Page 10 of Knot Shattered
And as I looked at her again—this screaming, shattered woman carved from rage and grief, I felt it begin to rise. The rage and determination.
The raw feeling of vengeance.
I hope they are ready because, ready or not, I’m coming for them.
Haze
August 26th
7:36 P.M
The inside of the SUV was heavy with the mingled scents of anticipation—spiced whiskey, worn leather, cedarwood, and that faintly metallic edge of adrenaline humming through the air. Micha was at the wheel, eyes locked on the road with his usual laser-focused intensity, fingers tight around the leather steering wheel. Next to him, Ravik flipped quietly through a dossier, the faint sound of paper rustling beneath the steady drone of tires on asphalt. Salem sat beside me in the back, eyes narrowed as he scrolled through briefing notes on his tablet, a picture of calm amidst the underlying tension.
I was restless, itching for a distraction.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “Anyone else curious how bloodthirsty the Rosetti omega actually is? Rumor has it she slit some guys throat for insulting one of her mates.”
Ravik glanced up briefly, eyebrow raised. “Considering she’s mated to Voss, are we surprised?”
“Not even a little,” Salem replied dryly, without looking away from his tablet. “If you willingly choose Voss as a mate, you either love danger or are certifiably insane.”
Micha’s eyes flicked toward me in the rearview mirror. “She must be terrifying. No one sane can handle someone as dangerously unhinged as him.”
I leaned back comfortably, grinning as I folded my hands behind my head. “You know, I heard Romano’s practically a golden retriever. So maybe she’s one of those with layers. Soft exterior, but beneath that pastel dress lies the heart of a stone-cold killer.”
Salem made a soft sound of amusement. “Layers or not, the Rosetti omega must be formidable. Kingston Rosetti wouldn’t choose someone weak. Not with the enemies he’s made.”
“And don’t even get me started on Pack Frost’s omega,” I said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “They say she’s the kind of crazy that whispers to knives and curses your entire bloodline if you breathe wrong.”
Ravik snorted softly, flipping another page. “Sounds like your type, Haze.”
I pressed a hand theatrically to my chest. “You wound me. I prefer omegas who don’t leave a blade between my ribs on a first date.”
“No,” Salem replied flatly, “you just like the ones who consider it.”
Micha’s mouth twitched slightly at the corner, something approaching humor flashing briefly across his expression. “Let’s keep the knives away from Haze. If he starts bleeding out at the meeting, it might look bad.”
I chuckled softly. “Please. I know exactly how to charm omegas who want me dead.”
The mood shifted then, the joking slowly giving way to something heavier, more serious. We knew the kind of mess we were walking into. The briefings had painted a grim picture—black-market auctions, missing omegas, underground fights. Kingston Rosetti didn’t call for backup lightly. If he’d reached out, we weren’t just walking into trouble; we were running headlong into a goddamned storm.
The air in the SUV thickened with it. Instinct. Readiness. The scent of adrenaline sharpened our senses. Micha’s dark amber and whiskey scent sharpened, Ravik’s smoke and leather deepened, and Salem’s cool cedarwood grew sharper, clearer. Mine was layered somewhere beneath theirs—warm, comforting bourbon with an undercurrent of something far darker.
“Whatever we walk into tonight,” Micha finally said, voice low and steady, breaking the quiet tension, “keep your eyes open and your instincts sharp. Rosetti doesn’t mess around. Neither do his enemies.”
I smiled faintly, eyes narrowed, heart beating faster in anticipation of whatever chaos waited beyond the warehouse doors. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, suddenly eager for whatever the night held.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I said softly, knowing full well they heard the excitement beneath my words.
Micha parked the SUV smoothly in front of Rosetti’s warehouse, the building looming large and dark against the fading evening sky. It felt more like stepping into a pit of vipers than a strategy session.
And damn if I wasn’t ready for it.
The moment we stepped into Rosetti’s warehouse, the heavy, sterile bite of scent cancelers hit me like a wall. It was standard procedure in sensitive meetings, especially among powerful alphas who might otherwise dominate a room by scent alone. Still, beneath that clinical haze, faint hints of individual scents occasionally teased the edges of perception.
The large space had been converted into something halfway between an industrial loft and a war room. Long tables covered in maps and photographs, whiteboards crammed with intel and scribbled notes, and the muted hum of serious, low conversations. The Rosetti pack was already there. Kingston stood quietly, imposing at the head of a table, wearing a three-piece grey suit. His brown hair was perfectly styled.
Jace was nearby, offering a silent nod in greeting as he leaned against the wall, studying the board. His black jeans and T-shirt stand out in the fluorescent lighting. Voss was silently twirling a strand of midnight blue hair on what I assume is Fallon, his omega. The red of his shirt stands out stark against her pale skin. Romano pushes up his glasses, already tapping furiously at a keyboard. His grey T-shirt is the same shade as his joggers. He doesn’t even look up when we enter.
