Page 169 of Knot Happening Again

His knot catches on my rim, and that's all it takes. I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me, my body clenching around him. Mace roars, his teeth sinking into the unmarked side of my neck as his knot enters me and finally locks us together.

The bite sends another wave of pleasure through me, prolonging my orgasm. I cling to Mace, overwhelmed by the sensations and the rush of emotions. Love, adoration, protectiveness.

Everything I’ve ever craved.

As we come down from our high, Mace rolls us onto our sides, careful not to jostle his knot. He peppers my face with gentle kisses, his hands stroking my back soothingly.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Those marks look so good on that pretty little neck."

I hum contentedly, feeling truly at peace for the first time in years. The ache that's been my constant companion since Leon's partial mark is gone, replaced by a warm, comforting fullness.

Now, I have five marks.

And I feel them.

I feel the love, the acceptance, the protectiveness my pack feels for me. I feel it all, like a warm blanket wrapped around me, so complete and soothing and safe.

I feel…home.

Troy and Maddox join us on the bed again, their hands reaching out to touch and caress. I'm surrounded by my new pack, their scents mingling with mine in a perfect harmony.

As I drift off to sleep, locked in Mace's embrace and surrounded by Troy and Maddox, I realize that for the first time in my life, I feel truly, completely whole.

CHAPTER 46

LEON

The conference room door slams behind me as I storm out.

Fucking vultures.

I've spent the last three hours arguing with the PR team Maddox made me hire, considering all this is way above his pay grade, about how to handle this shitstorm with that asshole reporter, and I'm no closer to a solution than when I walked in.

"Mr. Carver, please reconsider?—"

I whirl around, fixing the PR rep with a glare that could melt steel. "For the last time, no. I won't drag Ophelia into this mess. She's been through enough."

The woman—Sarah? Sandra?—flinches but stands her ground. "A joint statement could help smooth things over. The public loves a good redemption story?—"

"I don't give a fuck what the public loves," I snarl. "Ophelia isn't some prop to be trotted out for damage control. This conversation is over. Figure out something else, or you're all fucking fired."

I stalk away, ignoring the frustrated whispers behind me. My hands clench into fists as I reach the elevator, resisting the urge to punch something.

How did everything get so fucked up so fast?

The ride down to the parking garage gives me a moment to breathe, to try and get my temper under control. It doesn't work. By the time I reach my car, I'm still seething.

I slam the car door and grip the steering wheel, knuckles white. This is all my fault. If I'd just been honest from the start, if I'd had the balls to stand up to my parents years ago... but I didn't. And now Ophelia's paying the price for my cowardice.

Still.

The drive home is a blur of anger and self-recrimination. It isn't until I pull into the driveway that a new scent hits me—clean, crisp, like fresh linen and ocean rain. Ophelia's heat is over.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe. The realization crashes over me as soon as I step in the door, as soon as I feel the shift in the energy of my packmates, gathered around the kitchen counter like they're staging an intervention. And there's only one thing it could be.

She's fully marked now.

Mated.

---