Page 35 of Knot Happening Again

"I'll go make breakfast," I say, carefully extracting myself from the tangle of limbs. It's already harder than it should be to pull away from her warmth, from the comfort of her touch.

Ophelia looks like she wants to protest, her hand reaching out as if to pull me back. But Rhys tightens his arm around her waist, keeping her in place. "Let him take care of you," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. "It's what he does best."

I feel my cheeks heat at the praise. It's true that I've always been the caretaker of our pack, making sure everyone is fed and looked after. But hearing Rhys acknowledge it, especially in front of Ophelia, is a surprise.

Grumbling to hide my embarrassment, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head for the kitchen. As I leave, I catch a glimpse of Ophelia snuggling back into Rhys's embrace, a contented smile on her face. The sight warms something deep in my chest.

The kitchen is quiet and cool, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the nest. I move around with practiced ease, pulling out pans and ingredients. As I whip up a feast of protein-rich foods—eggs, bacon, whole grain toast, fresh fruit —I can't help but reflect on last night.

It was... intense.

Unlike anything I've experienced before.

Sharing an omega with my packmate should have felt weird, should have sparked jealousy or competition. But instead, it felt right. Natural. Like we were always meant to come together like this.

The way Ophelia responded to us, her body arching into our touches, her scent spiking with pleasure—it was intoxicating.

But there's a nagging worry in the back of my mind. This is temporary. Ophelia made that clear from the start. So why does it feel like she belongs here, with us? Why does the thought of her leaving after her heat make my chest ache?

Oh, that's right. She's our scent match.

That was clear from the moment she walked into that meeting room at Temporary Bonds.

But Rhys is right. Even if she let us take care of her last night, we've still got a long way to go to earn her trust. And whoever marked her and left her broken clearly did a number on that.

The thought makes me crush an egg I'm trying to crack. I deposit the broken pieces and runny mess into the garbage disposal and turn on the sink.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps. I turn, expecting to see Rhys or Ophelia, but instead, I'm faced with Troy. He looks like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, clothes rumpled like he slept in them. Another late night working on his music, I guess.

"You look like shit," I say bluntly, eyeing him with concern.

Troy grunts, making a beeline for the coffee maker. "Thanks, Captain Obvious. Your observational skills never cease to amaze me."

I watch him for a moment, taking in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he avoids meeting my eyes. There's moregoing on here than just a rough night's sleep. "You never came to the nest last night," I state, keeping my voice neutral.

He stiffens, his grip on the coffee mug tightening until his knuckles turn white. "Wasn't in the mood," he mutters, still not looking at me.

"Bullshit," I growl, my patience wearing thin. I've known Troy long enough to see through his act. "What's your problem, kid? Ophelia's our scent match. She needs all of us. We made a commitment to her when we brought her here, temporary or not."

As much as my inner alpha chafes at the idea of anything being temporary where Ophelia is concerned.

Troy whirls on me, his blue eyes flashing with anger. The sudden movement sloshes coffee over the rim of his mug, but he doesn't seem to notice. "You don't know that!" he snaps, his voice rising. "We've barely met her. For all we know, this could be some kind of trick."

I blink, taken aback by the vehemence in his voice. "A trick? What the hell are you talking about?"

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him in waves. His scent spikes with distress, filling the kitchen with the acrid smell of fear and anger. "Think about it, Mace," he says, his words coming out in a rush. "She's too perfect. The first omega we meet at this place just happens to be our scent match? It's too convenient."

I feel my temper rising, protective instincts flaring. The idea that anyone could think Ophelia is trying to trick us, after everything she's been through, makes my blood boil. "Are you saying she's lying?" I demand, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "That she set this up somehow?"

Troy deflates, slumping against the counter. All the fight seems to drain out of him in an instant, leaving him lookingdefeated and vulnerable. It's a stark reminder that despite his tough exterior, Troy is still the youngest of our pack.

"I don't know," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe. There are ways to fake that kind of thing."

"Where the hell is this coming from?" I ask, frowning.

Troy looks like he's going to argue, but when he doesn't, his silence speaks volumes. The answer is the same as always.

His former pack.

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