups, one day."

I go still in his lap. "They will most likely be... not yours," I finish quietly.

"I know," he says casually, "and, to be honest, I'm not interested in Uncle Alex's snake charms and potions to get my own pup. Not for you."

I play with his fingers under the blanket. "It doesn't bother you?"

He chuckles, "who is my dad's favorite pup, babydoll? Of the first batch, I mean?"

"Velia," I respond promptly. Conner, Braxton, and Velia are the 'first batch' as their mother, Mina, would always jokingly say. The twins were born four years after Velia, then the second set of twins six years after that. Batches two and three. I think it makes it easier for Mina to refer to her pups that way so she doesn't have to think about birthing so many pups.

"And Velia is Papa's pup. Dad doesn't care. She's his female pup just the same."

"He does love her more..." I tease him. "Maybe because she doesn't eat things she's not supposed to."

He protests good-naturedly, "hey! I had just had my first shift and that tree smelled good!"

I laugh, but it's twinged with sadness. Braxton had shifted and knew I wasn't his mate. I had forgotten, or maybe I just put it out of my mind, how devastated I had been when he told me. I was too young to know, of course, but I remember that he had cried a little when he broke the news to me.

Then he found Caroline a couple of months later and discovered that his truemate was dying. The tree was one of the last happy memories, twinged with sorrow, that we had together before everything fell apart for Brax.

"Hey, don't think about that, alright? It's all in the past," Braxton soothes me.

"I just... life could have been so different," I whisper. "If only..." I laugh abruptly, cutting my words off. "I guess I could drive myself crazy with the 'if onlys' right?"

Braxton hums in agreement, kicking the pole to send the swing rocking again. "Have you forgiven him, Doll? Truly forgiven him?"

Have I? I swallow around the lump in my throat. It's stupid to think that I won't forgive Sean, isn't it? As much pain as I went through, as my wolf went through, I can't deny that Sean has repaired some of that damage. He has been perfect, attentive and loving... and thoughtful, but, most of all, he has been suffering. It's a sick sort of revenge, but I enjoy watching him hurt because he's not with me. I want him to understand how I felt. I need him to understand how badly it hurt me. The sick fact is, I need him to feel horrible so that I can forgive him... because I want to forgive him.

"Am I a bad female?" I ask Braxton, knowing that he's gently sifting through my thoughts because of the bond.

"No," he responds quietly, but with complete conviction. "He called you an angel today. It was the worst delivery, but pretty sweet, yeah?"

"It was. You're much better at compliments," I whisper.

"And hunting. I let him win, today," he brags.

I giggle and settle into his embrace a little more. "He hasn't Marked me."

"He's waiting for you, babydoll. You need to give him permission."

"I think I want to," I breathe out.

Sean stops chopping, mid-swing, the ax hanging in the air precariously. I lick my lips, feeling my mating venom well up even though I've Marked both my males. Sean sets down the ax, carefully. I can see the trembling in his muscles from across the yard. He turns, eyes impossibly dark, and very slowly begins to stalk toward me.

Pleasure pools in my body as I stand with Braxton's help. The blanket falls away, revealing my naked body, covered in red marks from scruffy male beards and teeth, to Sean. His eyes start to glow, his canines glinting as they slide lower.

"Mate," he rumbles when he's only ten feet away.