Page 104 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

The silk wrap allows me to see her silhouette shift slightly, her head tilting back as if studying my face. The movement brings her neck closer to my hand, and I feel her pulse jump at the increased contact.

We remain frozen in this tableau, my arm around her throat, her back pressed against my chest, both of us breathing the same air charged with possibility and danger.

The facility's alarms continue their distant wailing, but they feel irrelevant compared to the symphony of her heartbeat against my skin.

This close, I can detect layers in her scent I missed before.

Beneath the sweetness lies something darker -clinical antiseptic, metallic traces of what might be blood, and underneath it all, a core of strength that refuses to be extinguished despite everything that led her to this moment of despair.

The alpha in me wants to growl at the evidence of her suffering, wants to tear apart whatever —whoever— drove her to contemplate such a permanent escape.

But I maintain control, knowing that any display of aggression now might shatter this delicate moment between us.

Her breathing steadies gradually, each inhale carrying my scent deeper into her system. I feel the minute changes in her body - the slight relaxation of rigid muscles, the almost imperceptible lean into my support, the way her head tilts just a fraction more to expose her neck.

All signs should indicate omega submission to alpha presence.

Yet…her response isn’t like other Omegas.

It seems almost experimental or robotic. As if she's testing these reactions rather than succumbing to their natural instincts.

The mystery of her deepens with each passing second, pulling me further into an orbit I have no desire to escape.

Is she who I think she is?

There’s one more vital question that needs to be answered.

How can I convince her that whatever darkness brought her here, there are better answers than the one she was about to choose?

17

AWAKENED BY FATE

~NYX~

The world stops spinning the moment his arm wraps around my throat.

Even without taking a breath, his scent envelops me completely - something impossibly rich and complex that makes every nerve-ending fire at once.

The shadows fall silent, as if they too are stunned by this unexpected intervention.

My eyes widen, desperately trying to absorb every detail of the man who just prevented my final exit.

The first thing that catches my attention is the silk blindfold wrapped with careful precision around his eyes. It's not hastily applied or temporary - the fabric sits with practiced familiarity against his skin, suggesting a long-term relationship with darkness.

Why would someone deliberately blind themselves in such a dangerous environment?

My gaze drops to his lips, finding them slightly parted as he draws quick breaths. They're not perfectly smooth like theguards who never see real action - these lips are weather-worn, bearing tiny scars that speak of real combat experience.

The subtle stubble along his jaw adds to the impression of someone who prioritizes function over appearance, the short dark hair kept neat enough for tactical efficiency without vanity.

His combat gear resembles the guards' uniforms enough to momentarily spike fear through me, but there's something fundamentally different about how he holds himself. The bulletproof vest and tactical equipment speak of serious intent, but the way his arm cradles my throat carries none of the cruel efficiency I've come to expect from Ravenscroft's forces.

The grip is present but gentle -more restraint than restriction. No guard ordered to take me "dead or alive" would show such careful consideration. Their touch always carries brutality, the casual cruelty of those who see us as less than human.

But this...this is different.

His scent hits me again, stronger this time, and I can't help but close my eyes and draw in a deep breath.

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