Page 24 of Chain Me Knot

Two armed guards step from the gatehouse, automatic weapons visible but pointed down. I recognize Jones and Ramirez.

“Sirs!” Jones snaps to attention as Asher winds down the window.

Jones’s eyes slide to Emma, lock and stay far too fucking long on her. Her scent sharpens, bitterness edging sweet honeysuckle as she turns rigid in my lap. A whimper sounds and something hot and dangerous flares in my chest.

“Eyes to the front, Jones.” I shouldn't have to tell him. Not only because she’s omega. Many vulnerable people have passed these gates and Jones knows that. Carl Jones has just made my shit-list in less than a second. He should know his job better than this, but at least he snaps to attention again with a quick, “Sorry, sir.”

“No one comes in or out without direct authorization from one of us three. Clear?” Asher’s voice is low with a subvocal growl.

“Crystal, sir,” Jones responds, stepping back to allow us through as the massive gates slide open.

Emma trembles, her scent stringent in my nose. The muscles in my arms tighten so hard they almost cramp, but that’s okay. My body is the cage she needs, and I don’t give a fuck what it does to me. A purr builds in my chest, a deep, rumble I've never made before. Not for anyone. The vibration travels from my chest into her small frame, and I’m so fucking grateful when her muscles unclench and her scent mellows.

We pull through the gates, and I make sure they close behind us in the rearview mirror. The vehicles flanking us turn back and we’re on our own. The tension bleeds from Asher’s shoulders and Soren’s fingers drop from around the handle of his gun. I catch Asher’s gaze before he returns to the drive ahead.

“Carl Jones is out,” I say.

“Already done,” Asher says.

I work hard to relax as Asher takes us along the winding road lined with maple trees and tasteful landscaping. To the untrained eye, the compound could pass for an upscale residential community. That's by design. Every aspect of this place was created to feel normal, to help traumatized witnesses and victims decompress while under protection.

The compound is five acres of secured land containing several modest dwellings arranged around a central courtyard. Behind the pleasant facades, each building is a fortress—reinforced walls, bulletproof windows, panic rooms. These buildings have housed dozens of protected witnesses over the years, providing safety while their cases wound through the justice system.

None of them are as important as the precious cargo in my arms.

“Welcome to our little slice of suburban paradise,” I tell Emma, hoping conversation might ease the tension running through her body. “Complete with picket fences, flowerbeds, and enough hidden security measures to make a military base jealous.”

She watches the buildings pass with a healthy dose of fear, probably wondering what she’ll face. I can’t have her uncertain. She has to really understand how secure this place is.

“See that building there?” I nod toward a large structure between houses that looks like a community center. “That place houses our response team. Twenty officers on rotation 24/7. Soren, Asher, and I have pulled more overnight shifts there than I can count.”

She remains silent, but studies my face, clearly trying to determine if I'm lying. The distrust breaks my heart but is completely understandable given what she's survived.

“The average response time to any alarm is two minutes,” I continue, trying for lightness. “Which is four times longer than it takes Asher to go from 'calm professional' to 'grouchy bear' when someone touches his coffee without permission.”

“Coffee is sacred.” Thankfully, Asher picks the banter up. “And I’m not a grouchy bear.”

“Hmmm. What about ‘Moody Mocha Mammoth’?”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “Mammoths are extinct.”

“True, but they were majestic and memorable, just like your caffeine tantrums.”

The joke falls flat. She doesn't smile. Of course she doesn't. She's been thrown into yet another unfamiliar environment controlled by alphas. The fact that this one has prettier packaging doesn't change that fundamental reality for her.

Asher pulls the SUV into the driveway of the third house on the right, a blue two-story with white trim and a covered porch. We specifically requested this one for its layout: two exits, open floor plan, the highest security rating in the compound.

“Home sweet temporary home,” I say as Soren and Asher exit the vehicle. The driver's door opens, then mine, before we stand in the driveway I wish was our own instead of being a government owned and issued safehouse.

I should set her down. Should give her space, autonomy, the choice to walk on her own, but her fingers are still clutching my shirt and, selfishly, I'm not ready to break this connection, this precious trust of her allowing me to hold her. I don’t think she’s conscious of what she’s doing, if that walk from the hospital room is anything to go by. But I’ll take it. So, I don't put her down or give her time to overthink. I carry our mate toward the house that will either become her sanctuary or her newest prison, depending entirely on how we handle the next few crucial days.

Gods help us—and Emma—if we fuck this up.

Asher pushes open the front door, stepping aside to let us enter first. The house is bright and airy with tall windows letting in welcome sunshine, but Emma's body grows increasingly rigid in my arms with each step. She rounds her shoulders and tries to shrink in my arms, making herself smaller. Less of a target. She has prey instincts written all over her.

“You have nothing to worry about here, Tough Girl,” I murmur.

She risks a glance at me, and the tension bleeds all over her face.

---