Chapter Eleven

“How long do I wait, Nick? Fuck, I feel like I’m dying,” Devine growled, pacing their living room while a storm raged around their house.

Normally, he liked them. There was something beautiful about the raw, elemental power of a winter storm in South Jersey. Waves crashed angrily against the shore and lightning broke the cloudy gray black sky apart into tiny ethereal fragments every time it struck. Winter was coming in quickly.

“I am not the one who’s mated, brother,” Nicholas reminded him. “But if I had to guess, I would give her time to heal. I mean, you fucked up big time. Asking her to mate me, for one thing, which would be the best idea for any female since I am better looking, funnier, smarter, and my dick is bigger—what? Why are you wearing that expression?”

Dev, I am sorry. Sorry, love. So sorry.

“Did you hear that?” Devine asked—ignoring the whole bigger dick comment, which was a total lie, and turning to face Nicholas.

“Hear what?”