Page 11 of Knot Sharing the Ice

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit, shit, shit.

Panic rises in my chest, threatening to choke me. I can't deal with this. I can't even begin to process what this means. So I do the only thing I can think of.

I run.

"Ember, wait!" Adder calls after me, but I'm already sprinting toward the bathroom, my heart pounding in my ears.

I slam the door behind me and lock it, pressing my back against the cool metal as if I could somehow barricade myself against the reality of what just happened. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as I slide down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

This can't be happening.

It just can't.

I don't have time for this.

I don't want this.

I've worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let some... some biological imperative derail everything now.

But even as I try to convince myself it's nothing, that delicious scent lingers in my nostrils, making my head spin and my body ache in ways I've never experienced before. It calls to something deep inside me, something primal and hungry that I've always denied existed.

A soft knock on the door makes me jump. "Ember?" Adder's voice, muffled but unmistakable. "Are you okay?"

I press my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe if I ignore him, ignore all of this, it'll go away. Maybe I'll wake up and realize this was all some bizarre stress-induced nightmare.

But the knocking persists, joined now by other voices.

Concerned.

Worried.

Aboutme.

"Go away!" I shout, hating how my voice cracks. "Just... leave me alone!"

There's a pause, then a different voice—Carter, I think. I mean… Fifty-Seven. "We're not going to hurt you, Ember, or do anything you don't want. We just want to talk."

Talk? What is there to talk about? The fact that I just got hit by the scent of my potential mate—mates? Is it all of them?—like a freight train? The fact that my entire world has just been turned upside down in the span of a few minutes?

No. No, I can't do this.

Iwon'tdo this.

I've seen what happens when omegas let their biology dictate their lives. I refuse to be that person.

"Just go away," I call through the door, sinking down against the wall onto the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, trying to breathe. I'm in a public bathroom, and yet the scent of pine and bourbon lingering in my nostrils is enough to drown out the mildew and cheap fruit-scented bathroom spray.

What do the others smell like…?

I hate myself for wondering. For the dull ache not knowing the answer to that question sparks in the center of my chest.

I hear a heavy sigh through the door, but there's no pounding fists on the door, no attempts to break it down. Even though I'm sure that rusty little padlock wouldn't do shit if they really wanted to get in here.

"Alright," Fifty-Seven says, his voice heavy with resignation. "We'll be in the breakroom if you change your mind."

I wait until I hear their footsteps retreating before I fumble for my phone, desperate for a distraction, for any connection to the world outside this surreal bubble I've found myself trapped in. But of course, there's no signal in here. Just my reflection in the black screen, wide-eyed and pale.

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