Page 29 of Knot Shattered
And maybe just a little bit smug.
Ravik
September 15th
7:34 P.M
I turned the corner into the living room, and there she was, curled up in the far corner of the couch, knees tucked beneath her, a sketchpad balanced delicately on her lap. The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, gilding everything it touched, but it was her the light seemed to worship.
She wore one of her favorite pencil skirts, the slate-gray fabric hugging the curves of her hips like it had been made just for her. A soft, silky green blouse shimmered faintly in the light, glowing like fresh spring leaves against her sun-kissed skin. Her hair spilled in gentle waves around her shoulders, catching flecks of gold as she tilted her head toward the sun.
She wasn’t sketching. Not in that moment. Instead, she stared out the window, her eyes slightly unfocused, like she was caught in a dream only she could see. Then she closed them, slowly, almost reverently, and the sun kissed her face. The light wrapped around her like a halo, and for a second, she didn’t seem real. She looked like something celestial, an angel who had stumbled into my world and forgotten to leave.
My heart stuttered. Gods, she was mine. Mine to touch. Mine to hold. And maybe, at some point, mine to love. The thought filled me with quiet awe and something close to fear. The good kind. The kind that whispered: this matters.
I shifted the small box behind my back, the simple courting gift I’d picked up for her earlier, my fingers tightening around it. What if she didn’t like it? What if it wasn’t enough?
“Hey, O,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. Even soft, it came out with that gravelly rasp.
She turned, her eyes locking on mine, and just like that, the rest of the world faded. Her whole face lit up, and her smile bloomed wide and bright. Something inside my chest cracked wide open.
“Hey, Rav,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.
Like I could ever say no to my omega.
I crossed the room, pulling the small box from behind my back as I sat down beside her. “I got you something,” I murmured. “A gift.”
Her eyes widened with delight as she immediately held out her hands, fingers wiggling. “I love gifts. And I already love this one because it’s from you!”
Her words hit me dead center, like she’d just knocked the air out of my lungs in the best way. I let out a laugh, rough and real. She looked at me like I hung the damn stars.
“You look so handsome when you laugh,” she said, soft and sincere.
I blushed. Actually blushed. What the hell was happening to me?
“Open it,” I muttered, suddenly awkward.
But she just grinned and, with careful hands, lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft black velvet, was a small carved brick of white marble, smooth and cool to the touch. Three runes were etched into the surface in clean, deliberate lines.
Her fingers brushed over them reverently. “These are… strength, inspiration, and protection,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
I blinked. “You… you know the runes?”
She nodded slowly and looked up at me with shining eyes. “Of course I do.”
Before I could say anything else, she set the box aside and climbed into my lap, pressing herself to me in a sudden, fiercehug. My arms wrapped around her instinctively, anchoring myself to her scent, her warmth, her everything. Her scent deepened blueberry pancakes laced with something sweeter, and I was already addicted.
She pulled back just slightly, enough to look into my eyes. Her lips hovered inches from mine, her breath brushing my skin, her gaze searching.
I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was me. Or maybe the moment had its own gravity. But then her lips met mine, soft at first, tentative, testing. She tasted like honeyed tea and something warm and secret.
When her tongue flicked against my lower lip, something inside me snapped.
I groaned and deepened the kiss, cradling the back of her neck as I tilted my head, starving for more. She shifted in my lap, tugging her skirt up so she could straddle me properly, her knees bracketing my thighs. The sketchpad slid to the floor, forgotten. So did the rune. There was only her now, her scent thickening around us as desire bloomed hot and fast.
Her hands slipped under my shirt, fingers dragging up my stomach and chest. I lifted my arms, and she peeled the shirt off with a pleased little sound that made my heart twist. Her fingers moved over me like she was learning something sacred. When her nails grazed my nipple, I flinched, breath hitching.
“Holy fuck,” I rasped, my voice raw.
