Page 56 of Break Me Knot

Until I have to run and shatter this dream.

But for now, I allow myself this moment of peace, surrounded by books and his comforting scent, pretending I belong here, arming myself with information. Even though I know better.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Adrian

Ipretend to work, though every one of my senses is attuned to Mira. Her scent drifts through my office, merging with my smoked cedar with perfect compatibility.

She doesn’t understand what that means.

I watch her from beneath my lashes as she explores the bookshelves, her delicate fingers trailing along the spines. The winter light catches the auburn highlights in her hair but also illuminates how painfully thin she is. My jawclenches at the sight of her collar bones jutting too sharply as they poke from the neck of her too-large sweater.

She stills before she pulls out a book on omega biology, and I force myself to remain still despite the way my muscles tense with the urge to help her wrangle it from the shelf. Her scent shifts subtly… surprise, confusion, a hint of fear. What has caused such a visceral reaction? I can’t ask her directly as she’ll shut down, so I hold my tongue.

For now.

When she opens up to me, I want it to be because she trusts me. Because she wants to share her thoughts. Because she understands I’m there to support her.

My chest cracks when she peeks at me, no doubt to see if I’ll allow her to read the book she’s chosen. To garner permission or gauge whether I disapprove.

The fragments of her life my pack brothers and I have pieced together paint a disturbing picture. I notice every one of her little glances. Her hypervigilance when she’s around us. Her flinches at sudden movements, the way she watches exits, how she gulps down her food as though eating is a luxury with a limit.

She moves to the armchair, hesitating before sitting as if expecting punishment. Too much attention makes her skittish, so I maintain the illusion of work while she carefully and slowly settles into the chair.

The sweet notes of her scent warm with the subtle undertones of heat, and my fingers still on the keyboard. Something's not right. Her heat cycle should be finished, yet there's an unmistakable shimmer of fever-scent threading through her natural fragrance. My nostrils flare, analyzing, worry coiling in my gut.

I watch as she shifts in the chair, a slight grimace crossing her features before she can hide it. A feverish flush creeps up her neck, staining her too-pale cheeks. The sight sends my protective instincts into overdrive, but I force myself to remain seated.

Damn it. This isn't normal. The heat took everything out of her. What if there are lingering effects we don't understand from years of taking suppressants obtained from gods-know-where.

She squirms again, pressing her thighs together. The movement is subtle, probably subconscious, but it speaks volumes about her discomfort. My fingers curl into fists beneath the desk, nails biting into my palms as I struggle to maintain my composed facade.

“Little One,” I keep my voice soft, careful not to startle her. “Are you all right?”

She tenses immediately, clutching the book tighter. “I'm fine, Alpha.” The lie falls from her lips automatically, practiced, and something dark twists in my chest at how easily she dismisses her own well-being.

I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “I can call Dr. Maverick back if you want a check-up after your heat. Just to see how you’re recovering.”

Fear spikes in her scent, sharp and acrid, and her face pales more, if that’s possible. Her grip tightens around the pages and she grows unnaturally still. “I…I don't need any treatments. I promise I'll be good.”

I'm divided between my better judgment and the raw fear in her scent. My instincts scream to call Dr. Maverick and get him back here but the way she's holding herself—like a creature expecting punishment—tells me forcing anything right now would be catastrophic.

I take a deep breath, letting her scent wash over me. Beneath her fear and lingering heat, there's infinite weariness that makes my chest ache.

“How about some hot chocolate instead?” I offer, deliberately shifting to something nurturing but non-threatening.

Her pupils dilate instantly, desire flashing across her face before she can mask it. It's these little tells that break my heart. How she wants but won't ask; how she denies herself the simplest comforts.

“Stay there. I'll get it for you,” I say.

“No, Alpha, please, I can make it for both of us.” She's already trying to rise, though I can see how her legs tremble with exhaustion. “It's my place to serve—”

“Your place,” I interrupt softly, “is to rest and heal.” The outdated notion of omega servitude makes my blood boil. “I'm a grown man, Little One. And remember, I watched YouTube and learned how to cook. I assure you I'm quite capable of making hot chocolate.”

She sinks back into the chair, confusion warring with ingrained submission on her face. “But—”

“No buts.” I stand slowly, maintaining a gentle smile. “You rest. Let me take care of you.”

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