Page 68 of Knot my Alphas

“I wish I could meet my family.”

“I’m sure you can meet them,” he says reassuringly. “The Burtons are a military pack. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to meet them during some event or celebration.”

“I can’t see them until we’ve exposed Callahan,” I say as anger flames inside me.

“We’re already on that mission,” he says in a grim tone. “Now that we know who he is, it’ll be easier to dig evidence against him. Just give us some time.”

Impatience and frustration war within me but I understand that it’s a mammoth task to bring down a criminal mastermind like Callahan. Sighing to myself, I take a bite of my toast.

My thoughts soon go back to my uncles and cousins, recounting all the facts I’ve come to learn about them after reading through dozens of articles about the Burton Pack.

The sound of shifting furniture brings me back to the present.

Julian is already done with his breakfast and pushing his chair against the table.

“Leave them here,” I say as he picks up his empty plate and mug. “I’ll wash up everything after I’m done.”

“I can do it,” he says stubbornly despite the look of evident pain on his face. Staggering on his good leg, he drags himself to the sink.

I shove the rest of my toast into my mouth and join him.

He usually hates doing dishes but right now, he’s determined to prove he can do them.

“Would you stop being so bullheaded?” I say, snatching the soapy sponge out of his hand. “You’re supposed to be resting, not doing the dishes. What if you end up worsening your injuries?”

“They’re already the worst,” he mutters darkly as he watches me washing the dishes. Stepping away, he huffs loudly. “I’m so bored! I’m going upstairs for a shower.”

“Hey, wait up!” I call out, still in the middle of washing our mugs.

Julian doesn’t wait but hobbles out of the kitchen.

A noise of frustration escapes me as I hurry with the mugs.

Drying my hands on a towel, I run after Julian and find him on the staircase. A pained expression mars his beautiful face as he drags himself up the stairs.

“I never thought of you as a masochist,” I say, bounding up the steps to reach him. Grabbing his arm, I wrap it around my shoulders and force him to lean on me.

He chuckles. “Haven’t I shown you my collection of handcuffs and whips?”

I roll my eyes and help him up the stairs.

“Do you have to take a bath now?” I ask as we reach the third-floor corridor. “Wouldn’t it be nicer to take a nap instead?”

“Food and sleep will make me chubby,” he says, pouting.

“I don’t mind a chubby mate,” I say, grinning and prodding at his rock-hard abs.

“You’re odd.”

“I’m not odd. I just love you.”

My sudden declaration takes him by surprise. A beaming smile comes onto his lips and brightens up his face.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss on my cheek. “Sugary coffee makes you say all the sweet things.”

“Don’t ever make me drink that monstrosity again,” I say, eyeing him sideways.

He chuckles and pushes open the door to his room.

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