Page 103 of Knot All is Forgiven

Could I have them both? Is that possible?

I'm getting ahead of myself. There's been no sign he wants me. Besides, I wasn't enough to make him stay back then. Why do I think it'll be different now?

"Woah, Alpha. I'm not sure where your mind went just now, but please buy a return ticket."

I chuckle and pull her close, and our bodies meld together. "I appreciate you being okay with it, but I don't think it will happen with Slime and me again." I dance my fingers across her jaw, marveling at how soft her skin is. Are her lips just as soft?

"If it does, let it," she whispers, her lips a mere hairsbreadth away. "I could think of nothing better than the ones I love finding love in one another."

My words catch in my throat like a buffering internet connection. "Love?" The word barely makes it through my lips as it ghosts across hers.

"I don't think it would've hurt this bad if it wasn't love, Rafe."

Fuck control.

Fuck holding myself back.

I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers, tasting her scent on her breath. She meets me with equal enthusiasm, pushing me backward against the disgusting rage room nest.

Twenty-four years ago, I met Jordan Cross for the first time. And today, with her lips on mine and my hands tracing up her body, it feels like fate is finally satisfied.

There is an inherent rightness in this moment that I will never forget.

We break apart, her lips swollen and her breath coming out in sweet little huffs. "This place is disgusting," she whines. "It has too many smells."

Chuckling, I rise to my feet and yank her up with me, pulling her close to my chest. "Let's get out of here."

She slides her hand into my back pocket as we leave, and I take a full breath for the first time in thirteen years.

Chapter thirty-nine

"Dr. Valentine!"

I spin around to see Crystal, a lab assistant for one of my colleagues, walking towards me from the other end of the hall. She smiles, her brown eyes soft in the low light.

It's hard to maintain a sunny disposition this morning. Jordan came home late from her weird date with Rafe, floating happily into bed. I cannot get a straight answer from Jordan or Cyrus about what was said during their confrontation, and she's been a little strange since then.

Mainly, she's been more reserved and in her head. Sometimes, I wish I could use an otoscope to watch what's going on in that brain of hers.

At least Rafe got her out of it for an evening.

Crystal takes a few steps towards me, blowing her purple bangs off her forehead. She changes her hair color frequently, but Dr. Talbot doesn't seem to mind. Last month, it was bright yellow. It's unusual to see someone so young in a role like this, which makes it all the more impressive that she got the certifications required to be Dr. Talbot's right hand.

"What's up, Crystal?" I say, forcing a smile.

"Dr. Talbot found some more studies that may help shine some light on that gene you're studying. The repressed Omega one." She holds out a folder to me, humming a song under her breath.

I flip through the papers, forgoing the studies and notice sheet after sheet of genome analysis. "That's interesting," I say, leaning against the wall. "Are these all late-presenting Omegas?"

"Mhm, yep. They've all been under his treatment at one time or another for different things." She flushes and ducks her head.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Dr. Talbot found these, did he?" Walter Talbot is an aloof man who only cares about his pet projects. Right now, it's gene therapy for chronic illnesses. I was surprised he even considered looking into this for me, but I guess he does owe me a favor for covering for him a few times while he went on vacation.

"Well," she says cagily, "he didn't tell me to do it, but he didn'tnottell me to so…" She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "When I read the initial studies, I thought maybe I could find some data to back your theory up."

I motion for her to follow me into my office. She unbuttons her lab coat as she sits down, crossing her feet at the ankles. She sits primly, like an Omega who went to finishing school. I'm sure she must have since she got a secondary education. I shrug off my coat and lay it on the back of my chair before spreading out the genomes in front of me.

"You see, here," Crystal points at a line in one of the codes, "is the gene." She pulls a sheet of paper out from behind it. "And here." Another page. "And this one too."

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