Page 103 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

“This feels amazing,” Kit murmured, lashes fluttering closed as she tilted her head back, her hair floating on the surface.

The long line of her throat was exposed, and I fought the urge to surge forward and claim it with my teeth.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way the water lapped at her collarbones, how her nipples pebbled to sharp points, the flush creeping across her chest… She was fucking gorgeous, and it took every ounce of self-control not to pull her into my lap right then and there.

Instead, I forced myself to stay put, spreading my arms along the edge of the hot tub to keep from reaching for her. I needed to let her set the pace.

With a happy sigh, she opened her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. Until her gaze drifted to where my hands rested.

She gasped. “Dimitri, your knuckles...”

I peered toward the injuries, noticing the angry red scrapes and bruises that decorated my skin. Shit. I’d forgotten about those.

Before I could stop her, she slid through the water, crossing the distance before gently lifting my hand to inspect the wounds. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent as she traced the edges of each mark.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was no way in hell I was going to answer that. While she knew about the fight at The Pit, she had no clue about what the rest of my evening held—a little light tortureand disfigurement to try and glean information off of one of Valentino’s henchmen.

Anything to learn what his plans were—when he’d strike next in an attempt to steal Kit back. Or worse, to try to end her entirely.

Now that he knew she was our mate, the stakes were higher. Kitania was our kryptonite, our Achilles’ heel. Alphas didn’t do well with the loss of their Omega, especially if the loss was tragic.

My fathers were proof of that. While my mother hadn’t died violently, she’d been taken from us almost as insidiously, dying slowly from cancer. Watching her suffer and not being able to fix her agony, her pain, had taken a toll on all of us, but my dads had been hit the hardest. And once she was gone, their distress didn’t lessen. They tried to hide it, but they were declining, wasting away little by little as the years passed without her.

My mother had been the heart of the pack, and I understood that now more than ever.

Scent matches forged the most powerful of bonds, and I couldn’t fathom how they’d lasted this long. Day after day, they pressed on the best they could, but their grief was palpable.

Eventually, heartbreak would take them from us, too. It’s why my father was eager to pass the torch, to let the empire he’d helped build transition to a new generation.

We were strong, on the cusp of bonding. We had the entire city at our fingertips, but none of it meant anything without our Omega.

For most packs, losing their Omega wouldn’t affect them as deeply if they hadn’t bonded yet. The emotional damage was severe, but they’d survive it. Scent matches, however, were a different beast. The connections were stronger; the attachment starting from that very first scenting. Bite marks between true mates simply solidified the already growing relationship, reinforcing the bond and linking the pack on a deeper level.

The thought of losing Kitania made me see red. Made me wanna go back and pummel that asshole to confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t know anything about Rocco’s or Vincent’s next move.

I swallowed hard, torn between wanting to pull away to shield her from this part of my life and craving more of her soft touch. “It’s nothing, Kitten.”

Disbelief clear, her brow furrowed, her fingertips still gently tracing the wounds on my knuckles. “This doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” she murmured. “Does it hurt?”

I shook my head, mesmerized by her concern. “I’ve had worse.”

Hell, someone could flay the skin from my body and I’d grit my teeth and bare it if it meant keeping her safe.

She looked up at me then, those ice-blue eyes piercing straight through me. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

Her genuine worry for my well-being hit me like a punch to the gut. No one had ever cared about me like this before. Not about the little things. Not about scraped knuckles and bruises.

“I’m fine, sweet girl,” I assured her, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. “Promise.”

Kit bit her lip, clearly unconvinced. “You should at least put some antiseptic on these. They could get infected.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her mothering. “Yes, ma’am,” I retorted, earning a playful swat.

But then her hand lingered, her palm flat against my pec. I watched as her eyes widened slightly, taking in the feel of the rippling muscles beneath her fingers. Her gaze traveled over my chest, down to where the water lapped at my abs.

Goddamn. I sucked in a breath, every thought fleeing my mind except for how fucking good her skin felt against mine and the way my cock jumped just from having her touch me.

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