Page 8 of Break Me Knot

Zane's hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me. “Let's go home. Cole needs us more than this circus needs another set of trained monkeys.”

“Two months,” I mutter, watching Hardwick laugh at something Rothschild says. “The next senate meeting isn't for two months.”

“Come on. We've played our part tonight. Smiled at the right people, made the right noises. It will not get us where we want to be right now,” Zane says.

He's right. We've done what we came to do, even if it accomplished nothing but reinforcing how precarious our position is and that Cole's continued distress is a dark undercurrent to our shared connection.

The marble floors echo our footsteps, each one taking us farther from the glittering facade of power and closer to what really matters. Tonight's failures can wait. Our brother can't.

As we step into the cool night air, I can't shake the image of that young omega's face when she saw Mercer. Something is very wrong with this society, and we're running out of legitimate ways to fight it.

But that's a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we have a bond brother to take care of.

Chapter Four

Mira

The night air hits me as I step out of the building, and something's wrong. The slush coating the sidewalk soaks into the holes in my soles, flakes drifting down from a steel-gray sky as people bustle past in long, thick coats, but the usual bite of winter is muted. Like my skin is wrapped in cotton.

Not good.

Reallynot good.

Steam rises from street grates, carrying the stench of Canton City's underbelly… rot and waste and desperation. My desperation matches as I clutch my pathetic wad of bills, all that's left of last week's tips. It's not enough, but Marcus might take pity on me. The thought makes me want to laugh. There's never pity in his eyes, only calculation.

My stomach cramps, but this time from hunger rather than heat. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday? The day before? The days blur together in a haze of work and fear and endless vigilance. If I hadn't had to run out of the diner today... but there's no point thinking about food I don't have.

I hurry through the shadows toward Marcus's alley, keeping my head down, trying to be invisible. My footsteps echo off brick walls as I move deeper into the darkness, waiting for that familiar shape to emerge from the shadows.

Nothing.

“Marcus?” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice, hating how desperate I sound. The alley remains empty, silent except for the distant sound of traffic and my own panicked breathing. “Marcus, please.”

He has to be here. He's always here. What am I supposed to do if he's not here? The money in my pocket is burning a hole, useless without someone to buy from.

I hover in the alley for another minute, my gaze straining into the darkness, but Marcus's familiar silhouette doesn't materialize. The cold seeps through my thin coat, and for once I'm grateful for the numbness. At least it masks how wrong my body temperature is.

He's probably just late. Getting more supplies. Making deals.

Hopefully.

I’m so hot. Aching. Tender and nauseous.

Horny.

Something is wrong and I understand exactly what this is.

I press my forehead against the cold brick wall, trying to steady myself while I run through my limited options, but the most glaring of things going wrong surges up. The white pills. The ones Marcus sold me might not have been suppressants at all. For all I know, they could have been simple painkillers.

Which means I might have gone without suppressants for an entire week and I’m going into heat. No amount of painkillers will help that. The only things that will dim the pain are the things I refuse to accept.

Cocks.

Knots.

Alphas.

Days and days and days screaming for them. Demanding them.Beggingfor them.

---