Page 41 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

"You think he suspects?"

"That we know she's our Omega, and we're going to make her ours? Maybe. That we're planning something? Definitely."

Unease settles through me that he’s paid a bit too much attention to us.

A knock at the door interrupts us. Cindy stands in the doorway, tablet in hand, her posture slightly tense. "Sorry to interrupt, but the Anderson group called. They want to move their corporate tasting to next week."

"Whatever works best," Garrett says easily, but I notice how his eyes track her movements, assessing. "You okay? You seem..."

"Fine," she mutters, fiddling with her tablet. Her ocean-blue dress flows over her slender frame. At just twenty-two, she’s already endured more than most, thanks to her asshole parents marrying her off to a controlling Alpha at seventeen. "I thought I saw someone familiar outside earlier. But it was nothing."

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Garrett sets his glass down with careful precision.

"What kind of familiar?" I ask.

"Not him." Cindy shakes her head quickly. "Really, it was probably just someone who looked similar. I'm being paranoid."

"You see anything that makes you uneasy, you tell us immediately. No matter how small," Garrett states.

She nods, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thanks. I'll let the Andersons know about next week."

After she leaves, Garrett lets out a long breath.

"Six months she's been here. Longest she's stayed anywhere since she ran. Hopefully, he won't track her down to Whispering Grove. For now, she's safe, and we'll fucking keep it that way. Anyway, speaking of situations… what did your contact find out about Ruby's lease?"

The change of subject pulls me back to our own complicated situation. I draw out my phone, scrolling through recent messages. "The building's mortgage is underwater. Marcus has been pressuring the bank to call in the loan, trying to force a sale. Ruby has to the end of the year to either buy it outright or find new investors."

"Fuck." Garrett drains his glass. "No wonder she's been looking stressed lately. I’ll lend her the money. Anything she needs."

"Goes without saying." I finally take a sip of the beer, letting the deep flavors roll over my tongue. "If she'll accept it. I get the impression she's not one to easily take help."

Garrett raises an eyebrow. "Then we have to make her see we're not the bad guys."

I set my glass down, remembering how she looked in the snow, all in white, like some kind of winter spirit. Pure. Untouched.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before I've met them, but the urgency to claim her grows inside me. A need to possess her, protect her, claim her... it's getting worse."

"Your turn's coming," Garrett reminds me. "We stick to the plan and not rush it to scare her."

Silence.

"I can hear you plotting murder from here," Garrett murmurs. "Want to share with the class? You're thinking about her again, aren't you?"

I give him a wolfish grin. "Just about problem-solving strategies."

"Right." I hear the sarcasm in his voice. "Not anything to do with waiting for your turn?"

I chuckle heavily. I already know I'm not nearly as in control as I pretend to be.

13

RUBY

The Christmas lights twinkle mockingly as I adjust the last wreath on the wall of the function room in my bar. Everything’s perfect—too perfect, maybe—which means something’s bound to go wrong. No, I can’t think like that.

“Ruby, stop fussing.” Ash’s voice carries from where he’s stocking the private bar. “The decorations are fine. The room looks amazing.”

I step back, gnawing on my bottom lip. The emerald garland frames the windows perfectly, tiny white lights casting a warm glow across the polished wooden tables we’ve pushed against the walls. They’re filled with silver chafing dishes, platters of baked goods, plates, cutlery, and festive red-and-green serviettes. A Christmas tree stands in the far corner because I couldn’t not have one. But I have to admit, even I can appreciate how the vintage ornaments catch the light. They’re all from Aunt Eve’s collection, the ones she’d spend hours telling me stories about while I helped her decorate the bar every year.

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