Soulmarked: A Box Set

By Willa Okati

The Soulmarked series

Now and Then

Robbie and Ivan wrought havoc on their first chance at love. Can they mend their fences and find their passion the second time around?

Only You

Lovers and best friends, the unmarked Nick and Barrett risked everything to present themselves as a bonded pair. They thought they were safe, but things are changing…

Handle with Care

Love conquers all—even a proud man’s need to stand tough. No matter what it takes to heal his wounded soldier, Daniel is willing.

As We Are

Can the rebels with a cause change their ways, or will they miss their chance?

All Along

Nathaniel’s been keeping a secret—even the most improbable soulmates can be drawn together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
• Release date: Jan 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781786517265

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

Book preview

Pride Publishing books by Willa Okati

Single title

Kingsoak

It Takes Practice

The Quiet Game

Flibbertigibbet

St. Hawk’s Medical

Take Heart

Give Chase

Breathe Deep

SOULMARKED

Now and Then

Only You

Handle with Care

As We Are

All Along

WILLA OKATI

Soulmarked

ISBN # 978-1-78651-726-5

©Copyright Willa Okati 2014

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2014

Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2019 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

NOW AND THEN

Book one in the Soulmarked series

Robbie and Ivan wrought havoc on their first chance at love. Can they mend their fences and find their passion the second time around?

Soulmarked as mates, Robbie and Ivan come from different worlds. Robbie’s the oldest son in a long line of outlaws who live squarely on the wrong side of the tracks, and Ivan’s family tree is packed with law enforcement. That didn’t stop them from falling in love, but when they risked tearing each other apart, they cared enough to let go and hope they’d find a better life.

Years later, the strength of their soulbond still burns bright when chance brings Robbie and Ivan together at the football game of the year. The passion they felt for one another is as powerful as ever, bringing them into explosive contact. They’re not the boys they used to be—Robbie’s turned his life around and raised his younger brothers to be good men, and Ivan’s learned to stand tall and mix justice with compassion. But though they want to hope they can be happy now, not everything has changed. Maybe not enough has changed.

Or has it, after all?

It’s up to Robbie and Ivan, now. Only they can make the choice that will change their lives forever.

Dedication

For J.L. Langley and Kimberly Gardner,

with thanks.

Trademark Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Hells Angels: Hells Angels Motorcycle Corporation

Oz: L. Frank Baum

Chapter One

"Finally." Nathaniel collided with Robbie, wrapping himself around his brother from the side.

Robbie was sturdy enough to take the hit without stumbling. He knuckled the boy’s head. You’re not excited or anything, are you?

Are you kidding? This is amazing. Nathaniel’s eyes glowed like warm brown stars. He’d never been tall or strong, always the youngest and most in need of looking after, but try to coax him away from his love of sports…well. It’d be easier to teach a dog to climb trees. He ducked away from Robbie’s fond assault on his noggin. Did you ever think they’d actually finish the coliseum?

Honestly? There’d been times Robbie had doubted. Plans for the giant sports center had been drawn up before he was born, and they’d laid the foundation around the same time he’d tried to teach Nathaniel how to ride a bike.

All good things had their own time, he supposed.

"I can’t be sure, but I think that means no, he didn’t, Cade butted in, sandwiching Robbie on his other side. It can be hard to tell the difference, but that particular subtle nuance of our big brother’s somber demeanor—a hint of a smile—might just mean he’s pleased to be proved wrong. Are you?"

Robbie rolled his eyes indulgently. Mother Nature must have known Cade’s destiny was to be a middle child. He’d come out of the womb raising hell, and had pounced gleefully on the chance to teach Nathaniel his ways when the youngest boy was born. His brothers were noisy, energetic, affectionate double handfuls of trouble. He had no idea how he could ever do without them.

He pulled Nathaniel’s ear instead of a lock of his brother’s hair. I did buy tickets for the first game, opening night, he said. Would I have done that if I didn’t have faith things would turn out?

It’d be the first time in your life, Cade said with careless ease. He caught Nathaniel by the shoulder and hustled him a few steps forward. I think they might be almost ready to unlock the gates. Come on. I’ll show you how to throw elbows.

Robbie shook his head as he watched them go. The gates would open when they opened, and their seats for the first game were numbered. Come in early or come in late, it wouldn’t make any difference…but on the other hand, he couldn’t blame them for their eagerness. Or their teasing him for being a serious-natured bastard. After all, they hadn’t known him in the days when he was different. They weren’t old enough to remember the things Robbie had done. Or to know well most of the people Robbie had known, and those who’d known Robbie in return.

Some more than others. Some very, very well…

Robbie rubbed absently at a spot over his breastbone.

He wasn’t the only one watching his brothers working hard at their playing around. Just ahead, a tall drink of water with a head of wild chestnut curls whistled and elbowed a shorter, ginger man beside him. Get a load of that, would you? Chestnut said, helping himself to an ogle of Nathaniel’s trim shoulders and narrow waist. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

You’d have a hard time finding him in the sheets, his friend said, apparently not as impressed by Nathaniel. He lifted his chin at Cade. Now, that one? The way he walks? He’s packing, front and back. That’s more my kind of man. You’re taller. Can you tell if they’ve got soulmarks?

Not as far as I can see, though I’d be glad to get a second look—

Chestnut didn’t get to finish what he had to say. Robbie drew himself up to his full six feet of height, took two steps forward to cast his shadow over them and cleared his throat. Some people Robbie could have mentioned would have burst into giggles at the way the rakish pair’s eyes widened. There were advantages to being tall and looking, as Cade usually put it, like the kind of rough, tough and risky sort of man that motorcycles were made for.

They haven’t found their mates yet, Robbie said once he was sure he’d gotten their full attention. And if I have anything to say about it, nobody’s going to be looking tonight, either.

Chestnut squeaked. The corners of Robbie’s mouth quirked up. They understood each other. Good.

And neither Cade nor Nathaniel had noticed a thing. Well, Cade might have, from his wink at Robbie, but he didn’t pay the pair of chastened gawkers even a crumb of attention.

They really are opening up, Cade said, ducking back to tug at Robbie’s elbow. You can’t fool me. I know you’ve been looking forward to this for years.

True. He had. Even when he’d doubted. Robbie rubbed harder at the uncomfortable, sore spot over his breastbone. He blinked as his head took another of the odd turns he’d dealt with all day long, as fogged-over as if he were drowning on dry land.

Cade raised an eyebrow. Are you all right?

Me? Fine. Robbie pushed the strange, small ache out of his mind. The coliseum, finally open. Major league football less than an hour’s drive away. Family. What more could a man want?

The iron gates keeping the hemmed-in crowd away from gates to the stadium started to crank back. Robbie kept companionable pace with Cade and kept one eye on Nathaniel. Show me how to throw elbows, too. I’m not going to be the odd man out.

* * * *

"Forty…fifty…yes!" Ivan pounded Nick’s trim shoulder, accidentally jostling him forward half a pace and spilling a slosh of beer over the rim of his paper cup. Oops. Never mind, he’d pay for a refill later.

Nick didn’t even notice. Did you see that? he yelled through the din. "God, that was a thing of beauty! Fucking team!"

Next to Nick, Abram shook with laughter. Barrett’s going to hate our guts for coming to the game when he had to work, he shouted, the deep heartiness of his baritone carrying where other voices wouldn’t. What do you want to bet he’s sour for a week?

Nah, not my Barrett, Nick said, utterly confident. He patted the sturdy woven wristband he wore on his left arm, covering the mark that he and his mate Barrett shared. Not that Ivan had ever seen it, but there was no reason he would have. Soulmarks were private. I should call him. Let him know the score, at least.

Ivan and Abram shared amused grimaces over Nick’s head. Nick and his soulmate were still in the honeymoon stage. Had been for months, and they showed no signs of getting over the head-rush yet. Good for them, in Ivan’s opinion. Those two had been friends for years before their soulmarks had finally shown up. Sometimes it took a while.

He rubbed at a spot over his breastbone. Sometimes it took a while, yes, and sometimes…sometimes, it happened quickly. He should know.

Abram frowned at Ivan and gestured vaguely at Ivan’s chest. Everything all right?

Heartburn, Ivan said, shaking it off and taking another bite of his giant, soft pretzel coated in spicy mustard. Worth it, too.

Abram tsked at him. Such a child.

Only two years younger than you, Ivan said. He licked his fingers. Damn, that’s good.

I hope so. You’re going to be wearing it all night.

Wearing it— Oh. He’d gotten a spot on his shirt. Ivan rubbed at the smudge to no avail. Ah well. No big deal. He could cover the worst with the tie he’d loosened up the second he left work, or if worst came to worst, he’d put his jacket back on. Or take off his shirt altogether. Dealer’s choice, Ivan thought as he polished off the last of his pretzel.

Why was food eaten out of doors always better, anyway? A mystery for the ages. If the guys at the station could see him now… With his hair disheveled and his collar loose, laughing and roistering with his friends, he doubted any of the other detectives would recognize him.

Strange, now, to remember he’d wavered over coming to the game. Though he couldn’t have said why—and he’d tried to figure it out all day—the thought of taking a night off had kept Ivan dragging his feet for hours, even when the tickets were bought and the carpool arranged. Drove him half-crazy until he got there, heard the roar of the crowd, and months’ worth of tension had lifted off his shoulders.

He licked his fingers and laughed at Nick, who was trying to be stealthy about dialing Barrett.

Abram pretended to tut at him in disapproval, which was less frightening and more hilarious coming from a six-foot-tall former Marine who kept his head shaved as bald as an egg and his goatee as sleek as black velvet. Ivan wasn’t a small man, but Abram made him feel tiny. God save us from children in love.

Ivan scoffed good-naturedly and absently rubbed his knuckles harder over his chest, annoyed by the twinge over his ribs. You and your mate were just as bad.

Abram touched the obsidian mourning bead in his earlobe—a symbol only worn by widowers—with reverence. Worse, I think. Callum would have the time of his life teasing them. Probably would have some big prank in the works.

Ivan didn’t doubt it. Though he hadn’t known Abram’s soulmate, he wished he had. The stories about those two in their prime were the next best thing to local legend, and when Abram needed to keep his hands busy at the station, he’d sketch parts of the soulmark they’d shared.

Better to have loved and lost, some people said.

Ivan wasn’t entirely sure about that one. Never had been.

He made himself stop fiddling with the warm tingle under his collarbone before Abram insisted on checking for damage. He might not have noticed. Nick had just realized he’d lost half his beer, and their paramedic friend was looking to put a hurt on someone. He roared so indignantly it made Abram bellow with laughter.

Ivan held up his hands, palms out, before Nick could pelt him with the half-melted ice. Cheeky little brat. My fault! Sorry, my fault. I’ll replace it.

Will you? Good. Nick tossed back the few sips of beer left to him and thrust the cup at Ivan. Start now.

Abram tipped his cup up. I wouldn’t mind a refill. If you’re going, that is.

Do I have a choice? Ivan asked, more or less rhetorically. He couldn’t stop grinning. Leaving aside the odd little aches and pains that came with getting older, there was just something about this stadium, this night, wasn’t there? He could feel it behind his eyes. A sense of something good, of anticipation, excitement, all making him feel like a kid again. More so than he had in years. Something that heated the blood and made him want to run and play, and he would swear it wasn’t just the game.

Nope, Abram and Nick said in unison. Nick winked at Ivan. Come on. Do your best barmaid impression.

Barmaid this, Ivan said, waving a joking fist at them. They razzed him.

Peanuts, too! Abram called. He put a casual arm around Nick’s shoulders. Widowers had more leeway. Even if Barrett smelled Abram on Nick later, the possessiveness wouldn’t kick in. Shouldn’t.

He had to stop spending so much time thinking about mates and soulmarks, Ivan decided. Beer was the best way possible to get started on that. Cups in hand, he threaded his way through the stadium seats and to the steps leading down, taking them two at a time in an easy jog.

* * * *

Robbie made a face as he squeezed beer out of the sleeve of his sweater. Leave it to Cade to get so excited about that last goal—not that it hadn’t been worth a few shouts—that he’d popped the lid off his cup and doused everyone within a three-foot radius. Robbie, standing nearest, had gotten the most soaked.

Still, there was only one grand opening night per coliseum, and Cade had willingly ponied up enough cash to pay for refills all around. Robbie couldn’t get too annoyed.

He might bring Cade a cup of ginger ale instead of beer, but such was an older brother’s prerogative.

Robbie grinned, smoothing down the recently-trimmed edges of his beard. Though he’d had it for years, it’d taken seemingly half as long to adjust to the change a beard made on him. Made him look older, especially now with threads of gray growing in, and made him look tougher, but overall he liked the differences. No one questioned his preference for silence—or other life choices—when he appeared tough enough to establish dominance with one hard look.

The crowd for concessions seemed almost as thick and congested as the horde packing the stadium stands. Robbie wondered if they’d double-sold the seats, counting on having as many people up and about checking out the coliseum and attached luxury lodges as were watching the game.

He’d rented a room for the night, himself. Just a precaution. If Cade and Nathaniel hadn’t calmed down by the time the winning touchdown was scored, they’d never manage to drive home safely. He’d had a look at the rooms in the brochure and his aching back had begged for a chance at a bed as soft as those promised to be. Even if he had to share the room with overexcited brothers, it’d be worth the indulgence.

Sleep might not be in the cards, but Robbie played the hand he was dealt.

He took his time ambling down the stairs and toward the snaking concession lines. Honestly, he wasn’t missing much outside the stadium. Coliseum management had made sure there were so many big screens mounted every few feet that it was almost as good as standing on the fifty-yard-line. Robbie rarely had the time to people-watch, and every now and then he took a notion to entertain himself. Plenty to look at here, he thought, just barely dodging a pair of youngsters racing pell-mell and hand-in-hand for the stadium mouth. He caught a passing glance at the soulmarks visible under the vees of their mostly-unbuttoned shirts as they galloped by him, the lines of the identical designs as stark and boldly black as new tattoos.

A rueful smile tugged at Robbie’s mouth. Young lovers. All the same, all the world over. Plenty of those to look at, if he chose.

Plenty of older couples, too. Everywhere Robbie turned his gaze, he seemed to pick the matched pairs every time. More than there should be, actually, for the size of an average crowd. Older couples with the silver ear cuffs marking twenty-five years together, younger ones with silly smiles and pink blushes, the shine not yet worn off their concealing wristbands or fingerless gloves if their marks weren’t in places easily kept private. Tall pairs and small ones, mismatches and odd couples.

And beyond those? The ones who were still looking, men and women of all ages who hadn’t given up hope yet and never would, their sleeves rolled back to display bare wrists and smooth hands. So many of them, all waiting for the day when they’d feel the red string of fate tugging them toward the other half of their soul. Once the soulmark developed, its owner could never rest easy or take a free breath until they’d satisfied the hunger for their true mate.

For better, or for worse. Mostly. For every rule, there was always an exception.

Robbie’s smile bent away into a faint frown. He thumbed at the spot on his chest that still nagged at him, demanding to be soothed, and scratched it with his short-cut fingernails. Taken together, the stuffiness of the area and the throng of people made him half-choke for want of a breath of fresh air.

Maybe he’d take a walk around the lodge’s gardens. If the brochure hadn’t lied, those were meant to be as spectacular as the rest of the accommodations. There had to be fewer people outside. He’d nearly started sweating, but his skin seemed too hot and dry for sweat to break through.

He caught himself against a wall before he fell, the world spinning dizzily in front of him.

Something’s wrong, he realized, determined to shoulder himself upright despite the tilting whirl of his vision. He took a deep breath even though the smell of new things and too many people wasn’t the most appealing perfume, and lifted his head.

Better? Robbie tested his balance. Yes, better. Still, what the hell…? He shook his head in an effort to clear it and pushed his hair back, away from his face. Time for another cut. He’d look even more like a Hells Angel if he didn’t. Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after—

Robbie stopped. He’d seen, in the mirror, just a passing glance of— But that couldn’t be right. Wouldn’t be.

He turned to scan the crowd, sifting through people as fast as he could identify one then another as a stranger. His heartbeat bumped in a too-fast, too-offbeat jig, and battered his ribs. He pressed his palm over his heart and hissed between his teeth.

Calm down, Robbie ordered himself. It’s nothing. You’re not used to crowds anymore, or this much adrenaline in the air. You’re imagining things. He’s not here.

But he was.

Robbie saw him again as he turned around by the concession stand. Tall, with a tousled head of autumn-colored hair falling in flyaway tumbles. A practical, sensible white shirt with the tie half-undone and at least four buttons open at the top. His hand pressed to the center of his chest, his lips parted, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown of confusion as he searched the crowd and—

And saw Robbie. Even ten feet away or more, Robbie saw the recognition kindle in his eyes.

Recognition and familiarity. He knew those eyes. He’d watched the lights change in them from so close that their eyelashes tangled. He’d grown older, as Robbie had, broader in the shoulders and even longer in the legs, and boasted a glimmer of paler color at his temples.

Ivan. Oh, God. Ivan.

Robbie brushed his fingertips across the slightly raised edges of his soulmark, and found it burning as hot as a brand. Fuck. He was an idiot not to have realized— But he’d kept that mark so hidden, so deliberately forgotten for so long, for as many years as he and Ivan had kept their distance, neither knowing where the other had gotten to or what they were doing with their lives.

He saw the shape of his name form on Ivan’s lips. Not only seen but recognized, too, even with the beard and the gray in his hair. He’d been barely twenty-one the last time he’d been in the same room as Ivan, and Ivan only just twenty-two. His soulmark had faded from stark black to barely-sepia since then, and months sometimes passed without him thinking about his mate.

Or so he’d liked to tell himself, even if it was a lie.

Ivan had seen him. He started toward Robbie, pushing people out of his way.

Robbie didn’t think before he reacted. Couldn’t. He turned his back, put his head down and half-tunneled, half-forced a path through the crowd that closed behind him like the Red Sea, throwing elbows all the way.

Ivan stopped, catching his balance more easily than he might at any other time. He couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood pressure and vertigo in his ears, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear the half-formed soulmark under his palm was hot enough to burn his hand.

Robbie always had been good at clearing a path. And hiding.

Robbie. God Almighty. He had to lean heavily against a barricade to catch his breath. Robbie.

He’d thought he’d never see Robbie again.

And if Robbie had had his way, Ivan wouldn’t have seen him tonight, would he?

Ivan’s lips firmed as he pressed them together. Robbie might be good at blazing a trail, but Ivan had taught him everything he knew. He could smell Robbie like no one else would be able to, the musky rawness of mate flooding his senses. More than that, he knew Robbie. Better than anyone ever had, at one point. He didn’t know where Robbie would go, or what he’d do once he got there, but he’d be damned if he could let the man walk away without so much as a hello.

Maybe more than that. Maybe.

Head down, stride long, Ivan plunged forward with the scent of his mate strong on the tip of his tongue.

Chapter Two

Or at least that’d been the idea. A strong hand on his arm drew Ivan to a halt. Nick had followed him to the concessions counter. Of course he had.

What’s going on? Nick asked.

Ivan didn’t recognize the sound that came out of his mouth. Less than a snarl, more than a growl. Something animal and feral.

Nick let go of him as if the touch of his skin burned and held both hands up, palms out. Whoa!

Everything all right? Abram’s height and bulk loomed behind Ivan. He didn’t touch Ivan. Kept his hands to himself. Smart man.

God knows, Nick said. His eyebrows were furrowed in a frown. He nearly took my head off just now.

Abram’s body went taut. Ivan could feel it, even with the inches of distance between them. Ah, he said. Ivan? Turn around and look at me.

Ivan couldn’t refuse. He wanted to, boy howdy, but he had too much cop in his DNA to refuse a direct order from someone the other parts of him recognized as dominant and elder. He struck a compromise right down the middle and craned his neck to shoot Abram a dark look over his shoulder. Abram’s lips tightened into a narrow line. He knew.

Nick didn’t. He wouldn’t, would he? Lucky bastard had grown a soulmark for a friend. He’d never had to chase Barrett because Barrett had been right there and happy to be taken. What’s going on? Nick demanded, frustration plain to see.

For God’s sake… Ivan fumbled the buttons of his shirt as he tugged them open. The cool night air on his soulmark made him shudder with something that wasn’t exactly relief. It’d faded from embossed jet to a milky tea stain over the years of separation from his mate, but no one could mistake a soulmark for anything else in the world. He heard Nick hiss in a breath.

I thought you didn’t have one, he said. Abram, you knew about this?

It isn’t my story to tell. Abram took three deliberate steps backward. Move to the side, Nick. Let him past you.

Nick cursed under his breath. He’d taken four steps to Abram’s three when his eyes met Ivan’s. Shit.

Shit indeed. Abram took Nick by the shoulder. He didn’t block Ivan’s path, but he didn’t relinquish Ivan’s attention just yet. You will come back to the room we’re sharing afterward and let us know you’re all right. Understood?

You’re not an animal. Ivan made himself nod, then pressed his palms to his face, hiding his eyes for the space of a few breaths. In, out. Cold, clear, good. Helped, some. Enough to let him offer Nick an unsteady, lopsided grin. I’ll be back. I promise.

Nick didn’t look reassured. You’d better. You want us to save your seat?

Abram clipped Nick affectionately across the back of the head. Don’t be an idiot. Take the beer the nice man bought you, then call your soulmate again and promise him a month’s worth of blowjobs for not being an obstreperous bastard.

Yeah, Nick said, giving Ivan a wary look. Might just do that.

Ivan rolled his eyes. He would have shot back one smartass comment or another if—if he—

A rush of cold, clean air cut through the miasma of the crowd, some of which were staring openly. Not that he gave too much of a damn. Not when his ears pricked and his nose filled with the almost uncut scent of mate again.

The gardens. Of course. That’d be just where Robbie would retreat. Ivan managed to pat Abram’s arm once in thanks before he put his head down and his feet forward, following.

* * * *

Robbie took a hard left out the side entrance to the coliseum. There, the structure met grounds that were still too new to have settled into their roots, but plentiful enough to lose himself in. He didn’t run, but he lengthened his stride. Running would draw stares, and those he didn’t want. He kept his head down, let the unbound length of his hair conceal his face and wedged his hands in his hip pockets to keep them steady.

Steady, and away from his soulmark. He imagined he’d be able to see the mark if he looked down, blazoned over his breastbone. He could barely remember a time when he hadn’t borne that mark. He and Ivan had been young when they’d met. Legally of age, but still so young. Too young to know what they were doing. Too young to make a life together.

Robbie realized he’d freed one hand from its confines and had covered his mark. He could feel the embossed lines beneath the pads of his fingertips, a swirling design with odd breaks and spiny juts. When it had first come in, he’d wondered what the sharp lines meant. Some called the symbolism of mark-patterns a myth, but he’d beg to differ.

His skin burned and his chest ached. He couldn’t draw a deep breath no matter how he tried.

Tried. Yes. They’d tried, Ivan and him. If good intentions were guarantees of success, they’d have been cracking jokes about tenth anniversaries right around now. But. But. Ivan came from a family of police, of detectives and precinct captains. Robbie’s family line clung to the wrong side of the tracks as far back as anyone could trace. He’d had two brothers to take care of. Ivan had expectations of college. Even if they’d had all the good intentions two boys could muster…

Well. It hadn’t been enough to keep them from tearing each other apart. Not enough to keep them together.

Robbie scraped his hair back and tied it around itself in a rough knot. Likely he had some rubber bands squirreled away in one pocket or another, but he didn’t trust himself to fiddle with anything delicate just then.

He’d come far enough away from the coliseum that the roar of background chatter had faded into a hum of white noise. Almost soothing. Cade and Nathaniel would wonder where he was, in a minute. They’d wait for halftime to look for him, but look for him they would. Nathaniel would have been too young to recognize Ivan at a glance now, but Cade would know him right away. He’d go off like a grenade.

God, but he was on fire. Ready to explode. His cock, stiff and sturdy behind his fly, ached and throbbed with each step, but Robbie didn’t stop. He kept going. One foot after the other. Steady. Fast.

Knowing all the while Ivan was right behind him. Close enough to touch, now.

He wouldn’t speak first? Robbie would do it for him. He braced his forearm against the bole of a sturdy young tree and spoke without turning his head. I should have known you’d be here, he said, breaking the silence with a crack like the ice on a pond with the first breath of spring. I should have remembered you’d come.

Ivan stopped, the scuff of his footsteps along the gravel path noticeable only for having gone quiet. I’d forgotten too, he said. His voice was as rich as molasses and bourbon. Robbie wanted to drink it down. It should have been finished a long time ago. What happened?

Really? You want to talk about the coliseum now?

You’d rather I talk about something else? Because there are a dozen things I could say, and you wouldn’t like any of them.

No more than you would. Robbie didn’t dare look back at Ivan, no matter how he might want to. Bad enough to feel him, the length and weight of his body a sharp sensory image, even though they hadn’t touched again. Yet. You shouldn’t be here. We agreed, a long time ago, to keep our distance. That it was better this way.

We did. Ivan moved closer, close enough for Robbie to feel the radiant heat of his body. Too hot, as if he were running a fever—which he would be. Robbie was. A dry heat that baked the skin from the inside, his soulmark hot as a brand. If he closed his eyes, he could see the design against the back of his lids. We did. A long time ago, we did.

Robbie kept his eyes closed. It took all the effort he didn’t spend otherwise to hold still. His body knew damned well what it wanted, and it didn’t care about arrangements or agreements or the common sense that warned him they were outdoors, and who knew who might be watching. Then why are you here?

I’d forgotten, Ivan said. That we made a promise to come here for the first game. I wasn’t thinking about that when I bought the tickets, I swear.

You shouldn’t have followed me out here, Robbie said. He meant it as a warning, but it didn’t sound like one, even to him.

I know. Ivan’s hand made firmer contact, fiery as an ember even through Robbie’s sweater. I do know, I just… You smell like a brewery.

The comment startled a laugh out of Robbie. You haven’t changed.

You have. Ivan’s body blanketed Robbie now. Cloaked him. Not heavily. Holding back, still, though Robbie could feel the iron-tight tension in the stiffness of his limbs. He sifted fingers through Robbie’s hair, drawing it away from his shoulder on the left side. Gray. When did you start to go gray?

Don’t know. Can’t remember.

Doubtful, Ivan said. His nose bumped the side of Robbie’s neck. His left arm hovered in the air as if he meant to put it around Robbie and pin them together. He breathed deep, tickling the spot just beneath Robbie’s ear, and set his lips barely over the lobe. But you smell the same, even with the spilled beer. Smoke, leather, maple… You smell like my mate. That hasn’t changed.

Robbie pressed his head to the coolness of the bark on the young tree. Didn’t much help, and in leaning forward he canted his ass back against Ivan. A sharp "Oh—" escaped him, matched by Ivan’s groan.

Hard. So hard. So hot, sending sparks up his spine. He would ache, already desperate for release. And yet…

You should go, Robbie said, his lips dry. Go now. Or I should.

Say no, and I’ll be gone. Ivan’s hands weren’t hesitant now. They held Robbie’s hips in an unforgiving grasp, pulling Robbie tight against him. God. Please say no. I can’t. You’re the tough one.

Robbie drew in a breath, or tried to. Ivan had touched his mouth to the back of Robbie’s neck, the barest hint of teeth in his kiss. He hadn’t been kissed in so long. Ivan held him too tightly. He didn’t bruise easily, but he’d have marks.

He’d—

He pressed his clenched fist to his soulmark. Ivan’s hand covered his.

Robbie knew better, he did, but he couldn’t stop himself. Nor could he say no.

His strength gave out, and he bowed his head.

This. This was why they’d promised to steer clear. Because they’d known—even at the end, they still hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other—what would happen if they ever dared to meet again, even once.

Just once. Once more. Just this once more. Robbie’s arms flexed against the length of the tree, its sturdiness the only thing that held him upright. The tree—and Ivan.

Ivan couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t. The line blurred. His lips, his teeth, they belonged on Robbie’s skin, over the old bite mark on the nape of his neck. Not breaking the skin, but the option was there if he chose to take it. Or if Robbie asked for it.

Whatever. Ivan couldn’t stop to care. He’d put his arm around Robbie somehow, some-when he didn’t remember, and tugged the man so close a whisper couldn’t have passed between them. He could feel Robbie’s heart pounding fast-fast-fast, pulse shaking him. If the tree weren’t there, they’d have fallen.

He’d tucked his thumb under Robbie’s belt. Robbie moaned, a low and hungry sound, and pushed his hips as far forward as he could. Not very. Enough, though, to nudge the edge of his cock against the side of Ivan’s hand. A far too empty hand.

The zipper would have died an untimely death if he’d tried to fiddle around with fastenings, so Ivan didn’t bother. Robbie never could buy a pair of jeans that fit right, not off the shelf, the waist always a half-inch roomier than it needed to be to accommodate the lushness of his ass. Firm with muscle, but high and round.

Ivan’s mouth watered. He pushed his hand fast, eager, down the front of the damned jeans and took Robbie in a messy-rough hold. Dampness slicked his fingers, and the smell of him nearly knocked Ivan down.

Robbie, too. He moaned, muffled this time with the low-hanging dip of his head, and pushed back as Ivan rocked forward, meeting in the middle. Ivan hissed and tightened his