Chapter 5: May the Gods have mercy

Veleria Mary storm

I woke up aching in ways I didn’t even know were possible.

A deep, throbbing soreness pulsed between my legs, right where they’d stretched me open and filled me so completely last night. My hips felt bruised, my lower back screamed every time I tried to move, and the fresh bite mark on my shoulder burned like it was still healing under Valentino’s teeth. My head pounded too—sharp, nauseating throbs behind my eyes, the kind that came from too much whiskey and too many tears.

I groaned, the sound scraping out of my raw throat.

The sheets were silk, cool and slippery against my bare skin. I wasn’t naked, though. Someone had slipped an oversized black polo over me while I slept. It swallowed me whole, the hem brushing mid-thigh, soft and worn at the collar like it had been loved for years. I lifted it to my nose without thinking.

Smoke. Cedar. Warm amber. Commanding and steady, like a hand pressing me gently but firmly against a wall.

Vincenzo.

My stomach flipped—panic and something hotter, needier, all at once. Fresh slick gathered between my thighs despite how sore I was. I squeezed my legs together and winced, then forced myself to sit up slowly.

The room wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t the private room at the club with the black marble and low amber lights. This place was… bigger. Softer. High ceilings, heavy charcoal curtains letting in thin slivers of morning sun. A massive four-poster bed with dark wood carved in faint wolf-and-dragon shapes. Leather armchairs by a fireplace that still glowed with dying embers. An open door to what looked like a bathroom the size of my entire old apartment.

This was their home. Not a temporary hideaway. Their actual home.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I needed my phone. I needed something real, something from before last night, something that wasn’t growls and knots and three alphas swearing I was theirs forever.

My eyes darted around. There—on the nightstand, tucked half under a folded towel—my little battered purse. I lunged for it, ignoring the sharp stab in my core, and ripped it open.

Phone. Dead.

I found the charger plugged in (someone had thought of that, of course they had) and jammed the cord in. The screen flickered to life after a few painful seconds.

Twenty-three missed calls from Serah.

Twelve texts.

The last one, 3:47 a.m.:

Vel please just tell me you’re alive. I’m freaking out.

My thumb shook as I hit call.

It rang once.

“Vel… where are you? I’ve been calling…” Serah’s voice cracked, raw with exhaustion and fear. “I went to your house. Your car wasn’t there. James said you stormed out crying and he didn’t know where you went. I thought—I thought something happened.”

I pressed the phone harder to my ear and curled my free arm around my knees like I could hold myself together.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. My voice sounded small, wrecked. “I’m… I’m at a hotel. I just needed fresh air. Space.”

A long pause. I could picture her—sitting on her couch, hair a mess, coffee gone cold—trying to decide whether to believe me.

“Should I come?” she asked finally. “I can be there in thirty. Just tell me where.”

“No. No, not yet.” I swallowed hard. “I’m… I’m safe. Really.”

Another silence. Then, softer: “Vel… I’m so sorry. About yesterday. I shouldn’t have projected all that crap onto you. I was trying to help and I just… I made it worse.”

Tears stung my eyes again. “It’s okay,” I managed. “At least now I know why I never felt loved. Why he never… wanted me. It wasn’t me. It was never me.”

The words cracked open something inside my chest—pain, but also a strange, fragile relief.

Serah let out a shaky breath. “You deserve so much better than that asshole. You always did.”

We talked for a few more minutes—quiet, careful things. Her telling me she loved me, me promising I’d call later, both of us avoiding the real questions because neither of us was ready. When we finally hung up, I let the phone drop into my lap and breathed out a long, trembling sigh.

For the first time in hours, the knot in my chest loosened just a fraction.

Then I heard it—low voices drifting from somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Heavy, unhurried. Coming closer.

Panic spiked.

I shoved the phone under the pillow—stupid, so stupid, because of course they’d see it, smell it on me—and dropped back against the sheets. I pulled the covers up to my chin, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to make my breathing slow and even.

Pretend you’re still asleep.

Pretend last night didn’t happen.

Pretend you’re not already aching for them to come back and touch you again.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door.

I held my breath.

And waited.

The door creaked open slowly.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, breathing steady—too steady, probably—but it was all I could manage.

Footsteps. Three sets. They moved like they owned the silence.

A low, amused chuckle—Lorenzo, unmistakable.

“Look at her, playing possum like we can’t smell how awake she is.” His voice dropped closer, warm breath ghosting my ear. “Heartbeat’s racing, little mate. Slick’s already blooming again. You’re terrible at faking sleep.”

Heat flooded my face. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to move.

The bed dipped on my left. Lorenzo slid in close, thigh pressing firmly against mine. I felt his nose brush my hair first—deep inhale—then trail down to the curve of my neck.

“Mm. Still tastes like rain and heartbreak under all our marks,” he murmured, lips grazing skin. “But mostly you taste like us now. Mine. Ours.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss right over Valentino’s bite mark, tongue flicking slow and deliberate. A spark shot straight between my legs.

I sucked in a breath.

Valentino settled on my right side, silent as always. His big hand slid under the polo to rest on my lower back—warm, grounding circles with his thumb—then he leaned in and nuzzled the unmarked side of my neck. His lips brushed feather-light at first… then parted, teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver. He sucked gently—soft pull, tongue soothing the spot—claiming without words.

My thighs clenched involuntarily. A tiny whimper escaped before I could stop it.

Lorenzo laughed low against my throat. “There she is.” He tugged the collar of the polo aside with one finger, exposing more skin. “You’re so sensitive this morning. Bet if I kissed lower you’d soak right through these sheets again.”

Vincenzo’s voice cut through from the foot of the bed—low, velvet command. “Boys. Calm down. Give her space to breathe.”

But he didn’t sound mad. He sounded… amused. Like he was enjoying the show.

Lorenzo ignored him. He hooked a finger under the hem of the polo and dragged it up my thigh—slow, torturous—until cool air kissed my bare skin. His mouth followed: hot, wet kisses along the inside of my knee, then higher. He nipped the soft flesh of my inner thigh—sharp enough to sting, soft enough to make me arch.

“Fuck, look at these marks we left,” he growled approvingly. “Pretty little bruises from our knots. You took us so well last night, Veleria. Think you could take more right now? Just a taste?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His tongue dragged slow up the crease of my thigh—dangerously close to where I was already slick and aching—then he sucked hard on the sensitive skin there, pulling a bruise to the surface.

I moaned—sharp, helpless—hips jerking up before I could stop them.

Valentino rumbled low in his chest, pleased. He shifted closer, mouth finding the hollow of my throat. He sucked there too—slow, reverent pulls—while his hand slid higher under the polo, cupping my breast. His thumb circled my nipple once, twice, then pinched just enough to make stars burst behind my eyelids.

Another moan tore out of me—louder this time.

Lorenzo grinned against my thigh. “Hear that? She likes being teased. Likes being reminded she’s ours.” He moved higher, nose brushing my folds—inhaling deep—then flicked his tongue once, light and teasing, right over my clit.

My whole body bowed off the bed.

“Oh—gods—”

Vincenzo finally stepped closer. His hand came down on Lorenzo’s shoulder—not stopping him, just steadying. But his amber eyes locked on mine when I finally cracked them open.

“Enough,” he said softly, voice like dark honey. “She’s sore. She’s overwhelmed. And she’s still pretending she doesn’t want this as badly as we do.”

Lorenzo pulled back with a dramatic sigh, licking his lips slow and deliberate. “Fine. But only because you said so, big brother.” He leaned up, pressing one last filthy kiss to my mouth—tasting myself on his tongue—then whispered against my lips: “You’re not going anywhere today without us knowing exactly how wet you get thinking about last night.”

I was burning. Face flushed, thighs trembling, slick coating the sheets beneath me.

I sat up fully, clutching the polo like it could hide anything. My voice came out shy, wrecked. “Hi.”

Lorenzo barked a short laugh. “Hi yourself, little mate.”

“That was a bit awkward, wasn’t it?” I asked, cheeks flaming hotter.

Before anyone could answer, Valentino leaned in again. His tongue dragged slow and hot up the side of my neck—right over the spot he’d bitten last night. The fresh mark throbbed under the wet heat of his mouth, and a low, helpless moan slipped out of me before I could swallow it back.

Valentino caught my hands gently but firmly, lifting them between us. He pressed one of my fingers to his lips, then slid it into his mouth—slow, deliberate—sucking once while his silver eyes held mine.

“That’s Vincenzo…” he murmured around my finger, nodding toward the tallest one at the foot of the bed. “Our elder brother. The one who gives the orders.” He released my finger with a soft pop, then pointed at Lorenzo. “This one… is the youngest. The troublemaker.” Lorenzo flashed a wicked grin. Valentino’s gaze slid back to me, voice dropping lower. “And I… am the middle brother.”

He guided my wet finger back to my own lips, brushing it there like a secret. “Can you remember who is who now?”

I swallowed hard, tasting the faint salt of his tongue on my skin. “I know who is who already…” I said, trying to sound proud instead of completely undone. “You guys are… well, famous.”

They all smiled—slow, satisfied, predatory smiles that made my pulse stutter.

“Good thing she knows,” Valentino said, voice deadpan but eyes glinting with mischief. “I wouldn’t have loved it if she was sucking on me and moaning Lorenzo’s name.”

The room went still for half a second.

Then Lorenzo snorted, Valentino’s lips twitched, and even Vincenzo let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

I buried my face in my hands. “Oh my gods.”

Valentino leaned in, brushing a kiss to my temple—soft this time, almost tender. “Go freshen up, little mate. Breakfast is in ten minutes.”

They stood as one, moving toward the door with that effortless, coordinated grace that reminded me exactly who they were: centuries-old kings who’d waited lifetimes for one woman.

Me.

Lorenzo paused in the doorway, tossing a wicked look over his shoulder. “Don’t take too long. We’re hungry… and not just for food.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

I sat there, heart hammering, skin still tingling from their mouths, their hands, their words.

Then I heard it—faint, drifting up from somewhere deeper in the house.

Not angry.

Not one of theirs.

It vibrated up through my chest, raw and needy, spilling out of my throat before I could stop it.

And it wasn’t coming from any of them.

It was coming from inside me.

My heat just began.

May the gods have mercy.

I’m about to be ruined.