Page 83 of Down Knot Out
But we’re not facing them alone. Not anymore. Not as pieces to be moved, or leverage to be spent.
I look around the room, at my Alphas. This isn’tjust survival. This is what it means to be chosen. Not as property. Aspack.
My spine straightens. My heartbeat steadies.
Let the dragons come. The battle lines are drawn, and this time, I’m not fighting alone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chloe
“All right, enough of the heavy stuff. Grady will be back with Quinn soon.” Dominic claps his hands once and stands. “Let’s get this picnic night set up.”
“Coffee table first,” Blake grunts, rolling me off his lap to grab one end.
I land half-sprawled on Holden’s lap and smile up at him. “Hello.”
He brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Hello.”
“Don’t scratch the floor. Again,” Nathaniel warns, brushing past them toward the linen closet.
“Don’t think you two get to just sit there being adorable,” Blake says with a wink as he and Dominic move the coffee table to the corner under the windows. “Start putting cushions on the floor.”
Holden and I roll to our feet and start pulling the cushions off the couch, arranging them to form a giant square bed on the floor. We set the backrest cushions along the lower frame of the couch to give us padding for leaning back.
Nathaniel drops his armful of blankets. “Spread those out while I get more pillows.”
His footsteps fade down the hallway, punctuated by the whisper of opening doors and the rustle of linens being gathered.
“Nothing with buttons!” Blake calls after him. “No one wants button face.”
“You’re a button face,” Dominic says, laughing as he dodges when Blake takes a swipe at him.
As Blake bends to grab one of the blankets, his flannel shirt rides to expose the groove of his spine, and I catch my bottom lip between my teeth as I admire the view.
Holden nudges me with his elbow. “Less gawking, more blanket spreading.”
My cheeks heat, and I catch Blake’s smirk as he straightens. I pull my hood back up, mumbling to myself as I get to work.
“We’re back!” Quinn’s excited shout precedes her through the door, followed by the thunderous clatter of Sprinkles’ paws on the hardwood floor.
My heart lurches as the massive blackNewfoundland bounds into the room, his thick fur gleaming as he surveys our construction project.
Quinn appears next, her arms wrapped around a wicker basket that dwarfs her small frame, the cow onesie’s udder bouncing underneath with each step. Grady follows close behind, balancing a stack of plates and a thermos that releases a sweet steam.
“We made the best picnic ever,” Quinn announces, setting the basket down with care.
She lifts the checkered cloth to reveal an array of treats. An assortment of Holden’s muffins, packages of crackers, sliced apples that glisten with juice, and an entire bag of marshmallows.
“Don’t w-worry, we have sandwiches, too.” Grady lifts his arm, where a cloth bag hangs from his elbow. “It’s not all sugar.”
Sprinkles pads closer to our nest, his massive head tilting as he studies the arrangement. I hold still, determined to become comfortable around the gentle giant. He circles twice and settles on the hardwood just outside our bed of blankets, his chin resting on the edge of a cushion.
The sight of him guarding our space sends unexpected warmth through me. He really is a good dog.
Nathaniel returns with an armload of pillows in every size and texture. There are down-filled throwpillows, firm bed pillows, and even the decorative ones from Dominic’s office that carry a faint scent of leather. He arranges them with mathematical precision so, no matter where someone sits, there will be a pillow to grab.
“Movie?” Blake asks, already reaching for the remote.
