All over Bubbles

[macca44552]

Title: All over Bubbles (Chapter 39)

Author: macca44552
Pairings: J/P, P/G
Rating: NC-17

Warnings: sexual situations, drug and alcohol use, language

Summary: John notices something that pisses him off: George has a thing for Macca. So John settles this in the only way he knows how: a bet. Who will win Paul’s heart: John or George? And how does Ringo feel about this whole thing?

A/N: Ah yes, another chapter! There are only 4 more left until the end! :D Also, lately, I’ve been getting into the habit of writing and posting these entries at increasingly late hours. I should probably…not. :/

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Beatles, nor do I claim to. This is a fictional story and is not written to be libelous.

Chapters 1-38


Chapter 39

Ringo was just wrapping his head around the fact that Paul had slept with John after just having slept with George (Paul couldn’t even wait a whole day!?!?) before the door slammed open and the subject of their conversation came into view.

“A bet!?!?!” Paul said incredulously. Every single muscle in Paul’s body was tense, his veins were popping out, and he was turning so red that Ringo had thought for a moment that he had forgotten to breathe. Ringo licked his lips as his heart hammered away in his chest. He had hoped that this moment would never happen-he had hoped that Paul would never find out about the bet. After all, he was only the moderator, and it was killing him watching this bet play out. He couldn’t imagine how Paul was feeling.

Then again, he couldn’t imagine how George and John were feeling either.

“So that’s all this fucking is, then? A BET!?!” Paul screamed as he brutally hit the door against the wall again. George was staring determinedly at the ground, his face tense and his arms crossed. John was leaning against the wall casually, an impassive look on his face.

“After everything that I’ve done, THAT’S IT?!? It was all just for a stupid fucking bet!?!? Huh, is that it!?” Paul stared between the three of them, giving Ringo an extra-long look of anger.

“ANSWER ME!!!!” Paul bellowed when no one spoke. John cringed in annoyance.

“Fuck, Paul! Are you trying to blow me soddin’ eardrums out!?!” John barked. Ringo gulped when Paul’s eyes seemed to pop an inch out of his skull.

“Oh I’m sorry, John,” Paul said in a voice that made Ringo’s blood run cold, “AM I DISTURBING YOU!!?!?!” Paul yelled in John’s ear.

John shrugged and started inspecting the dirt beneath his fingernails. “A bit, yeah.”

Ringo quickly looked at the ground, not wanting to see the look on Paul’s face. It wasn’t as if he was afraid of Macca, he just wasn’t used to seeing him in this state. Ringo knew how to handle John when he was upset, and he knew how to handle George when he was upset. Paul was another issue.

“Did you do this? Did you start this bet?” Paul asked John in a deadly whisper. John snorted.

“So what if I did? Are you going to spank me...again?” he retorted. Paul clenched his fists as he visibly shook.

“How long has this been going on!?” Paul asked. John rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter?”

“How long has this been going on!?!?” Paul growled.

“Does it matter!!?”

“HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON!!?!?!!”

“Since the beginning of the tour!” George answered before John and Paul could kill each other. Ringo looked over at his best mate and noticed that George was still staring at the ground somberly, his expression torn. Paul stared between all three of them with a livid expression before he threw his hands up in the air.

“Oh! So you’ve been doing this little experiment for almost a month! Fan-fucking-tastic!!” Paul exclaimed.

“Paul...” Ringo started. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell him that he was sorry for letting the bet take place--sorry for not putting his foot down when John refused to let it end, and sorry for not telling him about it even though he knew that it was hurting him. But none of these words left Ringo’s mouth. His throat closed up and his words died before they even got the chance. It didn’t seem to matter much either, because Paul appeared to not have heard him anyway.

“So tell me, was I a good subject!?!? Are you glad that you finally got to see which one of you could turn Paul McCartney into a filthy queer!!!?” he shouted. “Because, you know, I’m glad. Actually, I wish that I would have known about this bet sooner!!! I would have loved to have gotten in on this! Corr, it must have been fun tossing me around like a piece of rubbish, lying, and messing with my fucking head!!”

“Come off it Paul. You’re one to talk about lying and tossing people around, aren’t you!?” John responded evenly. Paul stared at him incredulously.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Paul asked through clenched teeth.

“Like you don’t know? Fuck, Paul, you know exactly what I’m talking about!” John challenged and Paul bristled immediately.

“That wasn’t the same thing! I was trying to look out for you lot!! I was trying to make everyone happy-I wasn’t doing it for my sick fucking enjoyment like you!!”

“That’s a load of shite, Paul!!! You weren’t looking out for us!! You were looking out for your own bloody prick!!”

“Oh, and like you would know ANY-FUCKING-THING ABOUT CARING FOR OTHER PEOPLE?!!!” Paul yelled so loudly that his voice cracked.

“AND YOU WOULD!?!” John yelled even louder before pointing at George, “You promised him that you were gonna move your stuff into his room!! Then what happened?! You ended up getting fucked by me!! Yeah, good work caring about him!!”

“Don’t drag me into this John!!” George yelled, finally looking up from the floor, “Not five minutes ago you were gloating about how Paul came crawling back to you!! Don’t pretend as if we’re on the same fucking side!” George finished.

“We are on the same fucking side, you little twit! He used us! He’s the one who messed with our heads!! And, now what?! He finds out that the same thing’s been happening to him and he thinks that he’s the only one who deserves a soddin’ apology?!?! Fuck that!” John loudly explained. It took everything in Ringo’s power not to confront John about his words. In actuality, he was right. A whole fucking slew of apologies needed to be handed out at that moment, and not just to Paul. The thing that was bothering Ringo was John’s proclamation that he had been ‘used’ and ‘messed with’. When John and Paul had first gotten together, John knew that Paul was fucking around with George, but he hadn't seemed all that bothered by it! And when Paul had sex with George and then went back to John, it sounded as if Paul explained everything to him before they slept together. So…why was John so upset? He was happy a few minutes ago-ecstatic, in fact-so why the change?

“Just don’t drag me into this,” George repeated. John threw his hands up in frustration.

“Fine. If you wanna stand there and let Paul walk all over you, then be my fucking guest! But I’m actually going to stand up for myself, if that’s not a fucking problem with you! Paul’s been acting like a right slut and I’m not going to stand here and let him accuse me of doing the SAME FUCKING THINGS that he’s been doing!!!” John screamed, gasping for breath once he had finished.

“You know what!!” Paul suddenly thundered, “I’m fucking leaving!! I don’t need to explain myself to ANY OF YOU!!!” he yelled as he sharply turned around and walked out of the bathroom. Ringo, finding himself, quickly bolted after him. Nothing was going to get resolved if Paul just avoided the problem. And certainly nothing was going to get resolved if they just fucking yelled at each other all day. They needed to properly talk about things.

“Paul! Wait! Can’t we just sort this out!?” Ringo called after him. Paul turned around abruptly.

“I can’t believe you let this happen!” he growled before he turned around again. Ringo licked his lips and struggled for something to say. Paul was right. He shouldn’t have let this happen! He should have put a stop to this when John dragged him into the bathroom at the beginning of the tour!! And now his three best mates were at odds with each other and it was all his fault.

“Don’t blame Ritch! He wanted to end the bet, but I wouldn’t let him!” John yelled as both he and George came out of the bathroom. Paul stared at everyone furiously before he let out a little sadistic laugh.

“Well, what’s done is done, right? I’m glad you’ve all had your laugh!”

“Oh go cry somewhere else, would you!?!” John responded harshly and Ringo quickly shot him a disdainful look.

“No, John,” the way Paul said John’s name made Ringo visibly shudder, “I’m not going to cry! I’m not going to cry over a bunch of pricks who pretended to care about me for some stupid fucking experiment! Actually, I might just celebrate! Because at least now I know that I have a bunch of cruel, pathetic, and fucking repulsive people as my friends,” Paul seethed before he whipped around and walked out of their suite, slamming the door so hard that the room shook.

No one said anything for a few minutes, and for that, Ringo was glad. Beyond all the anger, Ringo could see the genuine hurt in Paul’s eyes when he left their suite. It was scary and it made Ringo feel more than a little uncomfortable. Everything between them was falling apart. And if Paul didn’t even want to try anymore, then what would happen? Would the Beatles disband within the end of the year? Would the bubble finally burst!? And what would Ringo do-what would Ringo do without his best mates by his side!? Could this bet really destroy everything?

“Well thanks for your help in there, Harrison! Appreciate it!” John’s grainy voice cut into the silence. Oh fuck.

“You were doing fine making Paul hate you on your own. You didn’t need my help!” George retorted as he crossed his arms and faced John. Ringo closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Another row. Just what they needed.

“Oh what’s this? Still holding out for Paul, are you!?!” John squinted at him. George rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be thick,” George growled. John snorted.

“Well that’s what it fucking looks like!! What?! When Paul comes back are you going to have him sit on your lap so you can rub his fucking back and tell him how sorry you are!? Is that your plan, Harrison!?”

“Just because I didn’t want to yell like a fucking loon and make everything worse doesn’t mean that I want to get back with him! ‘Cause honestly John, you can fucking have him!”

“Oh really? Thanks for your approval, but I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t fucking matter! Paul’s gonna end up being with me no matter what! He’d never choose someone like you!!”

“Someone like me!?” George challenged as he stepped closer to John. Ringo cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Come on! Do you really think it’s the time for-” Ringo started.

“Fuck off, Ritch!” John said before he pointed to George, “Yeah, someone like you! Someone who’s weak, naïve, and lets people walk all over him!”

“I’m not weak!” George thundered, taking a step closer to John, “You’re just mad because I wouldn’t side with you and yell at Paul!! Fuck John, you haven’t spoken to me civilly since the start of this fucking bet, and then you thought that I would just up and side with you!?! After all that!?! And especially after you just got through with making me feel like shite because of what Paul did?! No. I wasn’t going to agree with you just because you decided that you wanted me on your side!!! How’s that for letting people walk all over me!!?” George yelled.

“You’re a fucking idiot! You think that you’re all tough but you’re not! You’re just a fucking stupid kid!”

“And you’re just a shallow, temperamental git who makes everyone else feel fucking terrible just so you don’t have to deal with your own issues!!” George howled, getting closer. John practically turned purple.

“Get the fuck away from me, you son of a bitch!”

“Well then stop talking for five fucking minutes! No one wants to hear you!” George yelled. Everything that happened next went by in a flash. Ringo watched as the room buzzed in and out of focus-John and George threw a few more indistinguishable insults at each other before John had stepped forward, fist raised high, and made to punch George in the face. The latter was quick though-in a flash he had ducked and avoided John’s assault, pushing the older man away instead. But Ringo’s vision continued to swirl and the sounds around him kept their cacophonic edge as John rebounded swiftly, grabbed George by the collar, and threw him across the room. Finally, Ringo’s senses came back into focus as a sharp, cracking sound filled the room-George’s head hitting the opposite wall.

He didn’t have time to think. Less than a second after George had hit the wall was enough time to cause Ringo’s body to overflow with panic. With a spastic heart, he ran over to George, but quickly froze when a strangled cry from John erupted around the room.

“George! Fuck!” John had reached the guitarist before him, and was kneeling by George’s side instantly.

“Are you alright?” John asked as he softly tangled his hand in George’s head, searching for the injury.

“George?! Is everything okay?” Ringo asked as he watched-a bit mesmerized-John tilt up George’s head and search for a wound in an almost…motherly fashion.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay,” George said as he felt around his own head, “I think there’s gonna be a bump there later, though,” he frowned.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, mate. Does it hurt?” inquired John. George bit his bottom lip boyishly and shrugged.

“Dunno. It aches more than anything. Like…throbs,” George added unnecessarily. John stood up quickly.

“I’m going to get you some ice,” he stated strongly as he went over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Hoping that his mouth wasn’t hanging open, Ringo watched this whole scene with an awkward curiosity.

“John, you don’t have to do that!” George called.

“I pushed you into the bloody wall! Now I’ve got to be your nurse. You know, to repent for my sins,” John grinned as he kneeled beside George again and held the ice to his head. George cracked a smile.

“You’re going to be my nurse?! Who’s getting punished here, you or me?”

“Probably me, because at least you get to fantasize about my body,” John quipped.

“Oh yeah. All the time,” George rolled his eyes before he twitched uncomfortably, “Hey! You’re putting the ice on the wrong spot!”

“Well I’m not a soddin’ mind reader! Your whole bloody head is one deformed bump, how was I supposed to know the difference?”

“Here. I’ve got it,” George said as he grabbed the towel full of ice and placed it over the correct bump. John squinted and frowned as he continued to inspect George’s scalp.

“You’re not bleeding, right?” he asked.

“Not that I know.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time,” John smiled and George laughed at his remark. For one thing, Ringo was fucking stunned. After everything that had happened between the two of them-after they had pushed each other out of the way to take care of Paul, drew dirty looks whenever one of them entered the room, beat each other up with a pair of pants, had a loud screaming match that culminated in the destruction of John’s favorite inanimate object, and after they had blissfully ignored each other in their pursuits of Paul-that was it!? They had a fight, George got hurt, and now they were mates again?! After all that… one little moment had managed to bring them back together?!

“Hey, let’s move over to the couch, yeah? You can lie down,” John said as he grabbed George’s arm and led the stumbling guitarist over towards the couch. Then, Ringo realized, of course it was one little moment that had brought them together again! Because, with all four of them, their friendship had always been like that; their friendship had always been simple. There was no trying to pull them together, they just came together. No matter the circumstances.

“On the bright side, I’m sure you’ll pull loads of birds with your new lumpy head,” John said, fluffing the pillows underneath George’s skull. Ringo noticed that George’s face held a light flush-he was almost beaming from the attention that John was giving him-and Ringo realized that he was thankful that John had decided to tend to George’s wound. He was doing a hell of a better job than he would have been able to do.

“Really? You’ve given me hope,” George deadpanned and John laughed loudly.

“No seriously, girls love blokes who are all beaten up. They’ll think that you were in the war,” explained John. George covered his face with his hand.

“Not again,” George said with a smile. John raised his eyebrows in curiosity and George chuckled before explaining further, “On that day that I went around Canada with Mal and Neil, there was a taxi driver who asked me if I was in World War II!”

“Corr…did you ask him if he’d been in World War I?”

“No! But I thought about it!” George finished and both of them laughed. A broad smile was forming on Ringo’s face at the sight of his two friends talking again. “But anyway, why would a bird care if I’ve been in a war?!” George asked. John patted his shoulder affectionately and condescendingly at the same time.

“Because she’ll think that you can protect her! But then, you know, you’ll have to have something to offset the war thing-you’ve got to make her think that you’re sensitive as well. Maybe you could grow a beard,” John said, stroking his chin. George laughed.

“Bloody hell!”

As Ringo continued to watch his two friends, there was an unsettling feeling that had manifested in his stomach. He was more than relieved that things seemed to be alright between John and George, but he still couldn’t help but worry about Paul. Macca had seemed pretty fucking upset when he had left, and he wanted to apologize and make sure that he was okay. Maybe he could talk to Paul before he came back? That way, he might be able to dispel some of the negative feelings on Paul’s part, and then the four of them could talk about everything in more of a civil manner. Maybe the four of them could move past this lousy bet and just be mates again.

“I’m going to go look for Paul,” Ringo said, cutting into a strange conversation that George and John had been having about dishware. Both of them looked up immediately, apparently surprised that he was even there.

“You are? I’ll come!” John said.

“I’ll come too!” George said instantly. Ringo shook his head.

“No, I’ll go. I don’t think Paul really fancies seeing either of you at the moment,” Ringo said. In reaction to Ringo’s words, George looked down at the ground and John scowled. Before any of them could object, Ringo was out the door and searching the corridor for Paul.

And he didn’t think that he would have to search. He suspected that Paul would be right outside the door, sitting in the hallway. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. He searched up and down the corridor for ten minutes, but it was evident after the first five that Paul wasn’t there.

Neither Mal nor Neil happened to know where Paul was, but they helped Ringo search by asking all the guards whether or not Paul had gotten past them. After all, there were security guards placed at every exit, if Paul had left their floor, then one of them must have seen Paul go by.

“Who again?” a tall, daft guard asked.

“Paul. You know, one of the Beatles,” Neil asked in annoyance. The guard shook his head.

“Nope. I didn’t let anyone pass,” he answered.

Actually, that’s what all the guards answered. No one had let a single person leave the floor in over an hour. With this information, Ringo’s stomach turned and he started to get nervous. There was still one room on the floor that they hadn’t looked; Ringo had purposefully neglected to check this room until now because, if Paul had turned out not to be in there, the manager that resided in that room would have had a fucking breakdown, and the whole hotel would have gone into lockdown. It was better to keep Brian in the dark until the last minute, just in case Paul had decided to turn up. Unfortunately, it was painstakingly clear that Paul was not on their Beatle floor. If he was, then he had to be in Brian’s room. If he wasn’t…

“Hello Richard,” Brian responded when he opened his door to see Ringo standing outside of it, “Did you need something?” he added, wiping some lint off of his pants. Ringo swallowed heavily.

“Erm…is..is Paul with you?” he asked nervously and his heart sank when Eppy frowned.

“No, he’s not. Why?” he asked, staring at him sharply. Ringo closed his eyes before he sighed deeply.

“Because…we have a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as expected, Eppy had had a nervous breakdown. He had called in extra police forces to come into the hotel and search the area. It hadn’t gone all that well, because the police didn’t have sufficient enough evidence to determine whether or not Paul had been kidnapped (Ringo shivered at the thought), so they were forced to just assume that he hadn’t been snatched up. Because of this, they weren’t allowed to search through any of the guests’ rooms-that would be breaking some stupid amendment that Ringo didn’t really care all that much about. The only thing that mattered to him was getting Paul back. And it was frustrating because the police weren’t really doing anything!!! They weren’t allowed to search the rooms, so they were just patrolling the hallways, hoping that Paul would turn up! Eppy told him that the police were also knocking on all the guests’ doors and asking if they could search their rooms. It was stupid though, because the guests could refuse and the police weren’t allowed to do anything about it, lest they break the stupid fucking law!!

Ringo felt absolutely fucking powerless. It was the most horrible feeling in the world. He had told George and John that Paul was missing. George seemed really worried while John rolled his eyes and said that Paul was probably just shagging a bird as always.

At least, that was John’s reaction after the first hour. When the large hand had jogged around the clock three more times, and Paul had been missing for almost four hours, John’s reaction changed immediately.

He went through periods of staring blankly at the ground to full-on screaming at some of the police officers. On one occasion, John came over to Ringo and started talking about some scheme to plant fake evidence, that way the police would be forced to assume that Paul had been kidnapped and then be allowed to properly search each and every fucking room in the hotel. Ringo talked him out of it immediately, though. The last thing they needed was for John to get arrested.

John wouldn’t allow George to get up off the couch, he didn’t want him to inadvertently injure his head, so George was stuck fidgeting on the sofa relentlessly, asking John and Ringo for bits of news every few seconds, and frowning when there was none. Eventually, George stopped listening to John, and he got up off the couch, pacing around the room and questioning every single police officer that he came into contact with. John didn’t even stop him.

Ringo was filled with the overpowering need to help. After all, this was his fault, wasn’t it? If he had never agreed to this bet, then Paul never would have gotten pissed off at them, and he never would have left and gotten kidnapped! Because, even though the police couldn’t confirm that Paul had been taken, there was a deep, frayed knot in his chest that told him that Paul was not alright; that told him that Paul was not safe. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he’d rather be a paranoid git than never see his friend again. And the worst part was that he couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it!!! Brian had ordered all three of them to stay on their floor, just in case Paul really had been captured. He wanted to keep the other three Beatles safe. What Brian didn’t understand was that the three of them would probably willingly allow themselves to be captured, as long as their kidnapper led them to Paul. At least then there was a chance that they could find the psycho and rescue Paul. At least then they could be together.

John was nervously chain-smoking beside him, leaning against the wall and watching the police officers. Ringo would have been smoking as well, but his fingers shook every time he took them out of his pocket, so he thought that it would be best to leave them there. George was talking to Eppy, a look of panic on his face.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Ritch,” John said, barely audible. Ringo nodded, not able to find his voice. “Paul’s gone and gotten himself kidnapped, I know it. I’ll fucking kill the son of a bitch that took him. I swear I will,” John growled, clenching his cigarette in his hand. The panic had built up so fierce and great inside of Ringo that he could only nod at John’s words as he glanced around the police-covered hallway.

And then Ringo spotted it. An exit. Completely uncovered. Well, there were a few officers standing in front of it, but their backs were currently turned and Ringo could easily slip past them if he wanted.

“Where are you going?” John asked from a place behind him, but Ringo was hardly listening. All he could do was inch cautiously towards the guards, take advantage of a point in their conversation when they closed their eyes and doubled over in laughter, and snake right past them into the exit.

Once he was certain that they hadn’t seen him, Ringo started off at a run. He ran down the stairs, missing a few on the way down and nearly stumbling off to his death. That didn’t matter though. He needed to find Paul. Needed to find Paul. Needed to find him.

He stopped by every floor and quickly looked up and down the hallway before a guard saw him. Then, he sprinted down the stairs further until he was on the third or fourth landing. Even though he was hardly doing more than the police were doing, at least he was doing something. He needed to do something; he couldn’t just wait.

He was making his way down to another landing when he stopped dead in his tracks. Someone else was there; a man. He was leaning casually against the poorly painted wall, his dirty blonde hair was short and it stood up on his head.

“Well well. If it isn’t another Beatle,” he spoke in a rich southern accent. Ringo felt fire erupt in his chest.

“Did you take him?” Ringo accused prematurely, stepping down to the landing that the other man was on.

“Who’s asking?” he responded casually. Ringo clenched his fists.

“Me. And a whole lot of police are asking too,” he threatened. The man smiled.

“The police? Aw, that doesn’t seem necessary. Peter and I were just having a bit of fun,” he responded, tensing slightly. Ringo flushed.

“His name’s Paul.”

“Right. Well it doesn’t matter what his name is. I reckon tons of people’ll be wanting to pay a large sum of money for a bit of Beatles paraphernalia.”

“What are you talking about?” Ringo asked, eyeing this man carefully.

“I just mean that a few locks of his hair, maybe his shirt and a pair of pants, would sell pretty well on the streets, isn’t that right?” he asked, smiling condescendingly. Ringo clenched his teeth.

“Where is he!?!”

“He’s with me. And I’ll give him to ya as long as you march up there, call off the police, and give me some cash. Oh, and a few things to sell, if you don’t mind,” he grinned widely, showing a row of white teeth. Ringo looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re in a fucking expensive hotel. Why the fuck do you need all this money!?”

“Ah. Well, the thing about having money is that you always want more of it,” he responded simply as he took out a piece of paper, looked at briefly, then enclosed it around his fist. Ringo shook his head.

“No. I’m not giving you anything! You’re going to give me my friend,” Ringo said as the anger threatened to consume him, reminding him of his teddy boy days.

“Son, I was raised in Alabama. I don’t know what tea-sipping, crumpet eating castle you come from, but do you really want to fight with me!?” the man challenged, bringing himself up to his full height; he was about three or four inches taller than Ringo. But that didn’t matter, because in that instant the need to protect Paul, the need to get him back, spurred on the anger in Ringo’s chest, and he watched-through someone else’s eyes, it seemed-as his fist collided with the stupid yank’s face and sent the man tumbling on his arse. Ringo shook his fist as it ached painfully-he hadn’t punched anyone in ages.

“I wasn’t raised in a castle,” Ringo spat, trying not to feel guilty about punching the arrogant man. The stranger quickly stood up and touched his bleeding, swollen lip, before he threw Ringo a disdainful look.

“Deal’s off. You can go to hell. From what I’ve heard, your friend doesn’t want you anywhere near him anyway,” the man whispered as he turned around and left through the door on the landing. Ringo was about to go after him, but he realized that he didn’t need to. The bit of paper that the man had been previously fiddling with was on the ground, and Ringo picked it up quickly. It was an autograph-Paul’s autograph.

A man from Alabama with Paul McCartney’s autograph. Ringo reckoned that that had to be enough evidence for the police to pull up the man’s hotel records (how many people from Alabama would be staying in a hotel in Missouri anyway?) and search his room. Ringo hoped that this was enough evidence to save his mate.

And, more than anything, he hoped that his mate wanted to be saved.

To be continued… 4 more chapters!

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