Page 96 of Knot Like Other Girls

"Think about it," says Troy. "Who was the first person to really reach Cole since we've been here? When he stormed off and had one of his episodes, who calmed him down? Who did he let patch him up? Who did he carve that little wooden duck for?"

He has a point. Despite Cole's best efforts to keep everyone—especially Bella—at arm's length, she's been the only one able to break through his defenses. The rest of us have years of history with Cole, know exactly what he survived, and yet Bella managed to connect with him in ways we haven't been able to.

"She sees him," I say, the realization crystallizing in my mind. "Not the scars, not the anger, but him. They share a bond."

I've spent my career reading people, identifying their weaknesses and pressure points, understanding what makes them tick. But somehow, I missed this. Missed the subtle but undeniable connection forming between our most damaged packmate and our omega.

Perhaps because it seemed so improbable. Cole, who's barely spoken more than a handful of words to any omega since his omega fiancee left him, forming a bond with Bella first. Yet in retrospect, the signs were there all along.

"It's the carving," I say finally. "That was the turning point."

"And she carries it everywhere," Troy adds. "Like a talisman or something."

The hallway falls silent as we all absorb this new understanding. For all our tactical expertise and combat training, we completely missed the most significant development right in front of us.

The silence is broken by the soft click of the guest room door opening. We all straighten, instantly alert, as Bella emerges with Cole close behind her. Her cheeks still hold a faint flush, but her eyes are clear, the worst of the heat symptoms clearly subdued. Cole hovers protectively at her shoulder, his posture rigid but his eyes watchful, daring any of us to upset her.

I understand that look all too well. It's the look of an alpha who has made protecting his omega his primary mission. Territorial, possessive, yet surprisingly gentle in its execution.

Where the others hesitate, I step forward. As the most analytical of our pack, I've always been the one to explain difficult concepts, to break down complex situations into digestible parts. This moment calls for facts presented with calm assurance rather than emotional intensity.

"How are you feeling?" I ask Bella, keeping my voice level and neutral.

She clutches the hem of her sweater, eyes darting between us. "Better. Not... burning anymore. But confused. Very confused."

I nod, acknowledging her state without judgment. "That's understandable. What you experienced was a suppressed heat suddenly breaking through. It can happen under extremeemotional duress or when in prolonged proximity to..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Compatible alphas."

"Scent matches," she clarifies, the term still seeming to taste foreign on her tongue.

"Yes." I maintain steady eye contact, gauging her reaction. "We were hired to protect you, not to complicate your life further. Scent matches can be... overwhelming. We didn't want to pressure you or create a situation where you felt obligated rather than making a free choice."

Roman steps forward, his usual commanding presence subdued. "It was my decision, ultimately. As pack leader, I thought it best to wait until?—"

"Until I wasn't with Braxley anymore," Bella finishes for him.

"Yes," Roman admits. "Though I didn't anticipate it happening quite like this."

A small smile curls the corner of Bella's lips. "No, I guess you wouldn't."

The tension in the hallway dissipates slightly. She's not angry. Confused, overwhelmed certainly, but not angry. That's a good sign.

"You should sit down," I suggest. "The suppressants help with the symptoms, but your body is still processing a significant hormonal event. And we should all have a conversation about what happens next. Preferably somewhere more comfortable than a hallway."

"Kitchen," Troy suggests immediately. "I'll make coffee."

"Tea would be better," I counter. "Caffeine will only exacerbate any lingering symptoms."

Bella nods. "Tea sounds perfect."

As we make our way to the kitchen, I observe the dynamics shifting in real time. Cole stays close to Bella, his body angled toward hers protectively. The others maintain a respectful distance, careful not to crowd her. It's fascinating to watch—five alphas, all trained killers, all potential competitors for a single omega's attention, seamlessly adjusting their behaviors to prioritize her comfort.

The kitchen is neutral territory. Open enough to avoid feelings of confinement, yet intimate enough for a serious conversation. I head straight for the kettle, grateful for the ritual of tea making. It gives me something precise to focus on while the others settle around the island.

"I'll make sure Braxley makes himself scarce," Cole mutters, already stalking off even as Bella gives him a sweet, affectionate smile that seems to melt his edges a bit.

"Chamomile may be soothing," I say, scanning Braxley's surprisingly adequate tea collection. These aren't cheap.

"Please," Bella answers, settling onto a stool.

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