Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by Gabrielle Evans Page A

“Okay.”
    Slowly, hesitantly, he moved closer until their lips were just a breath apart. The air sizzled between them, his pulse accelerated, and just like when he kissed Brock, everything disappeared except for the beauty before him.
    Cupping her delicate cheek, he closed the small distance, brushing their lips together in just a ghost of a touch. Electricity thrummed through his body, and his wolf clawed at him, demanding he take more. Applying slightly more pressure, he traced the seam of Moira’s lips with his tongue, gauging her reaction while silently asking for entrance.
    With a quiet gasp, Moira opened for him and tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met and twined, sliding together in a sensual duel, and what had started as a simple experiment quickly became heated and hungry.
    The hushed whimpers and quiet moans had his dick hard and aching within seconds, and his wolf howled in triumph, pushing him to claim what belonged to them. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Moira was his mate, designed for him by fate to complete their circle.
    “Mine,” they both growled in unison, breaking the spell that held them captive.
    Pulling away, Moira stared back at him with big, wide eyes for the longest time. Then her expression softened, and her swollen lips quirked up on one side into a half smile. “Well, I guess we have an answer to that question.”
    “Why was my favorite hoodie in the trashcan?” Brock held up a faded and tattered sweatshirt, petting it lovingly while he glared at Moira. “Well?”
    “What were you doing in my room?” she shot back.
    “Please,” Koba begged with a tired moan. “Don’t start again.”
    Of course, they both ignored him. “What did you do to my shirt? You killed it.”
    “Did you just answer your own question?” Moira jumped up from the bed and stomped over to Brock, poking her finger in the middle of his chest. “Stay out of my room.”
    “Stay out of my closet.”
    Fed up with their childish behavior, Koba rolled out of bed and left the room. Neither of his mates even noticed his departure. For the love of everything holy, he wished they’d just tear each other’s clothes off and find more productive ways to relieve all of that aggression.
    Maybe he’d just go check on the team and find out if they’d learned anything new. If nothing else, maybe Casey would have a job for him to do. Anything was better than sitting around and waiting for his mates to implode.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Ugh!” Moira threw her hands in the air and growled. The man completely infuriated her, and worse, she knew he was doing it on purpose. “I don’t have time for this. I have to finish cooking d—shit!”
    Shoving past Brock, she darted down the hallway toward the kitchen and skidded to a halt in front of the stove. All the burners had been turned off, and the tortellini sat in a colander in the sink.
    “I didn’t do it. Whatever is wrong with it,” Brock clarified, “it wasn’t me.”
    “No, it’s fine.”
    “In that case, it was all me.”
    Moira smiled in spite of herself. Then before she knew what was happening, she was leaning against the counter and literally falling over with laughter. Why was she trying so hard to fight the inevitable? Brock owned her heart and soul, always had, and no amount of denial would change that.
    “What are we doing, Brock?”
    Draping the sweatshirt over the back of one of the chairs, Brock shrugged. “Foreplay?”
    It was such a typical male response that Moira felt another fit of laughter bubble up in her chest. “I’m serious,” she said once she got control of herself. “This isn’t us. With those things on the loose and all of these unanswered questions, we can’t afford to be fighting each other.”
    “I don’t want to fight with you.” Brock moved a step closer. “Why was my sweater in the garbage, Moira?” By the time he’d finished speaking, he was standing so close that she could feel