Page 126 of Knot Like Other Girls

"No wonder you were so tense when we first met," Troy says, helping himself to more mac and cheese. "Living in a museum would make anyone uptight."

"I wasn't tense!" I protest automatically, then reconsider. "Okay, maybe I was a little tense."

"A little," Cole says, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You're one to talk about tense." I bump him lightly under the table with my foot, surprising myself with the playful gesture. His eyebrows shoot up, but that almost-smile grows more defined.

"To be fair," Roman says, "we weren't exactly making things easy for you. Five strange alphas invading your space, watching your every move..."

"I didn't mind the watching," I admit, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Not really. It was more that I felt like I was constantly disappointing everyone. Braxley wanted the perfect omega fiancée for his brand. My family wanted the perfect daughter making an advantageous match. And then you all arrived, and I felt like I was failing at being a proper protectee too."

"How so?" Savva asks, his elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of his wineglass.

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't know. You're all so… efficient. I felt like I was just in the way. Not helping, not making things easier."

"Your job was never to make our job easier," Roman says firmly. "We were there to protect you. That's all."

"And now?" I can't help asking.

The table goes quiet, the only sound the clink of silverware against plates. My question hangs in the air, and none of us seems quite ready to break the silence.

It's Cole who speaks first. "We're still protecting you." His voice is rough, but sure. "Just with... additional considerations."

"Additional considerations," I repeat, a smile tugging at my lips. It's such a careful, precise way of referring to our evolving relationship.

"That's one way to put it," Troy snickers.

Cole shoots him a warning glance, but there's no real heat behind it. The awkwardness breaks, conversation flowing again as we continue eating. Topics shift naturally, from the extensive security features of the cabin to the abundant local wildlife this year and the heavy rain forecast in the coming week.

Throughout the meal, I find myself glancing at Cole from the corner of my eye. He eats methodically, everything cut into precise, manageable bites. When he drinks his wine, he does so with a particular motion—head tilted back, the glass positionedto pour the liquid directly into the back of his throat, bypassing the damaged side of his mouth.

The realization that he's had to relearn even the most basic activities—eating, drinking—makes my heart ache. This is his reality every day, these careful accommodations for what was taken from him. Yet he never complains, never draws attention to his limitations. He simply adapts and carries on.

When he catches me watching, I don't look away. Instead, I offer a small smile. He holds my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression, before returning to his food.

I bump him under the table again.

His hand squeezes my thigh.

I squirm before I can stop myself, instantly catching the attention of every alpha at the table like I'm a lamb and they're all wolves. But nobody says a word, even as the scent of my heat spikes enough that even I can taste it on the air.

The conversation around the table resumes. It's awkward at first, but soon, it's flowing as naturally as it did a few moments ago. The members of the Vanguard Pack all seamlessly include me in their banter and inside jokes. They tell stories, sanitized versions of missions and assignments and humorous anecdotes about their time together.

I learn that Liam once got lost in the countryside somewhere by the Caspian Sea and was adopted by an elderly goat herder for three days before the team found him. That Troy holds the pack record for most bones broken in a single incident—seven, falling off a cliff in Croatia. That Savva was a trained classical musician who altered the course of his entire life when he killed someone with a cello endpin. Someone he swears more than deserved it, although when I ask why, his lips just curl into that wolfish grin and he sips more wine.

I find myself laughing more than I have in months, maybe even years. The wine and good food and better company have wrapped me up in a bubble of warmth and safety I never want to leave.

"We need to discuss tomorrow," Roman says to me, pulling me from my thoughts, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear him over the others' conversation. "Specifically, your options regarding your heat."

My stomach flutters. We'd touched on this before leaving the penthouse, but the reality of my situation is becoming more immediate. The suppressants I took are temporary, designed to give me a reprieve rather than a solution. Soon, likely tomorrow, my heat will return in full force.

And Cole's knot alone likely won't be enough to stop it.

"I know," I say, taking a fortifying sip of wine. "I've been thinking about it."

"As I mentioned before, we can provide stronger suppressants," Roman continues. "They would block the cycle completely, though they have side effects—headaches, nausea, mood fluctuations, flu symptoms that might be bad enough for you to need fluids. It would be temporary, and we can give you those fluids here. Savva is trained. It would just be until you return to Los Angeles for the charity gala and can consult with your regular physician."

I nod, considering my options. Stronger suppressants might be the sensible choice, the cautious one. But something in me rebels at the thought of chemically suppressing what my body is trying to tell me. That after years of artificial control, it's recognized the Vanguard Pack as compatible matches and wants to forge those bonds.

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