Page 73 of Chain Me Knot

I turn my face against Asher’s neck, inhaling his scent so deep it might drive away these demons, yet shame still twists through my stomach. I don’t want these jagged edges of memories to slice me open night after night. I don’t want them to be my normal, nor my forever. I don’t want to be a damaged, broken omega, unable to stand on my own.

I hate it. I hate the idea of being so…needy. This helpless omega they have to coddle and comfort. A burden weighing down their pack because I'm too broken to hold my own pieces together.

How many times can I do this before they get sick of it? Of me?

A soft squeeze against my thigh pulls my attention toward Phoenix. His smile is gentle, tinged with quiet understanding as though he's heard every unspoken fear threading my silence.

“Hey, Tough Girl, you’re not alone. You’re anything but weak, all right? It takes incredible strength to even admit you're hurting.” He pauses, waiting until he sees the faintest relaxation of my muscles beneath his touch before continuing softly. “Mira told you that she’ll help you.”

My brows come together as I peer at him. She did say that, but she isn’t like me. Not now. She’s strong. Able and sure. But we’ve come from the same place. Shared each other’s shadows. And I trust her.

“When this is all over and you're safe, we will take you to the center she runs with Zane’s sister. Mira knows incredible therapists—psychologists who specialize in helping omegas who've survived different versions of hell. We can do something about this. You don’t have to suffer.”

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. My pulse stutters nervously in my throat and I turn my gaze downward, anxiety flaring again at the thought of trying to put voice to the nightmares, the memories seared into my soul. Everything is too raw, too immediate. How am I supposed to talk about horrors when I'm still struggling to survive the aftermath each day?

Soren brushes the back of my hand with steady, gentle fingers—an anchor of reassurance. My gaze lifts, meeting his warm, patient eyes. “Only when you're ready, Butterfly. You don't have to do anything until you’re ready. This is on your terms. Your timetable, no one else's. We just wanted you to know there is a way out. I told you before and I’ll keep on telling you until you believe us. We’ll help you every step of the way.”

The tight fear inside me eases by slow, cautious increments. They aren't rushing me. They aren't disgusted, exasperated or impatient—they don't see this cracked, frightened version of me as something broken beyond repair. Their eyes don't hold judgment, only compassion and fierce protectiveness.

The tightness in my chest eases, a little piece of tension loosening from around my heart.

The tight knot of shame frays at the edges.

“O…kay.” I’ll try. If not for myself, I’ll do it so that Pack Carmichael is a distant nightmare I can shut away. Perhaps, over time, I can even shut out the darkness they leach through our one-sided bond I never wanted.

I draw my fingertips over the familiar, hated raised skin on my neck where they tore my flesh. Perhaps this psychologist can erase the hooks that Pack Carmichael sank so deeply inside me. The chains still remain, their rusted edges raw and tender, the marks lingering on my heart and mind.

Inhaling deeply, I let my eyes drift closed for a moment, focusing on the steady reassurance of Asher's arms around me, the comforting warmth of Phoenix’s strong hand, steady on my shoulder, Soren's calm presence solid as stone.

Their concern radiates unmistakably outward—raw, tangible, protective in every careful shift of their bodies, every gentle murmur meant only to soothe. What touches me so deeply is how completely I'm the center of their focus, how unquestioningly they're here, wide-awake in the middle of the night because of me.

I'm tired of fear consuming me. I attempt to steady myself, inhaling quietly again, breathing in their mingled scents that are so, so calming. Rain pelts the glass outside, a constant rhythm. Asher’s bond hums through me, inviting solace, comfort and suddenly, exhaustion creeps up on me again. I yawn, body heavy and impossibly tired despite waking up so violently. Tempting sleep creeps at the edges of my consciousness.

“You should try and rest now, Emma,” Soren says.

“I shouldn’t be so tired.” I should be wired from reliving my hell, but my eyelids are so heavy.

“You’re healing. That takes a lot of energy,” Phoenix says.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Asher stands and carries me to the bed before arranging the blankets over me. A sweet ache and a deeper pang resonates through me when he steps back.

My heart thuds, the storm and shadows threatening to creep closer once more.

“Wait,” I whisper, startling myself with how suddenly the word escapes. They freeze, all three turning quickly back to face me.

“I don’t…” I swallow, embarrassment causing heat to bloom across my cheeks. The thought of admitting how needy I am, of wanting them near, makes my stomach knot, but the lingering fear of being alone and drowning again in nightmare shadows propels me to continue. “I don't want you to leave. Please…stay with me?”

My plea hovers in the air between us. It’s open and vulnerable, and my heartbeat is loud in my ears.

Phoenix’s sudden smile breaks across the darkness first, a warm, brilliant expression of undisguised joy and quiet relief. He crawls onto the mattress without the slightest hesitation before settling next to me on top of the blankets, snuggling down into their softness. “Hell, Tough Girl, you don’t have to ask me twice. There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

The bed dips as Soren sits on the edge, one hand lightly touching my ankle over the blanket. “I’ll stay as well, Emma. For as long as you need.”

Asher hovers near the door, every line of his tall frame rigid. His dark eyes flick in my direction, the longing unmistakable, fiercely palpable even without the unguarded flow of his emotions humming through the open bond. There's such powerful yearning, a desperate ache radiating from within him, it ripples starkly toward me in waves.

Beneath the force of his desperate want lies that heavy undertow of guilt, the bitter edge of refusal shadowing everything else he’s feeling. Though he wants fiercely,achingly, to stay, he won’t. The sting of self-blame spears through the bond, jagged and raw.

The fluttering pulse of honesty and regret whispers truth deep into my heart. Pack Carmichael forced their claim viciously, indifferent to my pain or fear, branding me like a meaningless possession beneath their teeth without a second thought. Asher's deep, soul-crushing guilt reflects who he truly is—honorable, protective, and caring so deeply for how his instinctive bite hurt me that it's tearing him apart.

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