Page 54 of Knot Happening

I round the corner and freeze at the sight before me.

"Pretty lady, you look lost!" I call out, unable to keep the amusement from my voice.

She's a vision in rose gold silk, all dark hair pinned up in an elaborate style that's clearly taken a beating from whatever frantic searching she's been doing. Loose tendrils frame her face, which is flushed with exertion and what looks like mounting panic. The dress she's wearing is stunning. It's rose gold, a color that makes her skin glow, with a fitted bodice that emphasizes her curves without making her look self conscious about them. The skirt flows in layers of silk and tulle that move like water when she walks, and the overall effect is both elegant and playful. But it's also clearly not designed for running through palace corridors. The full skirt keeps getting tangled around her legs, and the heels she's wearing are definitely more fashion than function.

She's moving like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, all desperate energy and diminishing grace. Every few steps, she wobbles precariously, her arms windmilling as she fights to maintain balance in those ridiculous shoes. She looks like she's been wandering for a while, growing more frustrated and more panicked with each wrong turn.

But then her scent hits me, and everything else fades to background noise.

Even through whatever suppressants she's taking, I can smell her clearly. Warm vanilla and honey with something sweeter underneath, something that calls to every instinct I have. Her suppressants might fool other alphas, but they don't work on us. She smells like home, like everything we've been searching for without even realizing it.

Our omega. She's here.

She spins around at my voice, and I can see the mix of embarrassment and defiance written across her flushed face. Behind her ornate rose gold mask, her eyes are wide with what looks like exhaustion and barely controlled anxiety.

"No," she says, lifting her chin in a gesture that's probably meant to look commanding but mostly just looks adorable. "I'm not an omega. I don't need a big bad alpha to come and rescue me."

Feisty.Despite my dark mood, I find myself grinning.

Most people in Willbrook either cross the street when they see me coming or try to butter me up because they want something from Marcus. But this woman, our omega, just looked me dead in the eye and essentially told me to fuck off. There's something refreshing about that kind of directness, even if she's clearly lying through her teeth about not being an omega.

Her body language is screaming defensive anxiety. She's holding herself carefully, maintaining distance, ready to bolt at the first sign of unwanted alpha attention. Smart woman. For all her protests about not being an omega, her instincts are clearly telling her to be cautious around an unknown alpha in a deserted corridor.

"Excuse me for wanting to help you get out of here," I say, matching her tone with exaggerated politeness while I cross my arms and settle in to watch the show. "Seeing as you're not an omega and you don't need a BIG BAD alpha to help you, I'll leave you to it."

I can't believe that after helping her through her heat, even though I was knotted and wanted to take her so badly, she still can't trust us. I take a deliberate step back, making it clear that I'm not going to force my assistance on her. But I don't actually leave. Because despite her protests, she clearly does need help. She's been wandering in circles for who knows how long, getting more lost and more frustrated with each wrong turn. Thepalace is a maze even when you know your way around. For someone unfamiliar with the layout, it's damn near impossible to navigate, especially in heels and a ball gown.

After everything we shared that night at the library, after I sat with her for hours and proved I could control myself, she's still treating me like I'm some random alpha who might hurt her. It stings more than I want to admit.

She glares at me for a moment, her jaw set with stubborn determination, then turns and marches off down the corridor with as much dignity as she can muster. I count to ten, then start following at a distance, just close enough to keep her in sight but far enough back that she can maintain the illusion of independence.

The corridor she's chosen leads deeper into the east wing, toward areas that haven't been fully renovated with the rest of the palace. The lighting gets dimmer, the carpets more worn, the air mustier with age and disuse. She's heading in completely the wrong direction if she's trying to get back to the main areas of the palace, but I don't intervene. She made it clear she doesn't want my help, so I'll let her figure that out on her own.

Sure enough, within five minutes she's hit a dead end. This particular corridor terminates in what used to be servants' quarters back when the palace had a full residential staff. Now it's mostly storage. Furniture covered with dust sheets, old paintings waiting to be restored, boxes of holiday decorations and seasonal items that haven't been touched in years.

She stands there for a long moment, staring at the wall like she's willing a door to appear through sheer force of determination. The set of her shoulders broadcasts pure frustration, and I can smell the spike of distressed omega pheromones even from twenty feet away.

"Son of a bitch," she mutters, and I have to bite back a grin at hearing such colorful language from someone who looks like she should be gracing the cover of a romance novel.

She turns around, clearly intending to retrace her steps, and nearly walks straight into my chest. I'd been closing the distance while she was having her moment of defeat, figuring she might be ready to accept help now that reality had made its point.

"Still not lost, Belle?" I ask, unable to keep the smugness entirely out of my voice.

The look she gives me could melt steel. "I'm... temporarily turned around."

"Uh-huh." I glance around the storage area, with its cobwebs and covered furniture and general air of abandonment. "This is definitely where all the best parties happen. Very exclusive. Most people never find this place."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation, and there's real heat in her voice now. Then she pauses, tilting her head as she studies my face more carefully. "Theo? Is that you?"

I reach up and pull off my mask, meeting her eyes directly. "Yeah, it's me."

Her shoulders sag with something that might be relief mixed with embarrassment, but then her expression shifts to something harder. "Thank god. I thought I was going to be wandering these corridors until dawn."

"What are you doing all the way out here, Belle?" I ask, my voice taking on that protective edge I can never quite hide around her. "After everything we've been through, who are you running from?"

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