Page 92 of Knot Like Other Girls

Cole.

My eyes flutter open, and I realize I'm still cradled against his chest, my cheek pressed to his heart. His arms are wrapped around me, one large hand splayed protectively across my back. For a moment, I stay perfectly still, afraid any movement might shatter this fragile peace.

In sleep, I'd expected him to relax, to perhaps loosen his hold. But even now, hours later, he holds me like something precious. Like he's afraid I might slip away if he doesn't keep me anchored.

"You're awake."

His voice is a low rumble I feel as much as hear, vibrating through his chest and into mine. I tilt my head back to look up at him, surprised to find him watching me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. Softer somehow. Less guarded.

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask, my voice still husky from rest.

He shakes his head slightly. "Didn't want to."

The simple honesty in those three words makes something in my chest constrict. He stayed awake all this time, just to watch over me. To keep me safe while I slept through the worst of my unexpected heat.

He is, after all, my scent match. The words echo in my memory, sending a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with the lingering effects of heat still burning like embers inside me.

All my life, I've heard stories about scent matches. Every omega grows up on tales of finding that perfect pack whose scent calls to them on a deep and primal level. Whose presence soothes something restless in their soul. Most of us dream of it, secretly or otherwise.

But in our modern world, where suppressants are the norm and arranged marriages still happen, actually finding a scent-matched pack is rare.

Yet here I am, cradled in the arms of an alpha who is my match. My brain should be racing at the implications, at the sudden shift in everything I thought I knew. Instead, I feel oddly calm. Centered in a way I haven't been in years.

"How are you feeling?" Cole asks, his voice still that low, careful rumble. Like he's afraid speaking too loudly might hurt me.

I take mental inventory of my body. The fever has receded, leaving only a pleasant warmth in its wake. The cramping is gone, the restlessness settled. The suppressants did their job, at least for now.

"Better," I murmur. "Much better."

His shoulders relax fractionally at my words, tension I hadn't even noticed easing from his frame. "Good."

We lapse into silence again, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something soothing about simply existing in this moment, in the cocoon of his arms, with no expectations, no performance. Just being.

When was the last time I felt this way?

This peaceful?

This... safe?

I can't remember.

My entire life has been a careful dance of meeting expectations. My family's, Braxley's, society's. Always smiling, always accommodating, always shrinking myself to fit the box others created for me. The perfect omega daughter. The perfect fiancée for an up-and-coming alpha from a good family.

But right now, wrapped in Cole's embrace, I don't feel the need to be anything other than exactly who I am.

"What are you thinking about?" Cole's question breaks through my reverie, his voice low and tentative, like he's not sure he has the right to ask.

I consider deflecting, giving some easy answer that won't expose the chaos in my mind. But Cole has given me honesty—about his scars, about his ex-fiancee, about why he keeps his distance. He deserves the same from me.

"Scent matches," I admit softly. "I used to dream about finding a pack when I was younger."

His body tenses minutely against mine, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah?"

I nod, my cheek rubbing against the fabric of his shirt. "My grandmother used to tell me stories. She was a beta, but she found her scent-matched pack when she was nineteen. Said the moment she caught their scents, she knew she'd found her home."

Cole makes a noncommittal sound, but I can feel his heartbeat pick up slightly under my ear.

"I remember asking her how she knew. What it felt like." I smile at the memory, at the way my grandmother's eyes would crinkle at the corners when she spoke of my grandfathers. "She said it was like finding a piece of herself she didn't know was missing. Like the world suddenly made more sense, even when nothing had actually changed."

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