Wren adjusted the neckline of her rather mini red dress for the hundredth time, not because she wanted to look good… God, she felt sick—but because the man outside the door had promised one hundred thousand dollars in cash, upfront.
Her father needed a kidney. The waiting list was six months too long. The underground black market offered quicker results, but the cost had stabbed a hole through her heart.
A hole she planned to patch tonight by selling herself to four mystery clients who'd made an obscene offer for a one-night fantasy with a "clean" girl.
She hadn't asked what the fantasy was. She was too busy making sure her tears wouldn't smear her eyeliner.
"Room 1101. Top floor. Be a good girl and keep your mouth shut," the hotel manager had told her. He didn't even look at her face except her legs.
She stood outside the door now, heart beating wildly.
This is the last time you'll ever be this desperate, she told herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. You're doing this for Dad.
She knocked. The door opened immediately and the sight on the other side stole the air from her lungs.
The figures inside weren't men. No, that word was too... small.
They were gods.
Four of them wore silk shirts with half-unbuttoned slacks. They were broad-chested and golden-skinned. One leaned against the window with long, inked arms and a scowl.
Another sat on the couch, swirling dark liquor in a glass with eyes the color of silver lightning. The third was barefoot, shirtless, and smiling lazily.
The last was taller than the rest, with hair like midnight storms, and stood behind them all with his aura radiating like heat waves.
They looked at her in unison. If poor Wren had known what awaited that sole glance of theirs, she might have taken to her heels, fled, and never to be seen again.
However, oblivion could be a disease. As their eyes settled on her, all hell broke loose.
"MATE!"
The word shot from all four mouths like a gunshot. It didn't help that the four voices were distinct in their own unique ways.
Their expressions snapped into a hungry, possessive, and otherworldly sheen.
Wren's lashes fluttered in confusion. "I—what?"
Suddenly, all four stood all tensed up. Their nostrils began flaring in the air as though there was something spectacular in the air to be sniffed.
The shirtless one dropped his drink and didn't notice. The silver-eyed one's pupils went slit. The tallest growled, and the room vibrated with the sound.
"Impossible," the one with the scowl almost bellowed, sending the hair on Wren's body standing at end.
"She's human!" spat another. "A plaything, not a fated…"
"No, no, this—this has to be wrong," the silver-eyed one murmured, almost to himself. "The bond doesn't lie…"
"Mate bond?" Wren repeated, heart skipping. "Wait—what is going on?"
Something felt too wrong. Her instincts were screaming at her. The air felt too cold and hot at the same time. She knew. She just knew.
They ignored her.
"I felt it," the stormy-haired one whispered. "The pull."
"So did I."
"Me too."
"FUCK!" the fourth cursed, dragging a hand over his face. "How the hell are we all mated to her? That's impossible. Four of us at the same time?!"
Wren stepped back a little. "Okay, you're all clearly insane."
All four snapped their heads toward her at the same time. And now, unlike earlier, she felt it too… a desirable pull to them, one that clouded her senses, dilated her pupils, and dried up her throat. As though they were a well she needed to fetch from. One that could quench this new thirst drilled deep within her.
"Tell us your name," the silver-eyed one commanded.
Instead of cowering, Wren threw her hands in the air frustratingly. "Tell me what the hell is going on first! What is this, a cult? Are you roleplaying? Is this part of the gig?"
"You're not leaving," the tattooed one provided. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact.
"You're our mate," another said with a growl.
"I'm the what now?" Wren laughed. Or maybe cried. She wasn't sure.
Then the tallest one turned to the others. "We can't let her go. If she leaves and some rogue sniffs her out…"
"She's human. She can't handle a bond with one wolf, let alone four," someone muttered.
"She was supposed to be sport," groaned the one with the scowl. "A one-night game. We never agreed to be mated to a prostitute. Let alone all four of us mated to one girl at the same time."
The word prostitute hit Wren hard. She flinched as if she had been slapped. Her spine straightened.
"I didn't come here for your judgment," she hissed. "I came here to do a job. If you're not interested, I'll be on my way."
One would think she was desperate to get away from them because of their insolence. However, in actuality, she just wanted to run away from whatever she was feeling right now.
She couldn't place her hand on it. It was greater than a thirst for them… all four at the same time, it was a magnetic drag that made her skin too tight and made it very hard to breathe.
The tall one took a half-step forward. She didn't know his name, but his presence roared louder than his voice ever could.
His pupils dilated until the grey was swallowed whole by black, and then he said the word again, the one they had all barked the moment she stepped into the suite.
"Mate."
She backed into the door, her fingers fumbling for the handle. "Okay, you've said that word like five times now. I don't know what freaky kink this is, but I'm not interested in roleplay…"
"Shut up." That came from the lean one lounging against the minibar. "You don't understand what you've walked into."
Wren folded her arms. "Explain it to me then."
They looked at each other, silent and brooding.
"We should kill her." The words landed like ice water on a freezing body.
"What?!" Wren screamed.
The scowling one stepped forward. "It's better than letting a human run around with four leader-blood mate bonds. She's a security risk. We don't even know if she's a plant."
"She's not," said the storm-haired one.
"She could've come from the Rogues. This could be a trap," the tattooed one argued. "The timing's too perfect. We all felt the bond, all four of us—what are the odds?"
Wren backed away until her spine hit the wall. "You're all absolutely bonkers. Kill me? Are you hearing yourselves? What is wrong with you?!"
Her mind was in an uproar; what the hell had she gotten herself into? She wasn't scared of death, but her father… his life depended on her survival.
Had she just walked into the den of a bunch of serial killers? It was no wonder she got the chill feeling in her spine two days before she agreed to this.
If only… If only she'd listened to that inner voice telling her not to take the offer.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," one of them murmured, pacing. "It's forbidden."
"The Alpha son, the Beta son, the Gamma son, and the Delta son, bonded to the same human. If the council finds out…"
"They'll strip our titles."
"They'll call it a curse."
"An abomination."
"Hey!" Wren barked. "I'm standing right here. I can hear you, you know. Not that I want to. But I'd really like to not be murdered tonight, thanks!"
A long silence followed. They didn't look at her, they looked at each other. In their gestures, it was safe to say a sign language had just ensued and a conclusion had been driven at.
"Do it," the scowling one said.
Wren's jaw dropped. "What…?"
"She's a threat. A human who knows too much."The tattooed one agreed.
"She could doom us all," murmured another.
The storm-haired one didn't speak. His eyes stayed on Wren's face as his jaw flexed.
She could see it in their eyes; the murder intent. These guys… they weren't just serial killers, they were demons and this was their personally designed hell.
She laughed nervously, backing into the door. "You're not serious. This is insane. I haven't done anything. I didn't even know what the hell 'mate' means!"
Then he moved. The one who'd been dawdling the whole time—the lean one. The one whose mouth hadn't said much, but whose eyes had been detached.
He was on her in two strides.
Wren yelped, tried to turn the knob, but his hand clamped over hers. His other arm coiled around her throat. He didn't choke or bruise her—just holding.
She kicked, panicked. Her heels scraped the floor.
"Don't—don't do this—please…"
"Close your eyes," he whispered in her ear, calm as a lullaby. "It'll be fast."
The others watched mutely. None of them moved or stopped him. Then with a violent twist of his hands around her neck…
…CRACK was the sound that reverberated along.
Her body went limp instantly. A thud echoed through the room as she collapsed into his arms in a dead weight.
He let her fall.
Wren hit the floor in a graceless sprawl, neck bent wrong with one glassy eye staring upward and mouth open in a soundless plea. Her red dress bunched around her thighs. A single high heel dangled from her foot before it rolled off and thudded against the door.
The scowling one turned away. The tattooed one rubbed his face, as if he was trying to erase the moment.
"She's dead," the storm-haired one muttered. "She's really…"
"She was human," the lean one pointed out in a blank expression. "It had to be done."
But the silence that followed wasn't agreement. It was guilt.
However, while three pack leaders' sons basked in their silent guilt, from the carpet, Wren's bloodless lips curved. It was not in a smile, but in the faintest twitch.
And perhaps, if they had glanced her way one more time, if they had felt the twingest of pity for the poor Wren, they might have caught the steam building around her as a foggy life form hissed its way into her…