Page 41 of Knot Your Baby

I sigh as I grab the photograph album I saw earlier and sink back into the oversized armchair; the cushions enveloping me, and I feel better than when I’m in my bed at home.

I flick to the first page of the worn photo album that lies heavy in my lap. Another turn reveals another glimpse into Freya’s past.

There she is. This time she is a little older and has blonde hair. That surprises me. What does shock me is she’s always lingering in the background.

Her sister, a shorter blonde, stands front and center in every shot, their mother’s hand resting on her shoulder. The contrast between them is stark. Like one sister is basking in the spotlight, while the other perpetually sneaks into the shadows.

It seems absurd considering Freya’s personality.

“So, this is your family,” I murmur, tracing a finger over the glossy surface. In another photo, two boys flank Freya in several photos, their protective stances speaking volumes. Her brothers, probably alphas, I realize, wondering where they’ve disappeared to when their sister needs them most.

If she’s not next to her brothers, she’s usually positioned next to one of her fathers in these memories.

“Yet nobody is here for you.” My fingers brush against a soft throw blanket draped over the chair’s arm. Blindly, I pull it over my body, and its warmth seeps into my bones.

I inhale the fragrance. Freya’s scent still clings to the fabric. Her true scent—it’s faint but present—and probably from before she started taking those damn inhibitors.

I know sleep won’t come—it never does. But I can be close to her here. There is something about this space that feels right in a way my home never has.

And as the blanket settles around me like a cocoon, I take in a deep breath of her scent, letting the tension in my shoulders ease as I close my eyes and the tranquility of her apartment wrap around me.

Chapter 12

Freya

I wake to silence- blessed, beautiful silence.

Peering at the clock, I see it’s just past six in the morning and Stone has slept through the night.

I smile. I’m such a good mother that I’ve gotten my baby to sleep through for the third night in a row.

Still smiling, I creep to his crib and lean over, brushing my fingers across his velvet-soft cheek. His tiny rosebud mouth puckers in his sleep.

“You’re the best baby in the universe,” I whisper. “Letting Mommy sleep all night long again.”

He doesn’t stir, so I seize my chance. Another calm shower sounds like heaven right now, rather than the quick washes I’ve been getting since he was born.

I grab clean clothes and dash to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked in case he wakes.

I groan as the hot water cascades over my shoulders, working out the knots that come from constant nursing and holding a newborn. I keep it quick, though. I can’t risk him waking up alone.

After brushing my teeth and running a comb through my damp hair, I check on Stone again. Still sleeping like an angel.

Coffee.I definitely need coffee.

The kitchen floor is cold under my bare feet as I fill the kettle and set it on the stove. The familiar routine is soothing. I like these quiet moments in my day. I measure grounds into the French press, and I wait for that first whistle, but it’s a rustling sound behind me that breaks the morning quiet.

I freeze.

It came from the living room.

Turning slowly, I see movement under the throw blanket in my armchair. A large figure shifts beneath it.

A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it.

I scream again as the figure bolts upright, and the blanket falls to reveal Zane’s panicked face.

Stone’s wail pierces the air from my bedroom.

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