Page 33 of Knot My Luck

But I can’t say any of that.

So instead, I meet their gazes, set my jaw, and state, “I don’t belong to you.”

Their answering growls tell me they disagree.

And I don’t know if I want to fight it.

Or if I want them to prove me wrong.

Tadhg’s hand brushes my waist, his fingers just barely grazing the satin of my dress, and I swear my body betrays me in that instant – heat rising, pulse skittering, every nerve singing with the primal pull of my alphas.

“We’re not doing this here,” I hiss fiercely, glancing around, desperate to see if anyone’s watching. Nuala seems to be the only one, giving me a knowing grin and a flirty wink before wandering off.

Thank god she didn’t say anything. Or worse, ask questions. Maybe she’s a better friend than I give her credit for.

The reception is a blur of dancing, champagne, and soft golden lights, but my skin prickles with the sensation of eyes on me. Surely, someone has noticed the tension crackling between us.

“Devlin—” Lorcan’s voice is low, firm, threaded with concern and something darker.

“No,” I snap, a little too sharp, panic edging into my voice. “Not here. Please.”

Tadhg steps closer, his warmth a dangerous lure. “We just want to talk?—”

“Please,” I beg, barely able to meet his gaze. “People are staring.”

They aren’t – not yet – but I know they will be if we keep this up. Multiple alphas closing in on an omega is never subtle, even if most of these peoplethinkI’m a beta.

Lorcan’s jaw ticks, frustration flashing across his dark eyes, but before he can say anything, a new presence slips into my space.

“Mind if I cut in?”

The voice is smooth, familiar, and laced with just enough steel to make both alphas tense.

Cathal.

Ice floods my veins, freezing me in place as he steps between us, effortlessly inserting himself into the storm brewing around me. His sharp, assessing gaze flicks from Tadhg to Lorcan before settling on me, his expression unreadable.

“I believe this is a wedding, not a territorial dispute,” he says mildly, though there’s an edge beneath his words that makes my stomach twist.

“Cathal, don’t—” I start, but before I can finish, he takes my hand and sweeps me onto the dance floor.

I jerk against his grip, my pulse a violent staccato, my breath catching in my throat. I don’t want this. I don’t wanthim. And I sure as hell don’t want my body betraying me when I should be clawing his goddamn eyes out.

But my traitorous feet move, following his lead, because we’ve done this a thousand times before.

My hand presses against his chest, pushing back just enough to keep space between us, but the heat of him seeps through my palm, through the fine fabric of his suit, through every stupid, reckless part of me that still remembers the way he used to say his heart only beat for me.

I hate him.

I hate myself more.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, my voice low and sharp.

A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Saving you,” he mutters, like this is some kind of fuckingfavour. “You looked like you were about to bolt – or worse, cause a scene.”

I stiffen, my grip tightening into a fist against his jacket. “I washandlingit,” I snap, venom lacing my words. Even though we both know I wasn’t.

I’m shaking, every muscle coiled tight, my omega instincts screaming at me to run before my scent betrays me. The hotel’s descenting products should be working.They have to be working. But what if they’re not?

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