Page 53 of Chain Me Knot

But now, staring at this simple appliance, I let that anger flow.

Let it rip through me like wildfire.

Those people took everything. My clothes. My name. My right to stand in sunlight or feel water on my skin or brush my own damn hair. They turned me into a thing, a possession, a toy to be used and discarded.

My hands shake as I grip the counter. In the mirror, my reflection shows someone I barely recognize. A woman instead of a possession, clean and dressed in soft clothes instead of filthy rags with a chain around her ankle. The anger in my eyes makes them spark with life instead of the dull acceptance I'veworn for so long.

I want to scream. Want to break things. Want to make them feel every moment of degradation, every scrap of dignity they stole, every piece of myself I had to bury to survive.

Instead, I pick up the hairdryer. Turn it on. Watch my hair transform from wet tangles to soft waves because this simple act of self-care is its own kind of rebellion. Its own kind of revenge.

I might be omega, but they tried to make me forget I was human.

Behind the mirror, I find makeup still in its packaging. I pick up the items, hands shaking as I’m reminded of how much I’ve forgotten. Before my designation came in, Mom and I went to the beauty counter and selected some items. I didn’t used to wear a lot. I was young after all, but makeup was something I loved.

I choose a mascara and light pink lip gloss, removing the packaging. I'm clumsy with the applications, but something warm unfurls in my chest as I study my reflection.

My face is too thin, too pale, marked by years of darkness that will never go away, but my hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, and the gloss makes my lips look fuller. The mascara brings out the blue of my eyes. They’re bright. Alive.

My stomach growls, reminding me I can't hide in here forever. The alphas are waiting, and we have things to discuss. They didn't say much about what happened last night, but I owe them at least a conversation, given everything they've risked for me.

Maybe it's the clothes, or the makeup, or the simple act of being clean and warm and safe, but the thought of facing them…doesn't fill me with pure terror.

I start to put the blanket in the hamper, but pause. Their scents are woven into the fabric. The thought of discarding it feels wrong. I can’t help myself. I bring the blanket to my nose and draw in their scents that help to ease the tension in my chest. I walk from the bathroom and into the bedroom, carefully folding the blanket and placing it at the foot of the bed.

Their scents are still in this space too, faint but enough to lend me the strength to step from the room and into the hallway. The house beyond the bedroom is just as beautiful, all whitewashed wood and sea-glass colors. Curtains filter sunlight across polished floors, and driftwood art adorns walls painted in soft coastal hues. Everything is open, airy. Tasteful. Peaceful.

Delicious smells lead me to a kitchen that belongs in a magazine. White cabinets, marble counters, a massive island topped with shells in glass bowls.

But it's the three alphas that have me stopping in my tracks.

They've showered and changed. My mouth parts on a shaky inhale. Asher stands at the stove, his dark hair still damp, wearing a black Henley that clings to his shoulders. Phoenix chops vegetables, his blond waves tousled, a gray T-shirt showing off arms marked with fading bruises from last night's fight. Soren measures something into a bowl, his actions relaxed and graceful. He’s also dressed in a way that makes his features more GQ than back-alley-thug.

They look as delicious as whatever they're cooking, and my omega responds to the sight of three powerful alphas engaged in such domestic tasks by fogging up the glass of my inner walls with her rabid panting. They’re confusing.

And attractive.

And terrifying.

I must make a sound because Phoenix's head snaps up, his blue eyes landing straight on me. “Tough Girl!” His full lips curve into a smile that should be illegal, dropping both knife and tomato as he crosses the kitchen in long strides and gathers me against his chest. His arms band around me and I’m swept away on a life raft built of solid muscle.

I should be panicking right about now.

Should be fighting.

Should doanythingexcept step into this sort of cage that has no bars but has the power to imprison me just as effectively. My body has other ideas. I press close to him, bury my nose in his sternum, inhale honeyed-amber andmelt.

Chapter Twenty-One

Phoenix

Our omega is purpose-made for my arms. I expected resistance. Thought she would push me away, stiffen at the very least. Instead, she melts into me, her nose dragging along my sternum.

She’s inhaling my scent.

Deliberately.

Willingly.

---