HELD BY THE GORILLAS

"I’d write,” she said finally.

The words landed softer than she expected.

Jamal turned fully this time, giving her his full attention. “Yeah?”

She nodded once, a little more firmly. “Yeah.”

Malik’s gaze lingered on her, something thoughtful moving behind his eyes. “What kind of writing?”

Naomi shrugged lightly. “Stories. People. Things that matter.” Her mouth curved faintly. “Things that aren’t predictable.”

Jamal grinned. “Sounds like you’re in the right place, then.”

She huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head slightly. “Maybe.”

Naomi tipped her head, curiosity shifting again. “What about you?”

Jamal’s grinned. “What about us?”

“E.S.E.,” she clarified. “How did you end up here?”

Malik set the knife down, wiping his hands slowly before turning to face her properly.

“We protect people,” he said. “We always have.”

Jamal picked up where his brother left off. “Communities. Shifters. Humans when they need it. With ESE we get paid to do what comes naturally for us.”

“You make it sound very … natural,” she said.

“It’s not for most,” Jamal replied.

Malik’s gaze held hers. “But it is for us.”

She looked between them—really looked this time. At the way they held themselves.

“You give up a lot for that,” she said.

Jamal shrugged. “It’s worth it.”

Dinner came together not long after. Jamal carried the main dish to the table, setting it down with quiet care, while Malik followed with sides, their movements as seamless as everything else they’d done.

“What is all this?” she asked. “It smells amazing.”

“Jollof rice,” Jamal said, gesturing toward the rich, vibrant dish. “Tomato base, spices, slow-cooked beef.”

Malik nodded toward another plate. “Suya. Spiced chicken. It is a traditional Nigerian dish.”

“And this?” she asked, eyeing the final dish.

“Plantains,” Jamal said. “Fried.”

Naomi smiled faintly. “You’re spoiling me.”

“We’re taking care of you,” Malik corrected.

She didn’t argue with that. They sat together at the table, the atmosphere shifting into something quieter, more contained.

Naomi took her first bite. Paused. Then looked up at them.

“This is really good,” she said.

Jamal grinned. “Told you.”

Malik’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes eased.

Naomi ate slowly, deliberately, letting herself enjoy it.

Letting herself … be here with them.

She set her fork down after a moment, her gaze shifting between them again. “Can I ask you something?”

Jamal leaned back slightly. “You’ve been doing that all night.”

“Yeah, but this one matters.”

That got their attention.

Malik inclined his head slightly. “Go on.”

Naomi hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

“This … thing,” she said, gesturing lightly between them. “The way you both … are with me.”

Jamal went very still, and Malik’s gaze sharpened.

Naomi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Is this connection I feel … a mating bond?”

The silence that followed was immediate. Heavy.

Naomi blinked once, her lips parting slightly as she looked between them. At their faces and the complete lack of humor there.

She let out a quiet breath, something dangerously close to a laugh catching in her throat.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Naomi sat back slightly, her pulse kicking up a notch as the realization settled in.

She had expected—something else. Anything else.

But not that.

Her gaze flicked between them again, searching for something—denial, maybe, or at least a hint that this wasn’t as serious as it suddenly felt.

She didn’t find it. Not even a little.

****

Malik had faced down men twice his size without flinching.

He had stood in rooms where a single wrong word would have triggered violence, where control was the only thing standing between order and chaos. He had learned, early and thoroughly, how to hold his ground, how to measure his responses, how to choose his words with precision.

None of that helped him now. Naomi’s question sat between them, quiet and absolute.

Is this connection I feel … a mating bond?

Malik glanced once at Jamal, catching the same tension in his brother’s posture, the same awareness that this moment mattered in a way nothing else had in the last three days.

Then he looked back at her.

“Yes,” he said.

Naomi exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping briefly to the table before lifting again. “Okay.”

She wasn’t panicking, just processing. Malik respected that.

“It happened outside your hospital room,” Jamal said, his voice lower than usual, stripped of its usual edge. “The first time we scented you.”

Naomi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Scented me?”

Malik inclined his head. “Smelt your scent. It’s part of what we are.”

She nodded once, accepting that without pushing further. “And?” she prompted.

Jamal let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down the back of his neck. “It wasn’t subtle. It hit like…” He stopped, shook his head once. “Like something snapping into place that we didn’t know was missing.”

He glanced at Malik.

“It was recognition,” Malik said quietly. “Of something deeper than instinct, but just as certain.” He held her gaze as he spoke. “It dropped us to our knees.”

Naomi blinked.

“Physically?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Malik watched the moment understanding shifted in her expression—not fully formed, not complete, but enough that she realized this wasn’t something abstract. It was real.

“Does that mean…” she hesitated, “…that I’m your mate?”

“Yes,” Jamal said.

At the same time, Malik said, “Yes.”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking between them again, searching. “And the bond? This … connection. It’s not…” She gestured vaguely between them. “Done?”

“No,” Malik said. “Not yet.”

“When does it finish?”

“When you accept it,” Jamal answered.

Naomi stilled.

“Accept it how?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“By choosing it,” Malik said. “By choosing us.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly at that. “And what does that involve?”

Jamal shifted in his seat, his expression tightening just slightly. “It’s not just … words,” he said carefully. “There’s a physical component.”

Naomi’s brow lifted. “Define physical.”

Malik didn’t look away from her.

“Intimacy,” he said simply.

She held his gaze. “And will it hurt?”

Jamal winced faintly at that, his instinct to soften the answer obvious.

Malik didn’t.

“It can,” he said honestly. “The first time. But it shouldn’t be more than that. It’s not meant to harm you.”

Naomi nodded slowly, absorbing that.

Silence settled over the table again, but this time it wasn’t uncertain. It was… heavy.

Malik watched her as she went quiet, her gaze dropping, her thoughts turning inward in a way that pulled her away from them even as she sat between them.

Something in his chest tightened.

He moved without thinking.

Circling the table, closing the distance between them, lowering himself until he was kneeling beside her chair. Close enough to feel her warmth, to see the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap.

“Naomi,” he said softly.

She wouldn’t look at him.

Malik reached out, his fingers gentle as they settled beneath her chin, lifting, guiding her face back toward his.

Her bright Hazel eyes met his.

“What is it?” he asked quietly. “Omolara.”

The word slipped from him without thought.

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

Malik’s thumb brushed lightly along her jaw, grounding himself as much as her. “It means one who carries grace within her body.”

Her breath caught—just slightly. But she didn’t look away.

“Don’t ignore my question,” he added, his voice still soft but edged with something firmer. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Naomi swallowed. “What happens when I die?”

The words hit harder than anything else she could have said.

“If I accept this, accept you both,” she continued, her voice steady but quieter now, “if this bond completes … what happens to you when I’m gone?”