The Twin Alphas Hired the Wrong Secretary

RAGNAR

"Stay still," Xander murmured against my skin, his breath warm and steady, his fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist like he was feeling my pulse, like he already knew exactly how fast my heart was beating for him. "You're not going anywhere."

I tried to respond but the words tangled in my throat because Damon was closer now, his chest pressed against my back and his mouth hovering just above my ear, and when he spoke his voice was lower, rougher, full of something that made my stomach clench. "Let him hold you. You like it. I can feel how much you like it."

I did like it. I loved it and I wanted it badly.

Damon's lips brushed against the curve of my shoulder, slow and deliberate, and I felt the ghost of his smile against my skin. His hand splayed across my stomach, fingers pressing just enough to hold me in place, and my body arched into him before my mind could stop it. A sound escaped my throat, soft and embarrassing, and Xander's grip on my wrist tightened in response, possessive and knowing.

"That's it," Xander murmured, his thumb tracing the vein in my wrist. "Stop fighting it."

"I'm not—" I started, but the words died when Damon's teeth grazed my earlobe, and a shudder ran through me that I couldn't control, or hide it. Xander lifted my wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of my palm, his mouth warm and deliberate, and I felt the heat of it travel up my arm and settle deep in my chest.

"You've always been a terrible liar," Xander said softly, and his eyes held something dark and knowing.

Damon shifted behind me, his hand sliding across my stomach and pulling me flush against him, and I felt the hard length of him pressed against my back. "Don't listen to him," he murmured, his lips tracing my ear. "He talks too much. I'll show you what you really need."

I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, to push them away or pull them closer because I could not decide which one I wanted more, but Xander's hand released my wrist and found my jaw, tilting my face toward him. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, slow and teasing, and I parted my mouth without thinking, without meaning to, my body acting before my mind could catch up.

"Look at you," Damon whispered behind me, his hand sliding lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of whatever I was wearing, and I felt the cool air hit my skin before his hand dipped beneath the fabric. "So eager and ready."

Xander leaned in, his lips hovering just above mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the clean sharp scent of him mixed with something darker. "Say it," he commanded softly. "Tell us what you want."

I shook my head, or tried to, but Damon's fingers found me then, sliding through the heat between my thighs, and a broken sound tore from my throat that was half gasp and half moan. Xander captured the sound with his mouth, his lips pressing against mine, and the kiss was gentle at first, then demanding, swallowing every protest I might have made.

"Say it," Damon repeated, his fingers moving in slow deliberate circles that made my hips buck forward. "Tell us."

"I—" I gasped against Xander's mouth, my hands gripping his shoulders, my body caught between the two of them, trapped and wanting and drowning. "I want—"

"Want what?" Xander pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and hungry, his thumb still stroking my lower lip. "Use your words."

Damon's fingers pressed deeper, faster, and my head fell back against his shoulder, and my spine arching. "You," I breathed, the word barely audible. "I want you. Both of you. I want—"

Xander's mouth was on mine again, cutting off the rest of the words, and Damon's hand kept moving and pushing me toward the edge.

His mouth was hot and demanding against mine, his tongue sliding against my lower lip before he bit down, just enough to sting, just enough to make me gasp into his mouth.

Damon's hand gripped my hip, and he ground against me from behind, the hard length of him pressed against my lower back.

My head fell back against his shoulder and I felt the vibration of his low laugh against my spine and his teeth graze the curve of my neck while his hand slid lower, gripping my thigh and pulling it back, opening me up to Xander's touch.

Xander's hand found my other thigh, his fingers pressing into the sensitive skin just above my knee, and he pulled me closer until I was trapped between them, caught in the heat of their bodies, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything.

My hands fisted in Xander's shirt, my hips bucked forward against him, and the friction was maddening, too much and not enough all at once.

Damon's voice was low in my ear, "Let go," and Xander's mouth was on my neck, his teeth sinking in just as the wave crashed through me, my body shuddering violently.

I sagged between them, breathless and trembling, and Damon pressed a kiss to my shoulder while Xander rested his forehead against mine.

"Such a messy beauty," Xander murmured, his gaze holding something like approval, and I felt a flicker of pride, sharp and strange and completely unreasonable.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, the air changes and the metallic scent hit me.

I look down to see blood spread across the floor. The warmth disappears and the faces above me blurs and their grip loosen.

I turn to see my parents, standing by the corner, covered in blood and their faces frowned in disappointment.

"I didn't mean to," I choke out, but my voice is child-small and my hands are reaching for her, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm doing this for you. All of this, it's for you."

I push myself up and stumble toward them, my legs weak and unsteady, but when I reach for my mother's hand she takes a step back, one step, then another, until the space between us feels like a ditch. My father's jaw tightens and his eyes hold something I have never seen before, something worse than anger, more like shame.

My father shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t say a word. I tried again and rushed to them, but the flames consumed everything and suddenly, I am a child again, watching Thornvale burn, and through the smoke I see Magnus Wolfe standing tall and untouchable, and beside him are his twin boys, watching calmly.

I wake up gasping loudly for air, my hand flying to my chest before my eyes even open. The sheets are soaked with sweat and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears and can feel it in my throat. I sit up fast, so fast that the room spins around me and I have to brace myself against the mattress to keep from collapsing.

"Breathe," I hiss at myself, the word desperate in the quiet room. "Just breathe. It wasn't real. It wasn't real."

But my chest keeps heaving and the images keep flashing behind my eyes, and the way they touched me like they had every right to, like I belonged to them. Disgust curls in my stomach, and I press my palm harder against the mark on my ribs until the pressure calms me.

“Stupid,” I mutter, shaking my head.

You know what they are, you know what their father did. You watched them and saw them with their hands all over several women in the same night, and now you’re dreaming about them? Pathetic, my wolf, Ash snarls, low and mocking.

I let out a deep sigh. “I’m probably just tired. My mind is mixing attraction with proximity. It means nothing.”

I say it out loud because I need to hear it and drown out the memory of the way my body responded to both of them like it had been waiting for them my entire life. After that I mentally shut out Ash. The last thing I needed right now is a scolding. My late parents had done enough… In my dream.

My eyes land on the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers glowing in the dark, June 30, 5:47 AM, and I stare at them for a moment longer than I should.

"June thirtieth," I said flatly, and then I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the empty room. "Happy birthday to me."

Birthdays stopped meaning anything the night Thornvale burned and I watched my parents die and everything I loved turned to ash. I am not a wolf who gets to celebrate birthdays or hope for happy endings, I crave for revenge, and today is not about what I feel or what my body might be trying to tell me. It is about making them pay for every life they stole from me.

"Focus," I tell myself, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and forcing myself upright. "You didn't come this far to fall apart over a dream. Get yourself together. You have a job to do."

I walk to the bathroom and turn the shower on as cold as it will go because I need to freeze this feeling out of my system, and remind myself that I am in control and that I am the one who decides what I feel and when I feel it. "I’m good at this," I whisper through chattering teeth. "I have trained for this. My parents didn't die for you to mess this up. Get it together."

"Revenge," I say out loud, the word grounding me, steadying me. "That's all that matters. That's the only thing that's real."