Page 87 of Knot Gonna Lie
His absence wasn’t rejection—it was balance. Not everyone needed to be everything. Sometimes, parallel lines served their own essential purpose, maintaining distance that allowed others to intersect.
Tomorrow would bring Planet Tera, Eli, and consequences we couldn’t fully predict.
Tonight, though, we were complete.
The clan would survive. The pack would thrive.
And between those truths, we’d build something worth defending.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JAXOM
The medical bay’s sterile light cut everything into sharp relief, gleaming off the order Seth had preserved even through the chaos of the past few days. I settled onto the examination chair, watching him move between cabinets with the kind of precision that proved medicine wasn’t just his skill—it was his nature.
Strange to think that twelve hours ago, I’d been nothing more than an inventory specialist—useful, reliable, but ultimately replaceable. Now Elara’s mark pulsed against my left hand like a second heartbeat, the bite still tender enough to remind me this wasn’t some fever dream born from loneliness.
She had claimed me.
Seth tugged on fresh gloves, exhaustion shadowing his gray-blue eyes despite his composure. Lavender clung faintly to his citrus-sharp scent—Elara’s recent attention branded at his chest where her bite peeked through his thin white dress shirt.
“How’s the head?” he asked, handheld scanner humming as it activated. “Any nausea, blurred vision, light sensitivity?”
“Clear.” I kept still while he passed the device over my temple. The concussion from Marcus’s backhand had been minor—Seth’s swift treatment had made sure of it. “Just the occasional headache when I move too fast.”
“Expected. Should fade soon.” He set the scanner aside, reached for antiseptic. “May I check the mark?”
My chest tightened. Of course he needed to. Infection risk, proper healing—clinical necessities. Still, the thought of another’s hands on what she’d given me sparked raw possessiveness.
I offered it anyway—the last thing I wanted was an infection that might make Elara worry. Or worse, regret her mark. Her claim.
Seth studied the bite with the same reverence he’d shown his own. A perfect crescent of teeth, already scabbing at the edges.
“She didn’t hold back,” he murmured, cleaning around the wound with careful fingers. “It’ll scar beautifully. Permanent.”
Permanent.The word warmed something deep, filling the hollow where doubt usually lived.
“Does it hurt?” Seth’s concern was genuine, medic instincts warring with pack interest.
“No.” The truth came easily. “It feels… right. Like something I’d been missing finally clicked into place.”
Recognition flickered across his face—the same belonging he’d felt when she’d marked him. He applied salve with gentleness that was less clinical, more ritual. “I know. Like exhaling after years of holding your breath.”
The bay door whispered open. Elara entered, Luca just behind her. Her scent hit me first—lavender and vanilla, richer now, laced with claiming satisfaction. She wore one of Luca’s shirts, collar loose enough to show his bite at her throat.
“How are my pack members healing?” She moved with fluid grace, but I caught the slight stiffness in her movements—reminders of her own wounds. Her emerald eyes swept over us, cataloguing every bruise with possessive scrutiny.
“Jaxom’s concussion is resolving well,” Seth reported, stepping back to give her access while maintaining professional composure. “No complications. The mark is clean, healing properly.”
She approached with predatory focus, eyes locked on the fresh bite decorating my hand. When she reached for me, I offered it willingly, pulse quickening as her fingers traced the tender crescents, slow and deliberate.
“Perfect.” Her thumb brushed across the marks, electricity sparking through me. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”
The possessive satisfaction in her voice made my chest swell with primitive pride. Claimed. Marked.Hers.
“Luca.” She turned to our alpha, authority threading through her tone despite the soft way she said his name. “Shirt off. I need to see.”
He arched a brow but obeyed, peeling fabric away. Faint purple and green shadows painted his ribs, testament to the beating he’d endured protecting her.
