Page 53 of Knotted By my Pack
Too intimate for me to pretend I don’t notice what’s changed.
Because I can smell them. Both of them.
Elias’s scent is faint, buried beneath flour and vanilla. Julian’s lingers stronger. But there’s something else, something sharper and out of place.
A Beta’s scent, subtle and soft, but there. It shouldn’t be there. Not when I was gone for less than a week.
I grit my teeth, swallowing hard against the bitter taste crawling up my throat.
She turns around, sliding a mug in front of me, then leans over the counter just enough to catch my attention all over again.
“There are still cookies from yesterday,” she says. “Want some?”
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Bring those too.”
She disappears into the back. I press my hands to the counter and stare down at the dark liquid swirling in my cup.
My chest tightens. I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to accuse her of anything. But the question’s crawling under my skin.
Did she hook up with a Beta while I was gone? Did someone else touch her, hold her the way I’m holding this goddamn mug?
Fuck.
The thought makes me nauseous. I push it down and look up just as she walks back in, a plate in one hand, stacked with cookies.
Her shirt’s shifted again, sliding lower down her shoulder, exposing the soft line of skin I used to bite when she laughed too hard. I catch myself staring.
She places the plate down and slides onto the stool next to mine. Close, but not close enough. Her body still smells like her, but something in me itches with doubt.
It’s not just about scent. It’s the way she’s watching me now, guarded in a way I don’t recognize.
“You look good,” I say.
She tilts her head. “So do you.”
“You look better than I remember.”
A slow smile curves her lips, like maybe she’s glad I noticed. She leans in, brushing her hand across mine. The touch is light. Fleeting.
I study her face, trying to read what’s behind the smile. But she’s always been good at hiding things when she wants to.
“You alright?” I ask quietly.
She hesitates. Then nods. “Yeah.”
I sip the hot chocolate. It tastes like something she made with care, something soft and safe. The kind of comfort I missed more than I want to admit.
She picks at a cookie, nibbling the edge, avoiding my eyes.
I should ask. I should just come out with it and make her tell me. But I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I slide my hand across the counter and cover hers, anchoring her in place.
“I missed you.”
Her breath catches. She doesn’t say it back, not right away. Just stares at our hands like they’re something new.
“I missed you, too,” she finally whispers, softer than anything else she’s said all morning.
The door creaks. Elias steps back in, brushing dirt from his palms. “Looks like a busted fuel line,” he says. I’ll need to take another look at it.
