Ryder studied the small group on the rooftop in silent amusement as battle-hardened, ruthless assassins were turned into a bunch of bumbling idiots over a girl.

Not that he could blame them.

The instant Morgan set her dainty foot in the Academy, their lives had been irrevocably changed.

Kincade had been watching her from afar for years, and she’d slipped under his guard. No matter how hard he tried, the too serious, surly soldier couldn’t shake his infatuation with her.

Even now, Kincade fussed over Morgan, covering her with another blanket, which to Ryder’s count was number five.

She didn’t complain, dutifully snuggling under the covers, then smiling brilliantly up at the gargoyle in thanks. Kincade was so dazzled by that smile, he practically tripped over the chair behind him.

She had no idea of her effect on him…on any of them, really.

Ascher and Draven sat on the ground, playing cards on a coffee table. Draven hid behind his devil-may-care attitude, but he was hounded relentlessly by demons from his past. Morgan was like a bright light piercing his darkness, leaving the siren both amused and baffled, since he’d never run across anyone immune to his charms. It seemed to strip Draven of all his confidence. The siren didn’t try to work his magic on her—Morgan mattered, and Draven knew it. He didn’t want to risk fucking anything up.

Ascher leaned lightly against her leg, every so often touching her foot or inhaling her scent. He’d been around her the longest, knew her the best, but his subterfuge whilst in his hellhound form put a certain awkward distance between them, leaving the hellhound uncertain of where he stood, which Ryder understood all too well.

Though Ryder didn’t trust the mutt completely, he admitted the hellhound was a good choice for a protector. Even better, he was completely devoted to their girl.

Atlas cleaned his weapons some distance away, and Ryder was slightly disturbed to see the elf discreetly studying Morgan with a confused, unsatisfied expression. Ryder didn’t trust the damned elf. His kind cared only for duty and honor and their homeland.

Since they’d confirmed Morgan carried royal blood in her veins, Atlas’s fascination with her only grew. Ryder didn’t like it. To Atlas, Morgan was a way to regain everything he’d lost, a way to restore the tarnished honor he wore around him like a cloak, a way to free himself from the self-impose exile he took in penance for his sins.

But, against his will, Ryder admitted the bastard honestly cared for their girl, willing to go to hell—or the primordial realm as it were—for her.

When Morgan caught Atlas staring, she gave him a small smile.

Atlas scowled and went back to his work, but Ryder saw the way the elf’s eyes lingered on her when he thought no one was looking. It was easy to recognize that longing, the need to belong—Ryder felt it himself every time he saw their ferocious little Morgan strut around the school.

She didn’t seem to notice their faults, and none of the guys knew how to react when she turned those striking blue eyes of hers on them.

To his amusement, each of the guys kept unconsciously sneaking peeks at her, inspecting her injuries, and generally making sure she was comfortable.

They were worried, and so was he.

She’d come a long way since she first arrived. She no longer flinched when one of them approached, even allowing them to fuss over her—not because she needed it, but because she knew it made them feel better.

A lot of pressure rested on her small shoulders. With their help, she would be able to withstand anything…but not without a lot of training.

She was reckless, without an ounce of self-preservation, and it terrified him shitless.

He would have to watch her more closely, and protect her from herself.

He absently touched the black, metallic webbing that stretched up along his stomach, marveling that she had claimed him.

He never thought his lowly self, a bitten wolf, would ever be worthy of being claimed, much less by someone like her. Whenever she was near, his wolf wanted to burst free from his skin and beg for her touch.

His beast was braver than Ryder—the wolf didn’t worry about rejection, didn’t understand the consequences of his actions. Ryder couldn’t help but be envious of the freedom.

He was two hundred pounds of solid muscle. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, he could turn into a vicious animal at a drop of a hat when riled—not a stellar combination when making friends, much less even talking to a girl.

But Morgan didn’t seem to care.

Ryder didn’t give a shit about the mating marks. He’d been hers the instant she smiled at him with such joy as she ran next to him while he was in his wolf form. The marks only gave others visible proof of her claim on him.

He traced the obsidian metal webbing running up his chest and along his shoulder, where an inch-long spider sat perched, a graphic display of ownership he wore with pride. It was similar to the dainty spiderweb marking the inside of her small hand, and wicked pleasure tore through him when he saw them etched on her body. Even his wolf seemed smug when he spotted his own pawprint stamped on her flesh like a tag of possession.

Warmth hummed along the connection, and he glanced up to find Morgan watching him.

Ryder froze, unable to drop his gaze as heat raced through him.

It felt like she’d reached across the room and run her hand along the markings on his chest.

He instantly hardened, her phantom touch leaving him panting for more.

Then Kincade asked her a question, drawing her attention, and the spell broke.

Just one small look from her, and his heart slammed against his ribs, his wolf clawing to get out. But along with the pleasure was a darker emotion—how close she came to nearly dying to save his worthless hide. She risked everything for him, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make sure she never regretted her decision.

Whether she admitted it or not, nearly losing them affected her as well, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Though she proved she would do anything for them, it also left her in grave danger if anyone discovered her weakness for them.

After what happened, they could no longer put her magic back in the bottle. The torque would help her with control, but she still had a long road ahead of her. While the creatures of the primordial realm would leave her alone for now, they wouldn’t forget—or forgive—what happened.

In a burst of pain, claws snicked out of his fingertips at the thought of anyone taking her away from them, and he quickly curled his hands into fists to hide the change, ducking his head so no one would notice the way his teeth lengthened.

While Morgan deserved better than lowly assassins, no one would protect her better or care for her more—even with their rough edges and broken pasts. It was up to them, as her protectors, to ensure she was prepared for what was to come, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

To him, being chosen as her mate was worth any price.