Page 11 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

As if he could read the thoughts straight out of my head, D scolded me firmly. “You’ve got to let go of that guilt. We may be a little worse for wear, but we’re all alive. That’s what counts.” He leaned forward, catching my eye. “All that matters now is moving forward. Healing.”

I nodded, my voice failing me as I drank in the sight of my mate like a man dying of thirst. The gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. The way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks. The small cluster of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Healing is going to be a journey. Physically. Mentally…” I sighed. “Has she been talking about it?” I asked quietly, not needing to elaborate further.

Dimitri shook his head. “Not much. She’s been focused on you. On making sure you pulled through.”

Even now, even after everything, her first instinct was to care for others. To care for me. I didn’t deserve her. She was too good, too goddamn sweet for the likes of us.

“But if it helps, Gio said she doesn’t regret taking that shot. She’d do anything to protect us, same as we would for her.”

For her.

I’d do anything for her. Hell, I’d figure out how to steal the damn moon from the sky if she simply asked.

Kit had become the center of my world, my entire reason for breathing. I needed to get better for her. To be the man she deserved, the protector she needed. I couldn’t change what had happened, but I could be there for her now, help her through the aftermath.

My Omega stirred, her brow furrowing as she shifted in her uncomfortable position. I held my breath, thinking she mightwake, but she settled again, her body clearly too exhausted to fully rouse.

“I’ll let the others know you’re awake,” D said. “They’ve been taking shifts, waiting for you to wake up properly.”

I managed a small smile, though it felt strained. “Tell them not to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

As Dimitri left, I shifted in bed, ignoring the pain that flared across my abdomen, and lifted Kit’s hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Butterfly,” I murmured against her soft skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She didn’t stir, but the monitor beside my bed beeped a little faster, tracking the way my heart raced at her closeness even now, even broken and guilt-ridden as I was.

It let me know I was still here. Still alive. And after everything I’d been through, that was nothing short of a miracle.

I had a second chance, and there was no chance in hell I was going to waste it.

five

TOMMAS

Kit shifted in the chair,a soft groan escaping her lips as she uncurled her stiff limbs. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a moment before zeroing in on me. She blinked once, twice, awareness flooding her features, followed immediately by embarrassment. Her hand flew to her mouth, checking for drool, then to her hair, trying to tame the wild strands escaping her bun.

Fuck, she was adorable when caught off guard.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, her voice husky from sleep, that slight rasp sending heat straight through me despite my condition.

With D headed home to shower and Gio and Marco out picking up breakfast, it was just me and my Omega in our own little bubble.

“Long enough to ogle you properly.” I smirked, trying for my usual playful tone despite the roughness in my throat. “The view from this bed isn’t half bad when it includes a beautiful woman.”

Kit rolled her eyes, but the flush spreading across her cheeks told me my words hit their mark. She always responded to my flirting, even when she pretended to be exasperated by it. That blush was one of my favorite things in the world—the way it started at the hollow of her throat and worked its way up to stain her cheeks, turning her creamy skin into something warm and pretty.

“I must look awful,” she muttered, fingers self-consciously tugging at her—my—oversized sweatshirt, eyes avoiding mine as she tried to fix her messy bun. “I haven’t had a real shower in two days. Just those awful bathroom sink wash-ups.”

My heart clenched at the admission. I knew she hadn’t left the hospital. Had spent days sleeping in that torture device they called a chair, or worse, on that board of a cot in the corner. She’d only left my side to wash up with a sponge bath, and had been picking at her food, living off far too much of that vending machine garbage.

“Come here,” I said, holding out my hand.

She hesitated, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “You should rest. The doctor said—”

“Fuck what the doctor said. I need you close.”

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