Page 23 of Pack Down Bad

To my surprise, he lets out a quiet huff of a laugh. “No.”

At least I got him to laugh, but I want him to say more. I want him to let me get to know even the smallest sliver of his personality beyond the grouchy introduction I’ve gotten so far. There has to be a real person under all the grunting and huffing.

After a moment, he sighs and gives me what I want.

“My work is popular online. The original paintings sell for decent money, but I make just as much selling reproductions to fans online who like watching my progress, especially when...”

“When you paint shirtless.” I flash him a teasing smile. “So, you’re a thirst trap artist, then?”

He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck.

Wait a second.

“How do you post online without any service up here?” We stare at each other. I’m waiting for him to answer; he looks like he’s waiting for the ground to swallow me up and get me out of his hair. Understanding dawns on me. “Oh, you can have Rhys post for you when he goes to town.”

Knox slowly nods, his lips pursed.

I feel silly for even asking when the answer is so obvious. Just because they’re happy living with no access to the outside world doesn’t mean theyneverinteract. After all, Rhys’s trips into town are the only reason he stumbled across me on the way home from the grocery store.

Like fate.

Skimming back over the room, my eyes catch on a painting propped up near Knox’s easel. At first glance, the gray and white painting seems monotonous, but the longer I look, the more intrigued I am. I wander closer to get a better look.

There’s a blurred figure in the center of the canvas, a shadow in a sea of whites and grays. Almost like someone is wading through a snowstorm toward me. The painting would almost be somber if you didn’t notice the way one of the figure’s hands appears to be outstretched, reaching for connection. As I bend down to study the details more closely, my nostrils flare.

“Your scent is especially strong on this one,” I muse. My nose nearly touches the canvas as I lean in as close as possible without pressing myself up against the canvas. The idea isn’t totally unappealing, but I manage to control myself. My eyes flutter closed as I let Knox’s sage scent waft off the canvas and consume me.

He struggles to choke out the explanation, “I painted that last night after I met you.”

My eyes fly open, and I look back at him over my shoulder. I inspired him to paint. See? He’s not immune to the scent-match. There’s a reason his scent is strongest on the painting I inspired.

Knox’s eyes lock with mine.

“I’ve waited years. Looked everywhere for someone who smelled likehome. Then, completely out of the blue, Rhys shows up with you in tow. A scent-match just when our pack had given up hope of finding our omega.... and I’m scared as hell, Belle.”

“Of what?”

“That you’ll remember where you came from. That you’ll leave.” A haggard groan tears from his lips, and he turns away to pace across the length of the workshop. “We live in the woods with more nature for company than other people. Rhys and Percy will dote on you endlessly for as long as you’ll let them, but I’m rough around the edges. Harder to care for. And I paint with my damn shirt off in a freezing shed! What kind of life would this be for an omega as sweet and patient as you?”

His pain is so thick it makes the air in his workshop hard to breathe. The man standing in front of me has been forced to make peace with the idea of being unworthy of a complete pack.

My heart breaks for him. For all three alphas of his pack.

If I don’t go to him, my heart is going to beat its way out of my chest. I cross the distance between us to stand beside him and yank off my gloves before putting a hand on his forearm so that I can feel the heat of his skin under my fingers.

“I don’t know who I was before the storm, Knox. But right now? Nothing feels more likemethan being around your pack and exploring your cabin. This smells a lot like home to me.”

Knox exhales like all the wind has been knocked out of him.

And then he pulls me in against his chest.

His arms wrap around me, one hand cupping the back of my head with fingers threaded through my windblown hair while the other presses into my lower back, anchoring me to him. I can feel his heartbeat as my cheek settles against his bare chest, and I relax into his embrace.

“I don’t want to let go,” he murmurs into my hair.

“You don’t have to.”

We stand frozen in our embrace for so long that our breathing falls into sync, and I lose track of where we each begin and end. The workshop fills with a powerful combination of the smell of cinnamon and sage. Our scents reacting to each other. To this moment.

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