Page 63 of Puck Your Bunny

My hips snap against hers. My cock pulses, spilling my hot release deep against her walls. I collapse forward. I bury my face in the crook of her neck. My chest heaves against her breasts. The bed frame creaks as we try to catch our breath. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her tight. I stay locked inside her, bound to my Omega, ready to build our future together.

Chapter 21

The late June morning sun bakes the concrete patio in the backyard. The day before the Alpha Cup Finals brings a restless, buzzing energy to the house. Tomorrow, the Canval Reapers face off against the Heathstead Bears. The Bears want a second consecutive Cup after enduring years of losing seasons. The Reapers plan to crush that dream; they demand the championship title for themselves.

Standing at the kitchen counter, I press my cell phone against my ear. Securing this phone consultation with Dr. Evans took months of waiting.

"Thank you for reviewing my file." Tracing the grout lines on the granite countertop, I get straight to the point. "My original Alphas died in a car crash four years ago. Brendan survived the wreck but suffered a traumatic brain injury. His injuries haltedour sexual intimacy. The absence of routine knotting forced my body into bond rejection sickness. His immunity to the rejection fever remains a mystery to me."

"I have your charts right here, Mrs. Moore." The ambient noise of the clinic chatters in the background of the call. "The sickness requires a cognitive awareness of the severed connection. His brain injury altered his perception of your pack dynamics. He views you as a trusted caregiver now, bypassing the expectations of the mating bond."

A dull ache settles deep in my chest. Hearing a medical professional state the truth stings. The reality of his altered mind means he views me as a nurse rather than his Omega. The Alpha who claimed me a decade ago is gone.

"A new pack has stepped into my life." Gripping the edge of the counter, I push through the bittersweet realization. "They are a confirmed scent match. Taking their knots cured my rejection fever. I plan to finalize the claim tonight with bite marks. Will a completed bond affect Brendan in a positive or negative way?"

"A completed bond neutralizes your Heat pheromones." Dr. Evans answers with absolute certainty. "Active Omega pheromones cause intense stress for an Alpha excluded from the mating cycle. Completing the bond with your new Alphas will offer Brendan relief from his hormone-induced distress. His sensory overload will decrease."

"Thank you, Doctor." The tight knot of anxiety in my chest unwinds, replaced by a profound sense of relief. "I appreciate the consultation."

"Anytime, Mrs. Moore." Dr. Evans sounds pleased. "Congratulations on the new pack. Have a wonderful evening."

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I tap the button to end the call and set the phone face-down next to the sink.

The doctor gave me the final piece of the puzzle. The lingering guilt over replacing Hale and Emmett vanishes, replaced by afierce need to protect the family still living inside this house. Claiming Wally, Kel, and Simon fixes Brendan's distress. It secures a permanent, dedicated pack to care for him and brings three incredible men into my life for good.

Picking my phone back up, I open my contacts and dial Vinny's number.

"Hey, Vayda." Vinny answers on the second ring.

"I need an evening shift." I cut straight to the chase. "The guys play the championship game tomorrow. I want you to sit with Brendan tonight so we can have the backyard to ourselves."

"I got you covered." Vinny sounds eager. "I can head over around six."

"See you at six." Tapping the end call button, I open my group chat with the Alphas.

Good ribs require all day on a slow cooker, and I want everything perfect for tonight. Getting the meat on the grill early is the only way to guarantee a good meal.

VAYDA:Shower and change at the arena after practice. Skip the front door and come straight through the side gate to the backyard when you get home.

Dropping the phone onto the counter, I get to work. I pull three huge racks of ribs from the refrigerator. A thick coat of brown sugar, smoked paprika, and crushed garlic goes onto the meat. Carrying the trays out to the patio, I fire up the gas grill on a low setting and arrange the ribs on the grates. The sizzle of fat hitting the flames fills the yard. A mouthwatering aroma of smoke and spice drifts over the fence. The slow cook takes all day, guaranteeing fall-off-the-bone tender meat by sunset.

Grabbing a bottle of wood cleaner and a thick Shop-Vac from the utility closet, I push through the back door and step out into the blazing summer weather.

The large carpentry shed sits at the far edge of the lawn. The structure boasts the square footage of a massive masterbedroom. Hale built the space a decade ago to house his table saw and stacks of raw lumber.

I cleared out the center four years ago to create a solitary Heat den, but Kel brought life back into this space. He claimed the workbench to build Brendan's front porch wheelchair ramp, and he uses Hale's tools to build custom furniture now. He sweeps his sawdust up, leaving a familiar scent of fresh cedar in the air.

Today, I need to prep the space for tonight. We survived my last Heat cycle tangled in the sheets out here a few weeks ago, but tonight serves a different purpose. Tonight focuses on a permanent, clear-headed claim.

Turning the metal knob, I push the solid wooden door inward. Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the small windows. The smell of aged pine fills my lungs. The massive king-size mattress sits shoved against the far wall, leaving the floor open for Kel to work.

Walking over, I grip the edge of the thick mattress. Planting my feet, I drag the bed right into the center of the concrete room. The fabric scrapes against the cement.

Unwinding the power cord on the vacuum, I flip the switch. The roar of the motor fills the space. Guiding the hose across the concrete floor makes fast work of the accumulated dirt. Sucking up dead bugs and clearing cobwebs takes a half hour. Rolling my shoulders, I grab the spray bottle and a rag. I wipe down the empty sections of the workbenches, polishing the aged pine to a shine.

Marching back to the house, I raid the linen closet. My arms fill with clean sheets, thick comforters, and every plush pillow I own. Making three separate trips across the grass hauls the mountain of bedding into the shed.

I strip the old sheets off the mattress and toss them in a corner. Stretching a fresh fitted sheet over the bare corners provides a clean base. Layering the thick comforters over thetop and arranging the soft fabrics in overlapping circles builds a massive, sprawling nest. Grabbing a handful of pillows and tossing them against the base of the workbenches creates backrests. The process soothes the restless energy thrumming in my veins. My inner Omega purrs at the sight of the comfortable den.