Shifter Forbidden Mate

Chapter four

Eira 'S POV

We met one of Titus’s people at the same shifter bar where I first heard whispers about this job. Not Titus himself he’s too important to be seen in a place like this but one of his lackeys, a thick-necked monster with a scar splitting his lower lip. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t drink. He hands Art a thick envelope and leaves without a word.

Art opens it, flips through the contents once, and nods.

He was right. There really is a bonus.

He divides the money neatly into four piles, careful and deliberate, then slides one stack across the table to me. I hesitate before taking it, half-expecting a catch, some last-minute condition I wasn’t warned about.

But no one says anything.

I glance at the bills. It looks even. Perfectly even.

I have to give Art credit he didn’t have to do this. I didn’t even know there was a bonus coming, and it would have been laughably easy for them to skim my share or “forget” about it entirely. Plenty of crews would have. Most would have.

I tuck the money away and stand, heading down to the far end of the bar to order a drink. This amount isn’t enough to Sorenge my life. It won’t buy me safety or freedom or certainty. So I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The full payout is what matters. That comes later after the job is finished.

The brothers claim a booth, already relaxed, already at home here. Glasses clink as drinks are delivered.

“Hey, Eira ,” Soren calls out, lifting his glass. “Come have a drink with us.”

“I’m good,” I say, keeping my voice light.

We worked well together today. Better than I expected. But I’m not about to forget what they are.

Shifters.

Probably from Shifter Town, given the mismatched bloodlines and lack of pack ties. Which means they’re rejects. Wolves without a place. Theoretically, that should make them understand me.

But that’s a lie I almost fell for.

If anything, it makes them more protective of the one place they do belong. Shifter Town doesn’t welcome outsiders lightly and it certainly doesn’t welcome the fae. Even half-bloods. Especially half-bloods.

“Oh, come on,” Soren says, sliding out of the booth and crossing the room toward me. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

Before I can react, he takes my hand and tugs me to my feet.

I pull away, my pulse jumping. “I’m just going to have my drink and go home. Thanks.”

“No,” he says, stretching the word out. “We’re a team now.”

He drapes an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him, and f**k I let him. His body is warm and solid, his presence grounding in a way I didn’t realize I missed until it’s pressed against me.

I’ve been alone for a long time.

Don’t get close to them, I tell myself. Don’t do this. You can’t.

I know.

I know I can’t.

Still, I let Soren guide me back to their booth and settle me into the seat beside Draven. Draven shifts immediately to make room, his thigh pressed flush against mine. The contact is casual. Familiar. Too easy.

Art grins at me. “What’re you drinking?”

“Just a beer,” I say, lifting the glass I brought with me.

“Nope,” Art replies. “Not good enough. Draven, get her a shot. We wouldn’t even be here tonight if it weren’t for Eira .”

“I mean,” Soren says, shrugging, “I probably would’ve found the monsters eventually.”

“Eventually being the key word,” Draven says dryly. “Art’s right. We’d still be wandering around out there in the dark.”

He stands and heads toward the bar.

“So,” Soren says, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You’re a really good tracker. Does your pack teach you that?”

My stomach tightens.

“Oh no,” I say quickly. “I just kind of… picked it up.”

“On your own?” Art asks, impressed. “You must be smart.”

“I’ve been living on my own for a while,” I say, shrugging. “You figure things out when you have to.”

It sounds casual.

It isn’t.

“You know about Shifter Town, right?” Art asks.

Internally, I groan.

Outwardly, I keep my expression smooth. “I’ve heard of it.”

“If you’re not pack-affiliated, it might be a good place for you,” he says. “Anyone’s welcome.”

You say that now.

“Thanks,” I say, “but I think I’m good.”

Draven returns before the conversation can dig any deeper, setting a tray of shots on the table. Clear liquid catches the low bar light.

Everyone reaches for one.

“To a successful job,” Art says, tossing his back.

“To a great team,” Soren adds.

I knock mine back, the burn blooming down my throat. It’s sharp and grounding, and I welcome it. I reach for another before anyone can comment.

There are plenty of shots.

By my third, the edges of my caution blur. I’m laughing more easily, leaning into Draven’s shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Someone’s foot slides along the inside of my leg, slow and deliberate.

Normally, I would pull away.

Tonight, I don’t.

I don’t want to.

I haven’t been touched like this in ages not casually, not warmly, not without fear threaded through it.

“You got someplace to stay tonight?” Draven murmurs near my ear.

He’s close enough that I can feel his breath, feel the heat of him seeping through my clothes. The boundaries between where I end and where he begins feel… flexible.

“I have an apartment,” I say.

“No kidding?” Art says. “A real apartment?”

“Can we see it?” Soren asks.

I laugh, breathless. “Why? Where do you live?”

“We’ve got a place in Shifter Town,” Draven says easily. “Could go there instead.”

I’m sober enough to know that’s a very bad idea.

“My place,” I say instead, even as a small voice in my head screams that I might be losing control of this situation.

But someone’s hand rests on my knee now, fingers inching upward, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember why I should say no.

I don’t want to say no.

Someone pays the tab. I think. I’m not really tracking money anymore. I’m tracking sensation the hand on my waist, the thumb brushing bare skin beneath my waistband. The broad chest pressed into my back, holding me upright so I don’t even have to try.

I’m tracking the way they move around me, not crowding but enclosing, forming a loose circle that makes me feel protected instead of trapped.

I’m tracking the undeniable fact that, beneath all their confidence and control, they want me just as much as I want them.

The realization sends a thrill through me.

Am I really about to have s*x with all three of these men?

If you asked me to choose just one, I couldn’t. I don’t know if I want any of them alone. What I want is the way we fit together, the way we moved as a unit out in the woods earlier today.

The way we trusted each other.

I want that same energy, that same cohesion, carried somewhere far more dangerous.

My bed.

The thought hits me so hard it steals my breath.

I must be crazy.

Or maybe I’m just tired of surviving.