Page 6 of Break Me Knot

The pack bond thrums with shared purpose, shared worry. Cole's anxiety about being near omegas, Zane's carefully hidden fear that we’ll never find an omega who will complete us, and my own determination to see this through. We chose each other, formed our own pack years ago when we were ideal alphasfinding our way in a world teetering on a fine edge. The matching marks on our necks prove a bond stronger than blood.

I catch Cole's eye, sending reassurance through our connection. If he never accepts an omega into our pack, so be it. That’s if we’d ever be lucky enough to have one. His happiness matters more than tradition, more than the growing pressure to claim one of the increasingly rare omegas. But with birth rates dropping even further—only one omega born for every fifty alphas—and with research telling us the virus that slowed the birth rates of omega down sixty years ago is on the rise, it’s more important than ever to increase funding into our research. The questions that have bothered us for years resound in my mind. Why has the Senator reduced funding, and why isn’t the government taking over that funding? Why not open research to other companies, not just ours?

“Hardwick's here,” Zane mutters, nodding toward the entrance where Senator Evelyn Hardwick sweeps in, her tailored suit a statement of power. Dr. Sylvia Mercer follows close behind her, the Senator’s well-trained shadow, her sharp eyes already scanning the crowd, cataloging potential allies and threats. “Time to work those dimples, brother.”

I drain my champagne, squaring my shoulders. Everything we've built, everything we're fighting for, depends on convincing these females to fund our research. I’m about to approach the Senator when a pack of alphas surrounding an omega brush past.

“Christ,” Cole mutters as the group passes, his distress bleeding through our bond. “She looks so young.”

I watch the young omega, surrounded by her pack of at least eight alphas, all of them easily in their fifties. She's tiny, barely reaching their shoulders, dressed in expensive silk that does nothing to hide how fragile she is. Her honey-blonde hair falls forward, concealing her face, and I’m not sure if it’s trained behavior or natural shyness.

“Haven graduates are supposed to be at least twenty-three before being claimed. That's the law the last time I looked,” Zane mutters, echoing my thoughts.

The pack moves as a well-oiled machine, the alphas creating a protective barrier around their omega, but there's something predatory in their formation that makes my instincts bristle.

The omega's hands shake as one of her alphas hands her a glass of water, choosing it from a tray of wine and other drinks. Something about that omega nags at me, an itch I can't quite scratch. I remember the omegas I knew from university before The Haven Institute was founded. Before Hardwick's protective legislation she brought in, and omega attendance was made mandatory. They were rare even then, but they walked with their heads high, laughed openly, chose their own paths. Nothing like this fragile creature surrounded by her wall of aging alphas.

“Twelve years that place has been operating, and what do we know about it? Nothing gets out except crafted media releases about omega protection and education.”

And perfectly crafted omegas.

Hardwick calls the Haven Institute her crowning achievement. It's a refuge for young omegas who are taken at sixteen, supposedly to protect them from a world that grows more desperate for them every year. The idea is also to shield alphas, who will go into a mad rut if they meet an unbonded omega. Honestly, I doubt any self-respecting alpha couldn't control himself around a small omega. It wasn’t always like this. Back when we were at university, omegas were just as free to attend as anyone else. We managed to keep ourselves in check, even when freshly presented and full of alpha pheromones, despite the world's turmoil over declining omega births.

“They keep the omegas for seven years. That’s a long time for any sort of training,” I murmur, watching the omega's careful, measured movements as her pack guides her through the crowd.

The omega facilities across the country are not like universities. There is no going home for summer breaks. No weekends back with family. There are only two days a year that families are legally permitted to visit their omega children. Christmas and the child’s birthdays.

So wrong. Over the years stricter laws have crept in. The insidious tightening went unnoticed… until it went so far it wasn’t unnoticed anymore. Sophie, Zane’s omega sister, has been protesting for omega rights for years now, and no wonder. Her rights have been systematically stripped from her. She’s old enough to have experienced the changes over the years and is lucky to have a supportive pack behind her. I make a mental note to send her more money to fund her cause.

The omega spies Mercer and her entire body turns rigid. She stops dead in her tracks, the blood draining from her face. One of her alphas—the oldest, with steel-gray hair—wraps his arm around her waist. It looks protective to casual observers, but I catch the way his fingers dig into her side.

He whispers something in her ear, and she starts to walk again, her gaze on the floor. The pack smoothly changes direction, heading for the exit. As they pass Mercer, another alpha in their group, younger, but with the same predatory grace, tips his head in acknowledgment. Mercer’s gaze flicks from the omega to Hardwick. A barely there action I’d have missed if I wasn’t watching.

“Tell me you saw that,” I murmur to my bond brothers, unable to shake the chill that something isn’t quite right.

“The way she froze?” Zane nods, a small furrow appearing between his brows.

“And the look one of her alphas gave the director,” I say.

Cole doesn't respond immediately. His distress spirals, the mess of dark emotions tangling with old grief. He's thinking about Lily again, the omega he partially bonded with at eighteen, before everything changed. Before she died in what the official reports called a “heat complication.”

“Cole,” I say softly, sending strength through our connection. “Stay with us.”

“I'm here,” he manages, but his fingers are white-knuckled around his glass.

Zane moves closer, providing a second physical anchor point for our distressed brother. “What happened with Lily wasn’t your fault.”

Cole’s eyes flash to Zane. A muscle tenses at his jaw. He throws back his whiskey and sets it on a nearby table. “It’s too hot in here and I still smell that omega. I’ll see you back home.”

I watch Cole's retreating back until he disappears into the crowd, guilt churning in my stomach. His pain is raw and bleeding even after all these years. I should have known having him here tonight was a mistake.

“Don't,” Zane says quietly. “You can't protect him from everything, Adrian. Especially not memories.”

“He's getting worse,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “The grief, the guilt… it's eating him alive, and I don't know how to help him.”

Zane downs his drink, setting the empty glass aside. “The lab results showed it wasn't Cole's fault, but you know him. He'll carry that guilt to his grave.”

I nod, already planning to check on him when we get home. At least he can let his guard down in his own space.

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