Page 29 of Chain Me Knot

Baby steps indeed. We're trying to undo years of abuse, and I'm not sure there are enough steps in the world for her to reach that destination.

I accept the glass Phoenix offers, the amber liquid matching his scent. The living room of the safe house is both familiar and strange tonight. Contemporary furniture we've used during dozens of protective operations, tasteful artwork selected to be inoffensive, neutral colors designed to calm witnesses under stress. Nothing personal. Nothing threatening. A perfect blank slate.

“I haven’t helped make her feel safe,” I say.

“You need to ease up on the self-flagellation, Ash,” Phoenix says, dropping onto the leather sofa. “It's coming through the bond so strongly I can barely think.”

Words are acid in my mouth. “I bit her without consent. I did that to our mate!” Gods, I’d sell my left nut if I could go back to that night and re-do everything. She could be in our arms where she belongs instead of buried under blankets in a strange bed.

Soren takes the armchair across from Phoenix. “The bite was…unfortunate. But it’s the only thing legally protecting her from the Carmichaels right now.”

‘Unfortunate’ is not the word I’d choose. ‘Fucking abhorrent’ are better choices.

“Still doesn't make it right,” I snap, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Soren grunts. “No, it doesn't, but dwelling on what can't be changed won't help her.”

I turn back to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool whiskey tumbler in my hand. Our bond—the pack bond that has sustained us for a decade—pulses with shared emotion. Phoenix's worry. Soren's concern. Mycrushing guilt. All of it overlaid with the stunned disbelief that, after years of searching, we found our omega in a basement. Chained. Starved. Broken.

Fuck.

“Did either of you ever imagine it would be like this?” Phoenix asks quietly, voicing what we're all thinking. “Finding her, I mean.”

“I had scenarios,” Soren admits. “None included finding her in those conditions.”

I close my eyes, remembering the moment her scent first hit me. Florally sweet honeysuckle and musky vanilla. Perfect. Pure. Ours. Then seeing her so thin, bruised, terrified… that shattered me.

“We should be celebrating.” I can’t keep bitterness from edging my words. “Ten years of waiting, of wondering if our fourth even existed, and here she is. Our perfect match. And she can't stand to be in the same room with us. With me.”

“She let Phoenix carry her,” Soren points out. “She accepted the security tablet. And our food.”

I turn to face them. “You saw her flinch every time I moved.”

Phoenix leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Recovery isn't linear. Trust isn't built in a day. Especially not after what she's been through, and it’s only early days.”

He’s right. Given her trauma, it’s far too early. Her healing will take years. Not days.

I knock back my whiskey, welcoming the burn that’s nothing compared to the acid of self-loathing in my gut. Forgiveness from Emma is a distant star—visible but unreachable. In her current state it's a faint hope at best. And why should she forgive me? I became exactly what she fears most. An alpha who takes what she clearly didn’t want to give.

I set my empty glass down on the mantel, exhaling a weary breath. My limbs ache with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to stop spinning. The questions crowding my head are relentless, keeping sleep far out of reach.

“What background information do we have about Emma?” My voice is quiet but edged with urgency I can't conceal. I know Soren would have investigated files to find everything he could.

“To be honest, not nearly enough. We know Emma was at Haven with Mira. We know they escaped together, along with a third omega named Leah who’s still missing. After that…” Soren trails off, shoulders stiffening.

I run a palm across my face, tension coiling hot and tight within me. My chest is heavy, anger and helplessness mingling bitterly at the thought of all Emma has endured. “The question is how exactly Emma ended up in Pack Carmichael’s hands.”

We’ve been tracking the omega auction network through Haven’s files we found after Mercer’s death thanks to Pack Blackwood. Emma is another victim of that trade, but we need to understand exactly how she ended up in that basement. We need paperwork. Connections. Proof of the larger network.

We've rescued nineteen omegas so far, since Mira stepped forward. Nineteen. And still, nothing concrete directly tying Hardwick. Nor any information about how the Commissioner is implicated.

“Even if every omega testified openly tomorrow, the courts would disregard their words.” A year’s worth of raids, rescues, watching shattered omegas fight to reclaim broken lives, all painfully slow victories fighting upstream against a legal system pitted against them. “We have to find evidence that's undeniable. Evidence that no judge can ignore.”

A hopeless silence falls across the room, each of us absorbing that frustrating truth.

Soren straightens, breaking the quiet. “Pack Carmichael are powerful, wealthy alphas. If anyone has something concrete, it's them. We may not be able to find evidence, but we do have a source.”

Worry darkens Phoenix’s expression. “We can’t push her. Forcing her memories to the surface might traumatize her more than she already is.”

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