Page 108 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

"You...don't...hate me?"

The question escapes before I can stop it, carrying years of accumulated pain and rejection.

Instead of words, he answers by cradling my cheek in his massive palm, fingers sliding into my hair to hold me steady as he captures my lips in a kiss that speaks of reverence and want.

The moan that escapes me gets lost in his mouth as he suddenly shifts our positions, pressing me against the wall.

My legs wrap instinctively around his waist while my arms struggle to encompass his broad chest. The size difference becomes even more apparent — his frame radiates pure power, all solid muscle and imposing breadth.

Yet it's the way he kisses me that steals my breath completely.

Each press of his lips carries such desperate need, such absolute conviction as if I represent everything he's ever desired. The realization hits hard - I nearly denied myself this experience.

Death would have stolen this electricity between us, this pure addiction of desire and connection.

My fingers dig into his shoulders as the truth settles deeper - I almost pulled that trigger without knowing what it meant to find an alpha who instinctively understands my orbit, and who makes every cell in my body sing with recognition.

Perhaps this magnetic pull between us masks elaborate deception.

Maybe these sensations merely sugar-coat inevitable betrayal.

But the raw energy crackling between us awakens an unprecedented will to survive, to fight whatever challenges arise; to claim more moments like this where existence feels transcendent rather than torturous.

His kiss deepens as if sensing my thoughts — determined to prove that what builds between us carries more substance than mere desperate fantasy.

Each touch, each shared breath, each subtle shift of his body against mine writes promises my battered heart desperately wants to believe.

Breaking apart when our lungs scream for air, his words rush out against my lips with fierce intensity.

"Fuck no," he whispers, the vehemence in his tone making me shiver. "Who dares hate you? Should I get rid of them?"

His mouth traces the corners of my lips before blazing a trail of tender kisses down my neck.

The sensation makes my back arch involuntarily, pressing closer to his solid frame. He holds me effortlessly, as if my weight means nothing, as if keeping me in his arms fulfills some primal need.

"Everyone...here. I'm..." The words catch in my throat, fear building at the thought of revealing my identity.

How do I tell this alpha who's shown me such tenderness that I'm nothing but a failed experiment? A weapon they created but couldn't fully control?

"Speak to me, omega. I won't harm you, nor will I judge you."

His reassurance comes with the press of his forehead against mine - a gesture I'm beginning to recognize as his way of grounding us both. The physical connection speaks louder than words, offering comfort through touch in a way that makes my heart ache.

This tenderness, this care, this way he treats me like precious treasure rather than dangerous cargo - it feeds a hunger I never knew existed. Each gentle touch helps heal wounds I didn't realize still bled.

"Patient..." The designation sticks in my throat, my lips trembling with the effort to force out the truth. Fear of shattering this magical connection makes the words even harder to speak.

His lips find mine again, the kiss carrying reassurance and acceptance I've never known. When he pulls back, his words strike deep.

"Your real name, omega. Not what those who hurt you label you as."

The statement hits like a physical blow. I've lived so long with their designation, their number, their carefully crafted identity for their perfect M.U.S.E. that I'd almost forgotten the name written in my file. The name that belonged to me before Ravenscroft stripped everything else away.

A lump forms in my throat, threatening to silence me forever, but buried strength surfaces from somewhere deep inside. From that place the shadows usually sing, from that core of self they never quite managed to destroy.

"Nyx," I whisper, the name feeling foreign on my tongue after so long. Then, gathering every scrap of courage I possess, I add, "Nyx Blackwood."

The name hangs between us like a live wire, charged with possibilities and dangers I can't begin to calculate. This alpha now holds more than just my body in his strong hands — he holds my truth, my identity, my most carefully guarded secret.

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