Page 35 of Chain Me Knot

My voice wavers. I don't trust them—can'ttrust them—but I need to know if what I overheard was real or just another pretty lie. Need to feel the truth, if there is any, sink into my bones.

Phoenix nods. “That's exactly what we meant.”

“We told you. You'renevergoing back to Pack Carmichael. No matter how dirty they play, no matter what strings they pull,” Soren adds.

Asher keeps his distance but speaks. “We'll find a legal way to keep you safe if we can. But if we can't...” His jaw tightens. “Then we'll find another way. Nothing is off the table.”

I thought hearing what they had to say would make it easier to understand but it doesn't. I have to tell them if they’re going to throw their lives away over me, I have no plans to stay with them. “If you’re being honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. Whatever you do, it won’t change that when this is over—when I'm safe from Pack Carmichael—I have plans. And they don't include any alphas. Not even you.”

Pain flashes across their faces and I ignore the hook that sinks into me and makes me want to take those words back, but my beach is not big enough for any alpha no matter what they feel they have to do for me. That’s on them. Not me.

“If that's what you want when this is over, we'll make sure you have it. Your freedom, your choice—that's what matters,” Asher says.

I lift my chin. “I'm not going to change my mind. Not for any reason.”

The words taste like lies even as I say them. Because their scentsaredelectable. They call to something deep inside me that should be lost forever. Pack Carmichaels' rotting scents always made my stomach churn, but in the end it won't matter how good these alphas smell. Scent-matches or not, I won't be here long enough for it to matter.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I shift my weight, acutely aware of my rumbling stomach. That's why I came down here in the first place. Food.

“You're hungry,” Phoenix says, not a question but a statement of fact. He moves slowly, deliberately telegraphing each motion as he gestures toward the kitchen. “Let's get you something to eat.”

I follow him, keeping Soren between me and Asher. Phoenix guides me to a stool at the kitchen island, his hand hovering near my elbow but never touching.

“Sit before you fall down,” he says gently. “You're shaking.”

I fist my hands and cross my arms because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve rested for a day here and days at the hospital, yet exhaustion is catching up with me. Being upright, alert, constantly on guard—beingomega—is draining.

Asher’s giant form looms in the doorway. His gaze rakes my face before he turns away. Steps back. “I’m going to check on the patrols. Make sure everything's secure.”

I grip the edge of the counter, ignoring the hook that lodges in my chest and makes me want to call him back to soak in his scent and burrow against his broad chest and demand comfort. “I can make something myself.”

“I'm sure you can,” Phoenix says, already moving to the refrigerator. “But I made soup earlier. It'll be faster.” He pulls out a container. “And you look about ten seconds from collapse.”

He's not wrong. The simple act of coming downstairs has drained me.

Soren retrieves a crusty roll from the pantry, butter from the fridge. “Sustenance is critical to recovery. Especially with your current nutritional deficits. Dr. Chen gave us a diet for you to adhere to and strict instructions to make sure you eat.”

“What Soren meant,” Phoenix says with a wink as he pours soup into a bowl, “is that you need to eat good food to get your strength back. Luckily I’ll be your chef for the foreseeable future.”

Soren spreads butter in even strokes on the fluffy bread while I swallow the saliva that’s flooding my mouth. “Not everyone needs your translations, brother.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Everyone needs my translations.”

“My information is accurate.”

“And delivered with all the warmth of a medical textbook.”

Their banter continues as Phoenix heats the soup. Soren slides the buttered bread across the counter to me. I know it's meant to be comforting, but I can’t help my shoulders rising to my ears.

I’m not used to this.

My stomach twists its demand for food, and I have to obey. The first taste of the bread roll catapults me backward in time. Sunday mornings with my parents—Dad with his coffee, Mom slicing fresh rolls from the bakery down the street. The sunlight streaming through our small kitchen window, catching in Mom's blonde hair that matched my own. Dad telling silly jokes that made Mom roll her eyes but smile anyway. The three of us building sandwiches together, adding layers of cheese and meat and vegetables, making a game of whose creation would be tallest. Dad always let me win.

The memory is so vivid, a sound of pure pleasure slips past my lips. The air thickens. Phoenix and Soren's scents flood the kitchen. I eye the coffee machine, certain that Phoenix is fixing a fresh brew but it’s all alpha pheromones stealing my will with his distinct male musk.

My lungs open and I draw in a deep breath, savoring the dark and moody sandalwood. A ripple of awareness rolls through my body and my abdomen tightens. Warmth I haven’t felt for a long time pools in the place between my hips, making everything heavy and languid. Another moan slips out and this sound has nothing to do with bread rolls and everything to do with things best not felt.

Two pairs of eyes lock onto me, heat-seeking missiles finding their target so that I’m weighed and pinned to my seat. Phoenix's blue gaze darkens to stormy midnight, lips parted as though my sound has robbed him of oxygen. Soren's brown eyes are liquid chocolate, his fingers frozen mid-motion on the butter knife. Time stretches between us, honeyed-thick, pure alpha attention. My skin prickles, caught between the urge to flee and the treacherous desire to bask.

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