Page 89 of Hard Knot

I shrug, aiming for casualness despite the way my heart is racing.

"Well, you know how it goes. The tragic tale of finding out you’re an Omega at eighteen in the middle of Harvard's courtyard tends to change things."

I don’t want to talk about the details, because I’m positive he’s not going to like what happened after that fiasco.

When I try to step around him, his hand catches my arm.

The touch is gentle but firm, and suddenly I'm transported back to our dance practices — the way he used to guide me through complicated lifts, his hands always steady and sure.

Maybe that’s what made me love and hate him.

When it came to the academic side, I despised him because he was my competition in that realm of grades and success, but when we danced together…fuck, it was a heightened connection that took years for me to finally forget.

Yet here he is when it seems as though I’ve moved on from the idea of finding freedom with the one passion that’s kept me alive for so long.

"Five years, Elizabeth," he says softly, his voice carrying an intensity that makes my breath catch. "It took me five years to finally find you."

To…find me?

Could I dare allow myself to think that he was looking all this while? Or would it make me angry because why did he find me now?

Find me far too late…

I swallow hard, very aware of how close he's standing. The familiar scent of his cologne — sandalwood and something crisp like winter air — brings back a flood of memories.

Late nights in the dance studio, perfecting routines until our muscles screamed. Study sessions turned into heated debates about literature and philosophy. The way he'd look at me during performances, his eyes finding mine across the stage as if we were the only two people in the world.

"James," I whisper. There’s so much I want to say. To quietly confess how despite us despising one another, we secretly relied on one another to have each other’s backs.

Like now, I feel the need to tell him about Carter…about the complicated situation I've found myself in, within just a matter of days. But the words stick in my throat as I realize the truth.

I'm not actually claimed.

Sure, Carter seems invested, and there was that intense moment with Felix when we were drunk and horny, but Holmes's resistance is a glaring obstacle.

Victoria's words echo in my mind.

"I will be the Omega your pack chooses."

James's gaze drops to my lips, and I can read his intentions clearly.

He's going to kiss me — the same way he would before every performance, our own private good luck ritual.

But before he can move, a strong arm slides around my waist, and a familiar chin settles on my shoulder.

"If you're gonna try to kiss our Omega," Carter's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, "you're gonna have to kiss me first."

The playful words are at odds with his tone — dark and dangerous, promising violence. I turn my head slightly, catching sight of his expression, and my breath catches.

While my heart is galloping on overdrive.

I can’t say I’ve accounted for seeing Carter genuinely angry, but now there is a newfound beauty in his menacing stare of spite to this new predator in the ring.

Attempting to claim what is his.

His hazel eyes have gone almost black, fixed on James with predatory intensity. His usual easy smile is gone, replaced by something feral and possessive. The arm around my waist tightens fractionally, pulling me more firmly against him.

"Your Omega?" James repeats, his own posture shifting subtly while his eyes are darting between us. The change is familiar — the way he used to square up before difficult choreography, preparing for a challenge. "Funny, I don't see any claiming marks."

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