Page 23 of Break Me Knot

Mira

“I'm not angry at you, Mira.” Adrian shifts toward me. His voice is gentle, at odds with the fury I smell in his scent. “I'm angry at whoever did this to you.”

I sniff the air, confused by the truth I smell there. This isn't how alphas react to disobedient, problematic omegas. We're supposed to be perfect, unmarred, obedient. Not scarred and skinny and prone to panic attacks in luxury bathrooms.

“We need to have a doctor look at you,” Adriansays.

“No!” The word explodes from me, fresh panic rising. Doctors mean Haven. Doctors mean cold hands and colder eyes, traps and needles and “treatments” that leave you screaming.

“No doctors.” I gasp, trying to press myself through the wall behind me. “Please, no doctors. I'll be good, I promise. I'll do whatever you want, just please—”

“We have a pack doctor, a beta, who has been with us for years. He's very gentle. Trustworthy.” Zane holds his hands out to me in a calming gesture. The action makes him less threatening somehow, though he's still massive.

I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. Doctors never help omegas.” The doctors at Haven wanted to ‘fix’ us. As though there was something intrinsically wrong with us because of our omega designation.

“I understand you're scared, and you have every right to feel the way you do.” Adrian pauses, searching for the right words, before he brings his gaze to mine and I fall into soft hazel pools. “Your heat is a powerful, natural part of who you are, and we want to make sure you have all the support you need to go through it without fear of it taking so much out of you it’s detrimental to your health.”

Something passes between Adrian and Zane, some silent communication I can't read, but a cramp twists through my abdomen, reminding me I'm running out of time and options. My heat is building again. The bath and warm water were just a reprieve. Thank you, biology, you fucktard of a mistress.

“We chose our pack doctor because he respects and values omegas. He’ll understand how vulnerable you feel. He’ll only want to provide you with comfort and safety. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, you have the right to say no. We’ll listen. We’ll stop. Your wellbeing comes first, always,” Zane says.

I watch for the lie. For that drop in their gazes, that hitch in their breath that tells me what they think I need to hear, but it doesn’t come and that makes me more confused than ever.

The truth is, they don’t even have to ask me. They can go right ahead and do anything they want to me and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop them. “Idon’t have a choice. But I’ll only see your doctor. No one else.” The thought of strange hands on me makes bile rise in my throat.

“I’ll go and make the call. Doctor Maverick is nice, Mira. He’s very gentle and won’t make you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t even suggest you see him if he wasn’t,” Zane says, before stepping out to make the call. His massive frame casts shadows in the doorway, then he disappears. I'm alone with Adrian, and I'm shivering, goosebumps puckering my skin even though it's probably a hundred degrees in this bathroom. Water drips steadily from my hair, joining the puddles on the floor.

“Let me help dry you.” Adrian grabs another towel from the stack on the cabinet top. “You can keep that one around you.”

“I’ll do it,” I protest, but the thought of moving from my spot propped against the wall is impossible.

“You can't stay cold and wet. Let me help you, Little One,” he says.

The endearment catches me off guard, making something in my chest ache. No one has spoken to me with such tenderness since... since before Haven. Before I presented as an omega and Mom, Dad and I were a happy, beta family.

Again, I don’t really have a choice, even if he wants to pretend I have any say over my own sovereignty. I grit my teeth and nod before he moves toward me. My omega responds to his proximity, to his scent of smoked cedar and spiced vanilla, making slick gather despite my fear and exhaustion, but he keeps his movements clinical and gentle as he begins drying my hair, careful not to pull or tug.

“I won't hurt you. I promise,” he murmurs.

I want to tell him not to make promises he can't keep. Want to remind him that all alphas hurt omegas eventually. It's what we exist for, but I'm too tired. Too cold. Too aware of how my heat is building again beneath my skin, making every touch electric.

He carefully squeezes the excess water from my hair, patting the ends dry. He moves to my arms, my legs, always careful to maintain my modesty with the first towel. His touch is impersonal but tender, like I'm something precious that might break.

Too late.

I already have.

It should be invasive, having an alpha touch me like this. Should make me want to run or fight or scream but instead it feels... safe. Like being cared for. Valued.

And that horrifies me more than any amount of anger could because caring hurts more in the end. Gentleness will turn to cruelty. Any alpha's kindness is just a prelude to pain but as another shiver wracks my frame, I can't help leaning into Adrian’s touch, just a little.

He moves to lift me, and I tense, my fingers clutching the towel tighter. “I’ll walk,” I say, even though the room tilts every time I move my head. Pride is all I have left, and even that is fragile.

“Okay.” There’s no challenge in his voice as he helps me to my feet. My knees buckle, weakness and heat-fever conspiring against me. He catches me before I fall, his hands strong and steady against my waist. The contact sends sparks across my over-sensitized skin and I bite back a whimper.

“I hate this,” I mutter, frustration burning in my throat. I hate being weak, dependent, at anyone's mercy. Hate how my body betrays me, how even this simple touch makes heat burn between my thighs. I hate how small and fragile I am in his capable hands.

He says nothing, just gently lifts me into his arms, careful to keep the towel secured around me. His scent envelops me and something in me wants to burrow closer, wants to press my nose against his neck and breathe him in.

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