Page 135 of Knot Like Other Girls

The pack's protector, standing guard while they rest.

It's a role I've played before. The night watch. The one who stays alert when others succumb to exhaustion.

But this feels different. This isn't about tactical advantage or military necessity. We have to keep this place secure, of course, but it's safe. No one who shot at some asshole influencer and missed is a serious threat. Not here, at least, on our own territory.

This is about... family.

The word catches in my mind, foreign and frightening.

Family.

Pack.

Home.

Concepts I'd convinced myself were no longer for me.

Yet here I am, surrounded by men I'd die for.

And the woman I'm living for.

CHAPTER 38

TROY

Iwake to the sound of a loon calling across the lake, that haunting wail that sounds like laughter gone wrong. The kind of sound that makes you think about ancient things, old spirits drifting over still water.

For a second, I don't know where I am. This happens sometimes—occupational hazard of waking up in too many different places over the years. My body tenses automatically, that split-second combat readiness that never quite leaves you.

Then I smell her. Bella. Caramel coffee warmth, stronger now without all those artificial scents Braxley pumped through his ridiculous penthouse. And layered through her scent, the familiar notes of my pack. My family.

Right. The cabin. The bed. All of us.

I blink awake slowly, keeping my body still as situational awareness filters back. Pre-dawn light seeps through the curtains, painting the room in blue-gray shadows. Roman is in front of me, his arm thrown over his face the way he always sleeps, like he's trying to block out the world. Liam sprawls near the foot of the bed now, one leg hanging off the edge. Savva sleeps the way he does everything—efficiently, barely moving, taking up minimal space.

Bella is curled against Cole's side, her dark hair spilling across his chest, one small hand resting over his heart. They look right together. Like matching puzzle pieces. Her soft curves against his hard angles.

And Cole... Cole isn't sleeping at all.

His one good eye is open, staring at the ceiling. The socket where his prosthetic usually sits is empty, the scarred pink tissue visible in the dim light. His hand is beneath his pillow—probably holding the removed eye—and his other arm curls protectively around Bella.

I've known this man for years. Fought beside him, bled with him, watched him destroy things and then withdraw into himself. I've seen him at his most violent and his most vulnerable. But I've never seen him look the way he does right now. Like he's found something worth protecting, and he'd burn down the world before letting it go.

My chest tightens up at the sight.

Cole deserves this. Deserves her. Deserves happiness, even if he'll never believe it himself.

I shift slightly, making my wakefulness known. No point pretending to sleep. Cole would know anyway. Man's got senses like a damn predator, even with just the one eye.

His gaze flicks to me immediately, that laser focus zeroing in on the potential threat before recognition softens the tension in his jaw.

"You're a menacing son of a bitch," I whisper, my voice rough with sleep.

Cole blows a puff of air through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but close enough for Cole standards. His good eye shifts back to the ceiling, but I can tell he's still watching me.

"How long you been awake?" I ask, keeping my voice low. Roman's snores continue uninterrupted, and Bella's breathing stays deep and even against Cole's chest.

Cole lifts one shoulder in a minimal shrug, careful not to disturb Bella. "Never slept."

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