Page 32 of Break Me Knot

“All of this is for you,” Zane says softly, offering a piece of cheese. “Here. Eat. You need your strength.”

“I...” Her voice is rough, and she holds out a hand to fend him away. “I can't pay for—”

“You’ll never pay for anything again,” I cut her off gently, rage burning in my gut at the implication of her words.

She takes the cheese Zane pushes into her fingers and holds it instead of eating like she's expecting a trick. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I want to rage at the universe. Rip the people to shreds who made her question something as simple as food when it’s given. Thankfully, Zane steps in because my words are stuck in my throat.

“Because you're ours to care for,” Zane answers, though we all know she's not ready to accept that truth. “Please, just a few more bites, Baby Girl.”

She nibbles the small block of cheese as though she’s forcing herself to take small bites.Making it last. “I’ll pay you back. I don’t expect anything for nothing, and I don’t like owing people.”

She’s so pale. Weak and in pain. My heart twists in my chest, wanting so much more for her than this perpetual state of fear. “You don’t owe us anything. It’s our honor for you to be here.”

She gives me a flat look before her gaze drops to the food again. She’s hungry, but she’s not taking what she clearly needs. I make the choice for her, offering her a half circle of pineapple. I hold the piece of fruit steady, waiting for her to accept it.

“The cheese is enough,” she says.

I hold in my growl. “It’s nowhere near enough. You can have anything from us you need. We’ll never deny you.” She must understand I’ll hand the world to her without her even asking. “Please, Little One. Please eat. We won’t make you pay.We expect nothing from you in return. We will never use anything we give you against you or as a bargaining tool.

She offers me a quick blink. She takes the pineapple and bites the end. When she finishes the pineapple, she reaches for a cracker, her gaze never leaving mine while she shoves all of it in her mouth, chews, and swallows too quickly. I watch her eat, not forcing, simply letting her take what she needs. She’ll learn that what we give her will never have limits or restrictions.

She manages another small piece of fruit, but her eyes grow heavy. “I don't understand. Alphas don't...”

“Alphas don’t what?” I prompt after her voice fades.

Her vivid gaze locks on my face. Confusion muddies the depths as a frown on her forehead deepens. “They don’t do…what you’re doing.”

“And what exactly am I doing?” I ask. I need to understand why she’s so wary. Why she doesn’t trust. I hold my breath, waiting for the answer so I can do something about it.

“I…” Panic washes over her features as a shiver wracks her frame. She groans and her scent blooms around us, pungent and ripe. She’s falling back into the clutches of her heat too quickly, but I need her to accept, before she grows insensible, that we’re not like other alphas who have damaged her so greatly.

“Whatever you were about to say, about what alphas don’t do, I want you to know that we do,” I tell her, gathering her closer as she starts to drift. “You’re a gift, Mira. The universe smiled down on us when she put you in our path. I know you don’t believe us yet, but we’ll prove it to you. Each and every day you bless us with your presence, we’ll show you how much we want you.”

“I…” Her body arches around another cramp and she succumbs back to the haze of her heat. It happens so fast. One moment she’s lucid and the next she’s sucked under by a gigantic wave. Her scent shifts from sweet need to something sharp. I hate that this is her first experience of a heat with us. The sudden, desperate thought hits me.

I want more than just one heat.

I want a lifetime to show her it won’t always be like this.

“Alpha,” she whimpers, but there's still that underlying tension, that inability to surrender. Her body is in heat, but her mind, her heart—hersoul—isn’t. She maintains a wall between us and the division is tearing her apart.

“We're here, Omega. Always here. For you,” I soothe, running a gentle hand down her spine. She's burning up, skin shining with sweat and I damn Cole for not being here because she needs all of us so badly.

Her eyes, when they meet mine, are glazed and tight. “Hurts,” she manages. “Please...”

Her body is crying out for completion, for knots, for the full claiming her heat demands, but that wariness, that lingering tension... How do we give her what she craves without triggering more trauma? How do we help her through this while respecting her boundaries?

“She needs skin contact,” I murmur to Zane. “Our scents. Our touch.”

She also needs our knots. Desperately. But only if she asks and I’m not sure she will.

I hold her as Zane quickly undresses, his movements efficient, but as he tosses his clothes out of the closet, she reaches for them with a whimper. She grabs his shirt, burying her face in the material before tuning to weave his clothing into the nest of her blankets. Her movements are clumsy, heat-addled, but there's a desperation that hollows my gut.

“She’s going to need yours, too,” Zane says.

Mouth dry, I stand to undress as well, never taking my eyes off her. As soon as my clothes are off, she reaches for them, adding them to her growing nest. The way she burrows into the fabric, inhaling deeply, gratifies me. She's still looking around, her distress evident. She whimpers. Instead of burying herself in the comfort of our scents, her movements grow desperate. It takes me a moment to realize what she's searching for.

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