“Yeah,” agreed Shaya. “He won’t let them spoil the night of your mating ceremony. No way.”
Oh, but it turned out that that was exactly what her mate had done. Later that evening, after the party was over, Dante and Ryan had appeared at her lodge, holding a singing Marcus. A singing Marcus who’d also had his face painted like a tiger and was naked . . . apart from a sparkling thong.
They dragged him into the living area as Dante spoke. “It wasn’t us, it was your brothers. They got him drunk and then tied him to a tree, looking like this.”
“Those motherfuckers. I’ll kill them.”
“Something tells me you won’t have to. At this moment in time, Kathy’s ripping Eli a new asshole, and Shaya’s chasing Nick with her shotgun—and I’m not even kidding. I believe the last words she said to him before we left were, ‘Run, Alpha-boy.’”
“Where shall we put him?” asked Ryan.
She sighed. “On the bed.”
Dante raised a brow. “You sure?”
She knew what he was thinking: Why didn’t she want Marcus to suffer for choosing to get drunk with her devious brothers over spending the night with his mate? What Dante didn’t understand was that she had every intention of ensuring Marcus suffered. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”
It was the bright light that woke Marcus the next morning. Or was it the pounding ache in his head? Or was it that irritating noise? The sound of his own breathing, he realized. He wasn’t sure. He went to pull the covers over his head to block out the light. Weirdly, he couldn’t move his arm. He tried again. Nope, it still didn’t budge. Even more strange, neither did the other one.
Forcing his eyes open, he winced as the sunlight practically blinded him. Blinking a few times, he turned his head and, yep, his wrist was tied to the headboard. He looked at the other wrist to find that, yep, rope was binding that one too. Moreover, his ankles were secured to the foot of the bed with the same rope. He was spread eagle, totally naked.
This was so not funny.
Lifting his head, he called, “Roni?” He winced—even the sound of his own voice hurt.
Fighting through the cobwebs clouding his mind, he recalled the previous night. Recalled how gorgeous Roni had looked as Trey performed the ceremony. Recalled how adorable it had been that she couldn’t have been more awkward. Recalled how she hadn’t run off somewhere and hid from the party, which had made him proud. Recalled how her brothers had . . . oh shit.
“Roni!” Nothing. He fought the bonds hard, but they didn’t give an inch. It seemed his mate was very good with knots. Why wasn’t he surprised? No matter. Unsheathing his claws, Marcus angled his wrist just enough to slice at the rope. All he’d need to do was weaken the material and it would snap right off.
But it didn’t. The rope didn’t even slightly give.
“Keep slicing if you want. It won’t work. Shifter-resistant rope.”
His head snapped up to find his mate leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, in the same black dress she’d worn at the ceremony. And she did not look happy. It was fair to say he had some apologizing to do. He really didn’t think the excuse, “Your brothers said I couldn’t handle tequila better than them and macho-man pride dictates I can’t ignore that challenge” would help his cause. “Gorgeous . . .”
Roni pushed off the doorjamb, fixing her eyes on his—letting him see every bit of her exasperation. She kept her voice even, flat. “Yes?”
Marcus blew out a breath. “You’re pissed.”
“Pissed? Why would I be pissed? All you did was let my brothers get you blind drunk, knowing how their cunning minds operate. All you did was choose to spend time with them over having time with me. Any other night, I wouldn’t have cared. But the night of our mating ceremony . . . yeah, that’s a problem for me.”
Feeling like shit—and, admittedly, a little nervous considering his mate was pretty vicious when crossed—he said solemnly, “I’m sorry.”
She came to stand at the foot of the bed. “It was our mating ceremony. It was, in your words, ‘one of the most special evenings we’ll ever have as a couple’ . . . And you’re sorry?” That was the best he could do? Hell, she should have left the thong and face paint on.
Wolf eyes flashed at him, and he glimpsed her animal’s righteous anger. “Gorgeous, I’ll make it up to you.”
“I know you will.” Roni peeled her dress up and over her body, watching as his eyes flared with hunger as they roamed over every inch of her. “You’ll give me exactly what I want.”
“I will,” he promised with a low growl. “Just untie me, and I’ll—”
She laughed. “Untie you? Why would I do that?”
She had to be kidding. Right? “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Really.”
“You know, topping someone never really appealed to me before. But now, looking at you all tied up, mine to play with . . . the idea has its merits.”
He tensed. “Roni . . .”
“What, you don’t like the idea that you’re not in control? That you can’t ‘take’ what you want? That you’ll only get what I give you?”
No, he didn’t. But he still couldn’t help moaning when she fluttered her fingers up one thigh. Clearing his suddenly dry throat, he rasped, “What do you want?”
“What I wanted last night.” She dragged her nails down his other thigh, making him growl, as she flicked her gaze to his cock. “Hmmm. Uncomfortable with the situation, yet hard as a rock.”
“Because you’re standing naked in front of me and I can smell your arousal.” If he were being honest, this whole thing was revving his engines a little bit; he was curious as to what his pretty little wolf would do. But, dammit, he shouldn’t be curious because dominant males did not submit. He’d never submitted in his life in any form. Not even to Trey—it was what made Marcus a good enforcer; his Alpha didn’t want obedient pets, he wanted people who would think for themselves.
“That’s all it is?” she asked doubtfully.