Page 6 of Knot Shattered
I didn’t sob. Though I wanted to. I stayed there, letting his arms hold me up while my body remembered how to breathe. Letting his chest rise and fall against mine until my own heartbeat stopped trying to outrun itself.
And when I finally pulled back, he let go like I was made of glass—slow and careful, like he didn’t want to send me splintering again. I didn’t feel fragile. I felt… hollow. Worn. But not broken. Not right now.
My hands fell to my sides, fingers tingling. Marble dust clung to the sweat on my arms, streaked across my shirt like some kind of war paint. I looked like hell. But I looked real.
“I hate that I still feel like this,” I muttered, eyes locked on the stained concrete beneath my boots. “Like they still have pieces of me they never gave back.”
Henry didn’t rush to fix it. He never did.
“You lost a lot,” he said. “No one expects you to bounce back overnight.”
“I know,” I said, jaw tight. “But I didn’t think it would still feel this raw. Like I’m walking around with wounds no one can see but I feel every damn second.”
He stayed quiet for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “You’re healing. And healing’s ugly. It’s not a straight line. It doesn’t give a shit if you’re tired.”
I breathed out slowly, dragging my hand through my hair, then walked back toward the sculpture. She stood there, frozen mid-scream, hands still covering her face, chains pulling at her wrists. I reached out and brushed a line of dust off her jaw.
“She doesn’t feel finished,” I murmured.
Henry stepped beside me, his voice low but steady. “She’ll tell you when she is.”
I nodded slowly. Swallowed the thickness in my throat.
“She’s just like me,” I said. “Still in pieces.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t correct me. He just let the weight of it sit between us.
The garage smelled like sweat and stone. The air was thick with heat and silence, the kind that felt sacred. This place—these fractured works of art and scattered tools—it was the only place that didn’t feel like a lie.
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 25th
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 you’re 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 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.”
