Page 49 of Knot Your Rebel

Exhaustion creeps in like a poison around the edges of my vision. Gunnar disappeared into the room when Nova stormed off, so I’m assuming they’re in for the night. My body is drained, and I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s a struggle.

Why is it that nerve-wrenching situations make you so damn tired?

nineteen - rebel

. . .

The strong scent of coffee in addition to the sunlight streaming through the window wakes me up slowly; heating me. I squint into the light, trying to adjust to the brightness. It feels like spiders crept into my mind overnight and spread their webs of confusion. The night before comes creeping back in like a thief in the night. Undiscovered and deadly.

Tate.

My hand falls to the spot where he should be, but his side of the bed is cold. He’s been gone for a while. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. Why does that disappoint me? I should be happy, right? My self-appointed guard has left the premises, but a part of me misses him.

Slipping my hands from the sheets, I stretch my arms over my head and stretch. It feels so good. I’m slightly sore like I worked out last night, but I know it's not the case. Maybe the tension from those creeps in masks has me feeling this way? Who were they? Where did they come from?

I sit up in bed, and a yawn splits my lips. Looking over at the other side of the bed, I run my fingers over the indents on the pillow where he laid his head to rest overnight. Against my better judgment, I lean down and inhale his decadently sweet and creamy white chocolate scent. Waking up to it reminds me of Starbuck runs when I was in high school.

My eyes close, and my body seems to relax with each deep inhale. How does he manage to do that to me? How is it that one scent lulls me into this illusion of safety.

Stop it, Rebel. You’re mated to a psycho. I reprimand myself, but it doesn’t seem to stop me from thinking it anyhow. A pop of color on the side table snags my attention, and I reach across the bed, grabbing for the piece of tie-dye paper carefully folded in half. My brows furrow as I pick it up and lean back against the headboard.

Didn’t want to wake you when you looked so peaceful. Had to head to our place before morning skate. I’ll grab some extra clothes so I can stay over again tonight. Try and stay out of trouble, my little firebrand.

Tate

I can’t seem to help the way my eyes roll. Will he ever be less domineering? A sigh escapes me. Probably not.

Swinging my legs over the slide of the bed, I tug pajama pants over my panties.

Rising to full height I stretch again, and my shirt pulls up over my stomach. A yawn catches me as I drag myself to my bedroom door and open it, padding down the hall, led by the scent of rich coffee, into the kitchen area tucked in the far corner of the main living area.

“Morning, sleepy.” My roommate sits at the island, her glossy hair swept up in a messy bun, dressed in leggings and a cami top, drinking a cup of coffee as she reads something on her tablet. Probably another romance novel. Nova has been obsessed with love as far back as I can remember. She wants the kind of love her parents have; unconditional and never ending. She’s a hopeless romantic.

“When did the guys leave?” I try asking nonchalantly, reaching up to open the cabinet and grab a mug for coffee, then turn to face her, waiting for the machine to finally finish brewing my life juice.

She meets my gaze. “Gunnar only left about five minutes ago or so. Not sure when your mate snuck out.”

Interesting. The coffee maker beeps, calling my attention to it like a siren lost at sea. Steam filters up from the mug as it fills. Setting the coffee pot back in its cubby, I move to grab creamer and sugar because, obviously, people who drink this stuff black are clearly heathens.

After I stir both in, I lean against the counter, facing her, and lift the deliciousness to my lips and then blow before sipping. As the first drop of its glorious liquid hits my tongue, I start to feel my humanity returning. “Ah…”

“Rebel?” The cautious tone of my best friend pulls me back from the revelry of my coffee briefly.

“Yeah?” Where is this going? My tone comes off harsher than I mean for it to.

Reaching out, she grabs my hand. “Are you sure you’re happy? If you feel like this Tate thing is out of control, we can always go to the heat club. Tell them he bit you against your will. At least that would get him away from you.”

The words sink into my brain. Am I happy? It's a revolving question I’ve been asking myself for days now. Despite the fact that Tate is demanding, I still want to be around him. When I’m afraid, he seems to always be there for me. His scent is calming. Hell, or maybe I have some twisted form of Stockholm syndrome. But… I think in a small way, I am happy.

The thought of him leaving me or losing him makes my stomach sink. So, I’ve definitely grown attached at this point. Silly omega hindbrain.

I smile at her, trying to reassure her. “Yeah, I think I am.”

She relaxes before leaning back, and folds her hands in her lap, assessing me. The picture of openness, but I know how she is, how carefully she’s monitoring my body language and face. It gives me a little semblance of peace, encouraging me to really think about things truthfully.

When I don’t respond, she nods in acceptance, but her expression definitely says she doesn’t exactly believe me. “As long as you’re sure.”

Wanting to change the topic, I ask her about her man of choice these days. “And… how about you? How’s Gunnar?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. “Is it weird being with an alpha?”

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