Page 15 of Knot My Sin

Her words roll over in my mind as I go through the motions of turning on the oven light to see how the breakfast is going. It didn’t feel as if she was being rude to me, but more as if she was reminding herself of it.

God, who the fuck is this guy who hurt her? I don’t think she’ll tell me, but a small whine of discontent escapes my lips anyway. Wren looks as if she’s been through literal hell. The marks are how she flinches when she thinks she says the wrong thing, or how she almost appears malnourished.

Huffing out a breath, I add a few more minutes to the timer before going to check on her. I find her in front of the main door, hair wet, wearing my sweatshirt as she stares at the security keypad.

“I can’t let you go,” I say gently. The sweatshirt swallows her body, and I still can’t quite smell her. “Why can’t I smell you?”

Eyes wide in surprise, she whirls around. I can smell the rosemary and thyme in the hair products I gave her, but that’s not her scent.

“The soap was kind of odd. Maybe that’s why?” she asks. “Why can’t you let me go?”

“I just can’t. Something is telling me you’re important, and I need to figure out why,” I say honestly.

“Oh. I’m no one,” she whispers. “You’re going to be disappointed when you find that out.”

“Everyone is someone,” I argue. “The food is almost ready. Would you rather water or juice?”

“Water please,” she says. Once I settle her at the giant island sipping on a glass of water, I rush back to the bathroom to check the bar of soap. The box says it’s a descenting bar, and I want to kick myself for not checking first.

I don’t know why it seems important, but it is. I need to change out this bar to normal body wash so I can finally figure out why I may be feeling this way. Instead, I walk back slowly to the kitchen, half wondering if she’ll be gone.

Surprisingly, she’s sipping on the water as she stares out the windows of the kitchen as the sun rises, almost in awe. We have some of the best views possible in Minnesota. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

As the timer begins to beep, telling me the food is done, I can also smell the incredible scent of berries and sweetness coming from the oven.

“Mmm, this is going to be amazing with the fresh whipped cream I have in the fridge,” I say happily, opening the oven as I grab my mitts.

“I really get to have some?” she asks. I want to hit whoever has been restricting her food, because Wren is probably one of the last people who should be on a diet.

What kind of person’s thumb has she been under? What are his crimes? And can I have first dibs to kill him?

My thoughts are murderous even as I pull out the casserole to cool on the stove before shutting the oven and tossing the mitts.

“Any time I cook, you’re invited to eat it,” I tell her, catching her eye. I hate the way she hides, I absolutely despise it. “Alright?”

Wren nods, but not as if she believes it. Actions. Walking over to the fridge, I pull out the whipped cream I made yesterday morning. I didn’t have a plan for it when I made it, I just knew I was craving it.

Putting the bowl on the island, I grab plates and silverware. “Wren, however you feel is valid and appropriate. You will never be punished for feeling in this home,” I murmur. “My alphas’ are mostly bark, even though outside of here they are dangerous men. I know this doesn’t make sense, but that’s okay. You don’t have to trust me, but one day I hope I’m able to show you that you can.”

Serving us breakfast, I sit next to her, and take a big bite of my French toast before moaning happily.

“It’s so good,” I mumble around my food. Tentatively, Wren lifts up her fork, carefully picking up a bite of food with some whipped cream. It’s still a relatively tiny bite, and I wonder if this is the only omega on the planet with self control.

As her lips wrap around the fork and she takes a bite, I notice how her eyelashes flutter with pleasure as the flavors hit her taste buds. As she nods in agreement without a sound, I decide to take this as a win. I may not be able to get her to talk to me, but I can at least bond with her over food.

Wren doesn’t eat much, but it’s clear she’s full when she pushes away her plate with a satisfied smile. She looks sleepy, and my mind starts to wander.

“We don’t have heat in the basement, so I don’t think you should stay there,” I say. “There’s a room on this floor you can stay in that has a bathroom attached to it. It’ll give you a little privacy, and then I’ll figure out real clothes for you.”

“The sweatshirt is enough,” Wren sighs, snuggling inside of it. “A nap sounds really good right now, though.”

“I’ll take you to the room, and you’re not some kind of sex slave here, Wren. I’m getting you clothes,” I rumble. I’m getting worked up, and I can feel my annoyance building.

It’s such a dumb thing to get mad over. I don’t even understand it. Wren almost disappears into my sweatshirt with a nod, making me feel bad. I clearly can’t do anything right at the moment. Standing, I show her to the room.

“No more talk of leaving here, Wren. You’re here for the foreseeable future. Get used to it,” I grumble as I pull the door closed.

God, that could have gone better.

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