Page 5 of Knot Alone

My nutmeg is only supposed to mix with Graham’s freshly-baked bread.

The bitter, burned tang of nervousness cuts through her scent.

She’s an Omega on the cusp of heat stuck in a room with an Alpha reeking of want. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’m sorry.” She says again. “My caseworker brought me down so he could argue with another caseworker. He told me to wait in here. I can go back out there!” She grasps the knob and I growl.

She freezes but doesn’t take her hand off the knob. Smart girl.

I gulp back the sound. “I’m sorry.” I bite out the words around the salvia building at the back of my mouth. I raise my hands, palms facing out. I place them behind my head so she’ll know I’m not reaching for her. “I don’t… you smell amazing. People don’t smell amazing to me.” I side-step around Iris’ desk so the Omega can have the safety of something between her and whatever the hell wires have gotten crossed in my head.

“They don’t?” the pretty little Omega looks concerned for me.

For me. The random Alpha growling at her like an animal. I want to ask where in the hell her preservation instincts are.

“Almost never. People are not my skill set.” Graham is the one who handles people for us, but I can hear his voice in the back of my head telling me to be nice. He doesn’t need to. I’ve been taught my entire life to take care of Omegas. I’m hit with the impulse to wrap her up and take her somewhere no one else can get their grubby hands on her.

That desire is… unexpected.

Graham is the only person I’ve felt that way about before.

Chapter Two

Maggie

I… don’t know how I got here.

I mean, I know how I got into this room. I met with my caseworker this afternoon to ‘review’ the to-do list for my pending heat. Which was just me repeating for the hundredth time that no, I don’t want an Alpha. I just need to spend my heat somewhere other than my house because my sister dropped by for an unannounced vacation with her children.

Frankly, I’m a little disappointed in myself for not having a better plan than ‘go to the Center and hope they don’t bother you about an Alpha.’ But I never thought this would be a problem.

See, my family and I have a longstanding, silent agreement where they get to take advantage of my Omega nesting impulses by dropping off their children without warning and I get to pretend my sub-sex doesn’t make them uncomfortable. (I also get a week’s uninterrupted time to myself every few months. I may spend most of it trying to come, but a heat is a fair price to pay for privacy.)

So, of course, my sister had to screw it up.

I’ve spent the last week explaining to my caseworker that I’m at the Center for personal space, not an Alpha. (Losing my uninterrupted time at home is bad enough. The only way to make it worse is filling it with people.)

I was explaining to him yet again when his computer dinged. He checked the screen, smirked, and before I could ask, dragged me up two floors and into a fight between him and some other caseworker about an Alpha match.

Their yelling was… rough.

I don’t do well with conflict generally—hence the silent agreement with my siblings—but the added stress of pre-heat hormones turned my scent from fresh raspberries to scalded sugar. It must’ve been enough that even the two Beta caseworkers could scent it.

But, instead of calming down like an adult, my caseworker shoved me into a not-so-empty office where I found one of the handsomest Alphas I’ve ever seen.

Brown eyes, angled jaw, full lips. He’s tall and lean, every inch of him perfectly pressed from the sculpted black hair to the cut of his suit. (I’ve endured the edges of enough high society parties to know good tailoring when I see it.) He’s still put together despite the hour, but I get the sense he doesn’t need to reassemble in between meetings. Polished is just something he is. The dusting of freckles across his cheeks saves him from too much severe perfection.

Though he could have a forgettable face and still be handsome with manners like these. Trapped in a room with a scared, pre-heat Omega and his response is to give me space. Most Alphas would try to cuddle me like I’m a child. Especially an Alpha with the rich scent of chocolate that he’s pouring out. Though the scent is getting more burned and bitter with each passing second.

Right.

He’s still across the room, a desk between us, and hands up so I don’t feel pressured. And he said that people ‘aren’t his skill set.’ Which means he’s waiting for me to make the call.

“You’re doing all right,” I say. His shoulders dip from his ears with a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

He shifts a little, hands still up like a bank robber. “You aren’t.” He chokes out.

Oh, he’s uncomfortable. His voice has a rasp I don’t want to cause. I grimace apologetically and half-reach for the door. But the echo of shouting in the hall makes me stumble back.

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