Sure, I get it, trees are important. Oxygen, shade, places for hot lumberjacks to lean broodingly. But there's something deeply unsettling about walking into a patch of forest that looks like it's actively judging me for disrupting its beauty.
"This way," Corrian says. This man's never once been bitten by a mosquito, I can tell. His blood is too expensive for sure…I wonder what it tastes like?
Wow, put the smut books down bitch, that is a crazy train of thought.
He strides ahead without checking if I'm following, it makes sense, even just an hour in his presence and you can see people orbit him. Shit, even I am already, stumbling along behind him like a puppy.
The path isn't visible from the house,not at all until you're right on top of it, a secret trail cutting through the trees. Dirt-packed and soft underfoot, lined with wild ferns and crooked roots, it winds through the undergrowth in a loping pattern.
As soon as we stepped under the leaves, the heat that had reached emergency levels started to dissipate. The canopy keeps it so much cooler here, thick with pine sap and damp earth.
"Don't fall behind," Corrian calls over his shoulder, and I snap out of my weird forest fugue, which absolutely did not include wondering what he looks like naked, sitting on a throne, legs spread, beckoning me to crawl into his lap…
No, completely and utterly not. Specifically not that. Shut up.
"Not planning to," I mutter, even though I immediately trip on a root, a nice flip off from the forest. It needs to remember I can get my hands on flammable liquids and I'm not afraid to use them.
After a few minutes, and a whole internal monologue about whether I'd survive a bear attack, the trees begin to thin. Verdict: maybe, if the bear has a killer sense of humour.
We step into a nature witch's wet dream.
Rising from the earth, smooth timber walls, stained dark and stretching to three stories. A wraparound deck, wide enough to host their cult meetings, trails around both sides and disappears towards the back of the house. Massive windows reflect the sky and trees, portals to some expensive outdoorsy dimension where hot people chop firewood shirtless and no one ever pisses in a friend's wardrobe after half a bottle of tequila.
"Holy shit," I whisper.
Corrian glances back, one brow raised, waiting for me to catch up. But he needs to understand how completely out of my depth I am.
"Do all daycare employees get access to forest mansions, or am I some weird tax write-off?" I ask, trying to sound casual instead of overwhelmed and slightly aroused by the architecture.
"It's the pack house," he says simply.
My brows pull together, and I tear my eyes from the building to him. "Pack?"
Red flag, red flag, total red flag. What group of men call themselves a pack? Which implies pretty clearly, predator. Please tell me it's some stupid frat nickname you got in college and it's just an inside joke now. Please.
Ok, it must be bad, because he doesn't reply, just turns his head and looks back towards the house, slowly sliding his hands in his pockets.
Right, all the useless true crime info I've collected over the years really needs to come in handy right now. What was that one book I read? About listening to your fear and it's never wrong. I mean, the premise is great Mr Clever Author, but in practice, what if you're being led by your two year sex dry spell hmmm? What then?
Focus, remember everything, you might need it for your goodbye letter.
There's a massive triple garage off to one side, doors open to reveal a whole spread of masculinity on wheels. Gleaming motorbikes, at least one quad bike with mud still clinging to the tires, and sleek, black cars of different shapes and styles.
Even the driveway is fancy gravel.
"You live here?" I try a different tactic.
"We all do."
I blink. "All five of you, in the one house?"
He doesn't answer, but his smirk says you'll see in a way that makes me suspicious, and more than vaguely turned on.
Brushing the base of my spine with his fingertips, a ghost of touch, he nudges me forward and we make it up the steps to the front door. The huge brass handle is a wolf head. Huh, the theme continues, I wonder if they all spend the weekends in those horrific wolf and moon fuzzy jackets? Or maybe they're just all firmly team Jacob.
He steps inside, I don't follow, still not entirely sure this isn't a stress-induced hallucination brought on by retail trauma and expired gas station gummies. I have officially walked into the belly of the beast.
And the beast has a very expensive wood polish.
Heat, I can feel it pushing out and now all I can thin is it must be them. They are the source of heat and it pours out of them into enclosed spaces. There's no other explanation, thank the sweat god I've left my hoodie off.
Peering in through the open door, my jaw betrays the cool girl vibe I am trying to keep plastered on my face, because it hangs all the way open. Smack my ass and call me Shirly, this is a five star cabin for the illuminati.
Exposed wood, muted tones, leather, so many cushions, there's even fresh flowers dotted around. That's a woman's touch, I need to unpick later why that thought sends the tiniest spike of fury into my throat.
All the furniture is massively oversized, not surprising to be fair. Imagine all five of them trying to squeeze onto a normal size sofa, in front of that beautiful open fire, all topless and sweaty, maybe they are watching a film, maybe a sex scene comes on, maybe there's an accidental touch of bare thighs…
"Coooorrian!"
Jax's voice roars through the house, snapping me out of my filthy daydream.
Shit, shit shit. I've wandered into the house without even realising, worse than that, I've basically pressed myself into Corrians side in the process. Craning my neck back, expecting to look at the side of his face, instead our eyes slam together, because he's already looking at me.
His pupils have expanded to the point all of the colour has disappeared, his chest beats a quick rhythm and I can feel the muscles in his arm tense and flex. We're locked together, nothing else exists, just this moment, just this feeling, just this pull.
"Oooooh shit, we're bonding already, I want IN."
It's obvious with how his voice bounces off the walls, high energy, high volume, and zero chill, that Jax, is trouble. He skids into the room, breaking the connection and pulling both our attention straight to him.
The cropped hoodie is gone, full glorious form on display. He's still in joggers slung low on cut hips, barefoot, hair held back with a headband and the only other accessory is a lollipop from my snack pile.
Oh, and he's beaming at me.
"I knew you'd hog her. But that much pretty might be too much for you boss." he says, popping the lolly out his mouth. Eyebrows wiggling at Corrian.
Why do I feel like a slice of cake and he's just been handed a fork?
Why does that make me horny?