Page 118 of Knot Just for Show

Since this is a trial heat, and not a breeding heat—I will still be on my weapons-grade-birth-control—so that no little Ursulas, Mavrens, Ronans, or Teddys end up running around Redthorn nine months from now. Considering how Costa Rica went…I couldn’t be more thankful for the peace of mind.

“Alright hun, I know this is sort of freaky—but I promise it will be just a little pinch,” one of the nurses soothes as she walks around the back of my chair with her giant syringe; the boys looking on in abject horror as she prepares to stick me in the back of my neck.

“Ready.” I squeeze my eyes tight, hands clutched on my knees as she dabs my tender skin with a cold alcohol prep pad.

“Alright—little pinch!” she calls—and I feel the needle’s sting, a woozy warm rushing feeling beneath the skin as she slowly pushes the meds into my system.

“Alright, that’s it—you’re all done,” she chirps sweetly—wiping my neck and placing a small bandaid over the site.

I sit, my hand laid over my neck as I watch the nurses make their way down the line, explaining that the boys have a similar onset time before administering each of their injections.

Start to finish, the whole process takes 15 minutes tops—the six of us waving woozily as the nurses take off down the stone walkway to the carriage house.

Lysander has given the next week off to all house staff for the occasion—the cavernous Redthorn estate empty, save for the members of the prospective Pack Gold.

“Not feeling anything quite yet.” I roll my neck tentatively.

“Me neither,” Teddy yawns—his stomach interjecting with a loud burbling noise.

“Sounds like you’re feeling hungry at least,” Mavren laughs, a hand running over his own muscular stomach. “How about I make us a little something before we totally descend into depravity?”

“Sounds good to me!” Ronan stretches lazily, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Is there any more of that bonkers pesto pasta salad from the other day?” Ash licks his lips, jostling past Ronan and Lysander into the kitchen.

I sit down at the table with Lysander, his hand worrying at the back of his neck—his palm rubbing back and forth across the circular bandage.

“What’s a matter?” I reach across the long farm-style table for his hand.

“Well, theta’s are a little different from some of the other designations when it comes to ruts.” He shifts in his seat, eyes darting away from me every once in a while. “Alphas and gammas, they get increased sex drive and stamina—obviously their knots form more readily and take a while longer to go down,” he explains matter-of-factly despite the rosy blush that spreads across his cheeks. “But thetas, like myself…well our typically sedative scent can become outright psychotropic in the throes.” He clears his throat—his right knee bobbing furiously.

“Oh.” I blink, wondering exactly how that is going to end up working out for us.

“Let’s just do a little cold plate smorgasbord,” Ash chatters away to Mavren, the two of them unloading different cold salads, cheeses, preserved meats, prepared fruits, and other goodies out onto the generously sized kitchen island along with a small stack of plates.

“You want a drink?” I ask Lysander, pushing back from the table and making my way to the fridge for at least one bottle of ginger flavored seltzer for myself.

“I’m going to open a bottle of white to have along with lunch—or should I make cocktails?” Ronan hems and haws before the small wooden door to the wine cellar.

“I’ll have a little glass of white if you open one,” I call to him, distractedly leaning over the island to pluck a single pesto covered tortellini from the pasta salad.

No sooner have I pinched the delicious morsel from the bowl, my entire body suddenly feels as if I’m being catapulted forward at high speed; everything heavy and suddenly alive with inertia—my vision momentarily tunneled as if my surroundings blur by me, faster than the eye can perceive, the ceramic bowl dotted with white, orange, and green tortellinis like a far away approximation of the image.

“Woah!” I grip the counter—steadying myself so that I don’t fall over.

“Hey, you ok over there?” Mavren’s voice contends with the ringing in my ears as I attempt to blink my vision back into focus—a liquid heat already beginning to pool between my legs.

“Yeah, I’m just a little shaken—I think the meds are starting to hit,” I manage to get out, my vision slowly returning to normal.

“Here, let me help,” Mavren offers, scooting around to my side of the counter to help me balance.

His scent—amber, maple sugar, and mulled cider, hits me like a wave of heat curling up off of LA asphalt on a one hundred degree day, nearly bringing me to my knees.

“Oh god,” I moan—collapsing against him, my heartbeat pounding between my legs—my thighs pressed tightly together.

I see Mavren’s nostrils flare, and I know he’s caught my perfume—dialed up to eleven with the intensity of my heat.

Everyone looks at us for a moment—unsure of what might happen next.

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