Page 68 of Break Me Knot

As a result, I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, including the beautiful coat I somehow couldn't bring myself to take off. Maybe I could wear one of the robes they left in the bathroom while I wash and dry my clothes. My eyes drift to the pile of shopping bags, but… no. I'm not going there. Accepting those clothes reeks of permanence, too much like admitting I might stay.

The coat is different though. Maybe because it was given with such obvious joy, with no expectations. Maybe because Zane's face lit up so beautifully when I put it on. Maybe because it kept me warm during one of the most magical nights of my life makes it special.

I carefully hang the coat in the closet, smoothing my hands over the soft material one last time. It looks strange there, this one beautiful piece among the empty hangers, but somehow right. Like it belongs, even if I don't.

I head back to the bedroom to collect my dirty clothes, only to stop short. The small pile of dirty laundry I'd left next to my pack is gone. Anxiety claws up my throat as I move toward the door. I need to find Zane, to ask... but what if they threw them away? What if they decided I shouldn't have those reminders of my past? I'm so caught up in my rising panic that I almost run straight into Cole. He's right outside my door, hand raised to knock, and we both freeze. His leather and amber scent washes over me, and something inside responds, wanting to bare my throat and seek comfort from him. I force the instinct down.

“Why are you here?” I blurt out, then want to bite my tongue. Don't demand things. Don't show weakness. Don't...

But Cole's expression isn't angry. If anything, he looks... guilty?

I notice the neat bundle in his arms. They’re my clothes, but they’re clean, pressed and folded with obvious care. A hole in the jeans on the top of the pile has been mended.

Cole shifts his weight, looking everywhere but at me. His usual commanding presence seems diminished, almost shy. A faint blush colors his cheeks, creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. He runs his free hand through his dark hair, messing it up in a way that's surprisingly endearing. The gesture is so far from the cold alpha front he presents. His scent carries notes of nervousness, that make me want to soothe him and…why the hell is that?

“I, uh...” he starts, then stops. Clears his throat. “I was hoping to have them back before you woke up.”

He thrusts the bundle into my arms, like he can't bear to hold onto them any longer. The clothes are warm. They've just come from the dryer, and they smell clean and floral.

Before I can process what's happening—before I can thank him or question him or do anything at all—he turns and strides away, his broad shoulders tense. But not before I catch the deepening blush on his face, the way his scent spikes. I try to tamp down my reaction, but my omega purrs. His delectable scent trails behind him, mixing with notes of the fresh cotton. My mouth waters.

I stare at his back, my gaze running over the way his black compression shirt clings to his broad shoulders and muscled back, defining every ripple of strength beneath the fabric. Dark athletic shorts show off powerful thighs, the material stretching across muscles honed by countless hours of training. His body is a study in controlled strength, and he moves with a lethal grace that makes me sit up and really take notice.

He spends hours in their private gym. I've heard the sounds of weights late into the night when everyone else is sleeping. I've lain awake in my nest, listening to the steady rhythm of his routine, wondering what ghosts he's trying to outrun.

“Did you...” My voice comes out smaller than intended, and I clear my throat. The warm bundle of clothes in my arms gives me courage. “Did you wash these?”

He stops, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. The muscles in his back go rigid, and his scent shifts with something that might be embarrassment or vulnerability. Without turning around, he says quietly, “It was the least I could do, Omega.”

The words linger between us, heavy with meaning I don’t quite understand. But something about his tone, about the careful way he handled my clothes, about how he tried to do this kindness in secret, tightens my chest. Before I can respond, he continues down the hallway, his athletic frame disappearing around the corner to the gym. I'm left wondering about this alpha who runs from kindness like it burns him, who tries to care for me from a distance, who seems as haunted by his past as I am by mine.

And he definitely doesn’t want me here.

Right?

I retreat to my room, closing the door behind me. I'm not sure what to do with the emotions Cole's kindness has stirred up. As I walk past the shopping bags, a pillow peeking out from cream tissue paper catches my eye. It's gorgeous, deep emerald velvet on one side, soft cream silk on the other, with intricate gold embroidery along the edges. The design reminds me of the botanical illustrations in my mother's old books, delicate vines intertwined with blooming flowers. Before I can stop myself, I'm reaching for it. The velvet is impossibly soft under my fingers as I run my fingertips over the back and sides.

I should put it back in the bag, but almost of their own accord, my feet carry me to my closet nest. I tuck the pillow between the cream blanket Zane gave me and my old, threadbare ones. It looks right there, somehow. Like it belongs. The contrast between my worn blankets and these new pieces should be jarring, but instead, it’s... balanced. Like old and new coming together to create something whole.

I slip into my freshly laundered jeans, and they're still warm, impossibly soft against my skin. I've never managed to get them this comfortable, no matter how many times I've washed them, possibly because I could only afford laundromats and harsh detergents. Whatever Cole did was magic. Heat scratches under my skin, as though protesting laundry is all I have of the alphas when I really want their hands, scent, muscles, knots and…

I push away from the closet when wetness trickles between my thighs. I don’t want to sacrifice a fresh set of underwear since I only have a few pairs, now washed and clean.

Yes, but what else might be in the bags? I bet there’s lingerie in there somewhere. They’ve thought of everything else.

I make myself walk past the bags, into the hallway and kitchen where I hear low voices and see Adrian and Zane’s heads close together as they speak in hushed tones. The moment I step into the kitchen, they spring apart. Adrian straightens his tie while Zane snatches a cup from under the coffee carafe but I catch the way their eyes track to me.

“Good morning, Little One,” Adrian says, but there's something tight around his eyes.

Their combined scents carry undertones of worry that make my skin prickle and make me think they’ve been talking about me.

Chapter Thirty-One

Mira

Before my anxiety can spiral, Zane crosses to me with a steaming mug. “Here, Baby Girl,” he murmurs, and then his lips are on mine. The kiss is sweet and gentle, tasting of coffee and morning, his flirty zest bursting around me. His free hand settles on my waist, thumb stroking softly through my shirt. When he pulls back, his eyes dance and his scent grows rich with satisfaction.

I barely have time to process Zane’s kiss before Adrian steps close and cups my cheek. His kiss is different from Zane's, more controlled, but no less tender.Where Zane is playful sunshine, Adrian is steady warmth. His thumb strokes my jawline as he pulls away.Just a normal morning with two of my alphas.

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