Page 28 of Chain Me Knot

I go back to sweeping through the screens on the tablet. The next screen shows the guard house, where two unfamiliar faces monitor screens similar to the one I'm holding.

“Those aren't the same guards from earlier.” I glance at Soren.

“These men know not to stare,” Asher growls.He did what he said he’d do.

I look back at the screen.

Phoenix taps the corner of the screen. “See this red button? It's a panic switch. Press it, and we all get an immediate alert, no matter where we are.” He demonstrates the motion without triggering it. “The entire house goes into lockdown. The response team arrives within two minutes. This tablet is yours to keep while you’re here. If you feel like you need to press this button for any reason at all, you go ahead and do it.”

My fingers hover over the screen—would it protect me, or summon new jailers? Then my eyes drift past the tablet, past these alphas with their careful words and watchful eyes. Past the patio with its comfortable furniture and filtered sunlight. To the high fences topped with security cameras. To the guards patrolling the perimeter. To the locked gates and monitored entrances.

No matter what this looks like, I'm not free. I've just traded one prison for another. One with better food and softer beds, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

The bars might be invisible, the cage might be gilded, but I’m still in chains.

Chapter Eleven

Asher

Shadows lengthen across the compound's manicured lawn while we confer in the living area inside the house. Behind me, ice clinks against glass as Phoenix pours three fingers of whiskey for each of us. At least Emma is with us now. She's safe in this fortress of a house, away from hospital corridors where the Carmichaels could reach her. We're bone-deep exhausted after standing guard outside her door for three days straight, but our discomfort means nothing.

She is all that matters.

Thank the gods we were there when Matthew and his goons stormed the hospital floor with that team of hired muscle. Why would they do something as desperate and public as that?

We'vetold Emma she'll never be back in their clutches again. The bitter disbelief in her eyes when we promised her protection cut deeper than any knife, but we meant it with every cell in our bodies, every instinct in our souls. She's our scent-matched mate. The one we've searched for without even knowing what we were missing. There is nothing—nothing—we won't do to protect her.

Even if she hates us for it.

Even if she never trusts us.

Even if my bite on her neck remains our only connection to her.

We will keep her safe or die trying.

“She's finally asleep, bundled under all of the blankets in her bed,” Soren announces, entering the room after coming downstairs from checking on her. He accepts the hit of whiskey from Phoenix and downs it in one gulp. “Her scent is bitter. She's pulled every blanket into a makeshift barrier around herself.”

Of course it is. She's terrified of us. Of me in particular.

I frown, something nagging at me. “She didn't use the nesting room?”

Next to each bedroom in the safe house is a specially designed space for omegas—private, secure, filled with soft materials for nest-building. Essential for omega comfort and healing. We'd stocked Emma's with extra pillows, the softest blankets we could find, everything an omega in distress should crave.

Soren’s jaw tightens. “Didn't even open the door, from what I could tell.”

Phoenix sets his glass down, concern flashing across his features. “That's... not good.”

I know why those doors aren’t open and she chose the bed instead of a nest. “It means she doesn't feel safe. Not even slightly.”

An omega only builds a nest when they feel secure enough to be vulnerable. When they believe no harm will come to them in their most defenseless state. Emma, barricaded under blankets in a locked room, is telling us exactly how far we have to climb.

“We should get her more nesting materials,” Phoenix suggests. “Different materials she canchoose from.”

Soren nods. “I’ve already ordered some. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, along with a variety of clothing for her.”

“And if she uses them to barricade her door instead?” I ask, only half joking.

“Then at least we'll know she's resourceful,” Phoenix says with a sad smile. “Baby steps, remember?”

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