Page 49 of Psycho Alphas: Part One

The picture he sent this time was peaceful—serene, even—if you ignored the hunch to Thistle’s shoulders and how tightly her eyes were squeezed shut. She was curled up in his bed, and I could see his arm around her in the corner of the photo. Against her chest she clutched a bunny toy, and there was a glittering tear upon its ear that had escaped her eyes.

Knox: after she tried putting that gun to my head, I told her I would give you the option of taking her punishment.

Knox: She refused.

I stared at the picture and the words for an age before I let out a growl and drove my fist into the ragged bricks already coming to pieces along my bedroom wall.

I knew the truth from that picture.

She was… sweet. Gentle. Probably broken from Ace. Frightened by Knox.

She had a mate who couldn’t save her.

Worse, though, she would run from me the moment she learned she was matched to a greatfuckingmonster.

ELEVEN

KNOX

Waking with her in my arms was like inhaling the cool, fresh air of a field of moonflowers, a soul-soothing breath of a life I’d never thought I’d have.

The morning light filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, kissing her skin with a warm glow. She was still curled up close.

I’d woken in the night to use the washroom, and extracting her from me had been hard. Worse, though, when I returned, she was shivering, wound in a tight little ball, and it wasn’t until I’d drawn her back into my embrace that I realised silent tears were tumbling down her cheeks.

It was then that I’d realised the truth. I’d intended this—planned it—and yet even I hadn’t been expecting quite how shattered the tiny Omega clinging to me and a little bunny plushie would be.

That was good, I reminded myself.Reallygood. I’d bought her to taunt Rogue, and I think she’d bonded to me in one night flat.

She stirred in my arms, heavy, dark lashes fluttering for a moment. Her brows knit together, though, and her grip on her bunny tightened, as if she was trying to process the world before looking at it.

Her scent was still so potent, and I could sense each subtle change, the shock, the confusion, and the fear.

I pressed my lips to her forehead, nudging aside a feather of her silky black hair. A purr rumbled to life in my chest—just to throw her off a little more. I swear she shuddered. Her next exhale caught on the edge of a broken whine.

This was too easy, and Ishouldbe happy about that—I deservedoneeasy victory in life. But instead, at the consideration of how lonely she was, I felt the faintest trace of something else. It was the first smouldering embers of a feral fury, and ever faintest stirring of it was enough to send my pulse racing.

That rage, given a breath of life, would swallow me whole in an instant. I forced it down, taking another breath of frosted moonflower blooming in the morning sun.

“Welcome back, Little Doll,” I breathed, thumb stroking her cheek. I was rewarded with a flash of violet through dark feathers, one eye only, the other squeezed shut like that might mean I didn’t notice.

She didn’t say anything, instead curling up tighter, shame spiking in her scent. That was okay—a good sign, in fact. Shame, for an Omega who considered her scent match the only option, meant she wanted me.

I didn’t need to gloat at my victory, though, so I let her keep her silence.

She kept that silence impressively long, too.

When she tried to get up from bed, she almost fell, knees buckling from the night before, so I picked her up instead and carried her down to the kitchen. She waited quietly on a barstool, all but swimming in one of my T-shirts since it was so big on her. Her bunny tucked onto her lap as I served us the breakfast the kitchen staff had made. I’d warned them last night we’d need more than usual, and they’d delivered with enthusiasm, with stacks of pancakes, a Full English that looked fresh as I pulled it from the heater, and a platter of fruit in the fridge.

She stared at it all, looking a bit dazed, before she began picking at a pancake.

“Party this evening,” I told her as I joined her with my English Breakfast. “You’ll be attending.”

Surprised eyes found mine, but she still didn’t speak.

“Clothes have been brought in. I’ll leave what I want you to wear on the bed. Otherwise, get ready however you want. There are supplies—makeup and whatever else you might need in your bathroom.”

The other benefit to her staying the night in my room was that it had allowed space for hers to be fully stocked. She opened her mouth, eyes narrowing, then shut it, nodding with a tight expression.

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