Page 37 of Knot Happening

15

MARCUS

Istretch my legs from my position at the corner of our massive sectional, trying to find a comfortable spot that doesn't exist. This fight is absolute shit. These guys are dancing around like they're afraid to actually hit each other, and I'm starting to think I've wasted my Friday night.

"This fight is garbage," I announce, gesturing at the screen where two fighters circle each other with all the urgency of people waiting for coffee to brew. "What happened to boxers who actually wanted to fight?"

Theo grunts from his armchair, not bothering to look away from the screen. "Used to be about skill and heart. Now it's all about image and pay-per-view numbers."

Felix glances up from whatever architectural detail he's sketching. "Everything's performance now. No one knows how to be real anymore."

He's not wrong. Our house feels more authentic than most of the bullshit I deal with during business hours. Real brick, real steel, real leather furniture that doesn't apologize for taking up space. We built this place to be exactly what we needed with no facade, just us.

"Fuck this," I say, pushing off the couch. "I'm making popcorn. At least then this waste of time will involve snacks."

I head to the kitchen and pull out the heavy pot, measure oil with the kind of precision that drives my business partners crazy, and set everything up properly.

My phone buzzes while I'm waiting for the oil to heat up. Lady Inkwell's gossip column, and normally I would ignore it, but the headline catches my attention: "Masquerade Ball Mysteries and Midnight Confessions." I thought she was only posting weekly, but now with the ball happening in two days, it's as if she's posting every day. Or maybe it's just my imagination.

Most of it's the usual crap about gowns and speculation about who's attending our annual ball. But then I hit a paragraph that makes me stop cold:

"The verythoughtsent ripples through our literary circles, darlings. What earthly purpose could such a formidable gentleman have among card catalogs and reading nooks? Sources suggest that Miss Belle Hartwell, that perpetually cheerful head librarian, appeared rather...discombobulatedduring his unexpected visit. One can only speculate about what depths might lie beneath her usual professional demeanor that would attract such masculine attention."

I read it twice, my jaw tightening. Lady Inkwell usually fishes for information rather than actually having it, but something about this feels different.

The first kernels start popping, but my attention's completely focused on the implications of what I'm reading.

"Theo," I call out. "You need to see this."

He's up and moving toward me before I finish speaking, that military alertness never really leaving him. "What's wrong?"

"Lady Inkwell's latest column." I hand him the phone. "Tell me this is just her usual bullshit speculation."

I watch his face as he reads, cataloguing every micro-expression. The way his shoulders shift, the slight tightening around his eyes, and his expression tells me that this isn’t gossip, this really did happen.

"Well?" I prompt when he doesn't immediately respond.

He hands back the phone, his expression carefully neutral in that way that means he's processing information he doesn't want to share. "What exactly are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if there's any truth to what she's implying about Belle.” My voice gets that edge it takes on during difficult negotiations. “What happened last night? You was out late? Were you really at the library?”

We're a pack, meaning we live together and share everything. Finances, decisions, our lives. It's closer than most marriages, really. But secrets? Nah, this is a whole different ball game. Just like this shit boxing match.

The popcorn's going crazy in the pot, but I'm entirely focused on my packmate. His silence is answer enough, but there's a satisfied smugness that's practically radiating off him.

"She's an omega," Theo says finally, moving to lean against the counter with a grin that tells me he's been dying to share this. "Late presentation, been suppressing for a year, and she had an emergency heat yesterday at the library."

"And?" I ask, though I already know where this is heading.

"And I helped her through it." Theo's trying to sound casual. "We connected."

I turn back to the stove, shaking the pot while trying not to grin. "You mean you didn't want to admit that I was right all along."

Theo chuckles, pushing off from the counter and starting to pace. "Typical Marcus, with an ego as big as his biceps."

"Maybe a little bigger than that," I say, dumping popcorn into the bowl and spilling half of it in my distraction.

Felix appears in the doorway, abandoning his sketch. "Wait, what?" Felix settles onto a bar stool, grinning. "So what happened? Start from the beginning. How did you find her?"

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