Page 32 of Knot the One They Want

The bed itself has four tall wooden posts, which would be ideal for hanging a canopy of fabrics from to make a more secure nest. And that's the first thing I plan on doing. I may not be able to control the fact that my alphas want nothing to do with me, or that I'm stuck in an arranged mating with no way out, but this space? This is mine to do what I want with. An omega's nest is the one place in all the world that's guaranteed to make her feel safe and special and provided for. The one thing she can control.

But as I step further into the room, a sinking feeling takes root in my stomach. There are no nesting supplies. No soft blankets, no plush pillows, no cozy throws to line my nest. The bed is made up with crisp, white linens, hospital corners sharp enough to cut.

Disappointment rises in my throat, hot and bitter. Any alpha worth their salt would know to provide their omega with ample nesting materials, especially on the night of the mating ceremony. It's a sacred tradition, a way for the omega to create a safe, comforting space to bond with her new mates.

The lack of supplies feels like a slap in the face, a glaring reminder of just how little the Blackwood alphas care about my needs.

I swallow hard, turning to the maid with a brittle smile. "Excuse me, could you please tell me where the nesting supplies are kept? I'd like to get my nest set up before the pack comes home."

She blinks at me, her expression utterly indifferent. "I'm sorry, Miss Beaumont, but I don't believe any supplies were prepared for you."

I stare at her, my heart sinking. "None at all?" Another gut punch. And I'm sure it was meant as one. Damien's threatechoes loudly in my mind.You should have run when you had the chance, little omega.

I shake my head, refusing to let him take up any space in it. "But surely there must be some extra blankets or pillows somewhere in the house?"

The maid shrugs, already edging toward the door. "I wouldn't know about that, miss. If you'd like, I can show you where we keep the linens, but I'm afraid you'll have to gather them yourself."

I bite back a sharp retort, my cheeks flushing with humiliation. Is this what my life will be like now? Constantly begging for scraps, treated like an unwanted burden by everyone in my new home?

"Yes, please show me," I manage through gritted teeth, my composure hanging by a thread.

The maid leads me to a linen closet down the hall, pointing out the various sheets and towels with a bored expression. I thank her stiffly, waiting until she leaves before allowing my shoulders to slump.

Blinking back tears of frustration, I gather an armful of soft blankets and plush pillows, carrying them back to my room. It's a poor substitute for a proper nest, hastily assembled and devoid of the loving care that should go into its creation.

But it's all I have. And so, with a heavy heart and a determined set to my chin, I begin to build my nest. Piece by piece, layer by layer, I create a small oasis in the midst of this cold, unwelcoming house.

I step back from the nest once I'm finished, surveying my handiwork with a critical eye. It's far from the lush, inviting oasis I had always pictured creating for my alphas, but given the meager supplies and cold reception, it's the best I can manage.

The blankets are artfully draped, the pillows plumped and arranged just so. A small part of me hopes that maybe my effortswill be appreciated. That my alphas will see the care I've put into making a welcoming space for our mating and soften toward me, even a little.

I snort softly, shaking my head at my own naivety. I know better than to expect warmth from men who have made it abundantly clear how little they desire me. No, my nest is for me, a small comfort to cling to as I face the daunting prospect of binding myself to near-strangers.

A knock at the door startles me and I hurry to answer, hoping irrationally that it might be one of my alphas coming to deliver the nesting supplies on delay. Instead, I find my suitcase waiting in the hall, delivered with the same cold efficiency as everything else in this house. I lug it inside.

With a sigh, I shed my gown, carefully hanging it in the opulent closet. The silk whispers against my skin as I slip it off, a decadent caress so at odds with the hollow ache in my chest. I pad into the en suite, determined to wash away the travel grime and soak some of the tension from my muscles before the main event.

The bathroom is just as luxurious as the bedroom, all gleaming marble and shining chrome. I twist the tap, watching steam rise as the tub fills, tendrils curling in the air like ghostly fingers. Sinking into the scalding water, I let my eyes flutter closed, trying to empty my mind and just breathe.

It's a futile effort. Thoughts swirl and churn behind my eyelids, fears and doubts bobbing to the surface no matter how hard I try to push them down.

The water has long since cooled by the time I finally drag myself from the tub, my skin pruned and my mind no more settled than when I first sank into its depths. I wrap myself in a plush towel, the softness a small comfort against the nervousness in my gut.

In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and pale. I look frightened. Vulnerable. Nothing like the poised, put-together omega I'm supposed to be. Swallowing hard, I reach for my silk robe, the material cool and slippery against my flushed skin.

I take my time getting ready, blowing out my hair until it falls in soft, golden waves around my shoulders. I touch up my makeup with a trembling hand, painting on a mask of serenity I don't feel. Armor, to face the battle ahead.

The nest calls to me, a siren song of comfort and safety. I pad over on bare feet, sinking down into the plush blankets and breathing in the soft, clean scent of the linens. It's not right, not complete without the mingled scents of my alphas, but it's the best I can do.

I've just settled into the center of the nest when I hear it—the crunch of tires on gravel, the purr of a powerful engine. My breath catches in my throat. They're here.

Time seems to stretch and warp, each second an eternity as I lie there, listening to the distant sounds of doors slamming, footsteps echoing through the cavernous house. I fight the urge to bolt, to hide, every instinct screaming at me to run from the predators stalking ever closer.

But here I am, the sacrificial lamb, trussed up and waiting for the slaughter. And so I remain, trembling and terrified, as the footsteps draw nearer, my alphas' scents growing stronger with each passing heartbeat.

The door swings open and they're there, four pairs of eyes raking over me with varying degrees of intensity. I meet their gazes, chin lifted in a show of defiance even as my fingers twist in the sheets beneath me.

Damien is the first to speak, his voice a low, displeased rumble. "You made a nest." It's not a question, but anaccusation, his eyes narrowing as they take in the carefully arranged blankets and pillows.

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