Page 68 of Ready or Knot

“That’s her?” Her voice trembles just like her hand, and it makes my skin crawl. When I nod, she makes a disparaging noise in her throat and pulls away from me, running her hands down her skirt. “And you slept with her last month? Was that before or after we matched?”

A stone settles in my stomach. “Before.”

She nods, turning her face so I can’t see what she’s thinking. Her shoulders are tight, her hands still smoothing her skirt. “Would you have done it again if we hadn’t matched?”

“No.” My answer is immediate. “It was a horrible decision that I shouldn’t have made.”

“And the testing Carter said you all did? Was it long enough after to account for her?” She won’t look at me, her voice growing more unsteady, and that insidious self-hatred rears its head, making me want to vomit. “Do I…” She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “Am I ok?”

“Absolutely,” I tell her, my voice dropping. She shivers, her scent filling my office, and she closes her eyes. “I would never risk you for my own gain, Faedra. Never.”

There’s a horrible stretch of silence, the soft chime of my phone notifications the only ambient sound. Faedra takes a deep breath, her throat moving with a swallow.

“Has this…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t ask. It was before me, anyway,” she mutters.

It’s easy enough to guess what she wants to know.

“Twice before last month,” I offer, tucking my hands into my pockets, switching my phone to silent without looking at it. “All three of them have been when I was drinking and should never have happened.”

“Why? If it had been so horrible, why would…” She hesitates, and I don’t make her finish the question.

“There’s been a couple times across the years where I’ve been at some really low points. And she has this horrible way of reaching out to me when I’m feeling the worst.” I blow out a breath. “Why does an addict return to his vice when he’s been sober—and desperately wants to stay sober?”

“I’m going to call Logan,” she whispers, rounding the desk and pulling her bag from the drawer. “I…I don’t think I can be here anymore.”

My stomach drops.

“Alright,” I say, but I step in front of her as she stands and turns for the door. She keeps her gaze on my chest, her eyes tracing the pattern of my tie. My touch is hesitant as I circle her wrist, guiding her to sit in my chair, and she chokes back a sob as she falls into it.

“Faedra,” I murmur, and she swallows another sound.

She shakes her head. “Why did you—”

“I didn’t kiss her,” I say, and she freezes, her gaze finally meeting mine. I swallow at the blatant distrust in it. “On the Council itself, I didn’t. I pushed her away the moment the shock faded.”

She takes a deep breath, biting her lip.

“Does she know that we’re matched?”

I shake my head. “I have no contact with her outside of her pursuing me.” Her unspoken question sits heavily between us. I take her hands in mine, crouching in front of her. “All of my colleagues know, though. I’m not hiding you.”

She nods. The moment stretches between us, her body still held tightly, her hands limp in my grasp.

Not even tenure is worth seeing my Omega hurt like this. The decision is simpler than I ever expected it to be.

“Let me talk to my department chair, alright? I’ll make sure she can’t bother us anymore. Promise.”

She finally squeezes my hands and leans into me, her forehead pressing into my sternum.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and I comb through her hair until her body loses its tension and she moves into my lap.

I feather a kiss against her temple. “Let me update my office hours, and we’ll go home. We can do whatever you want.”

She’s quiet as I scoop her back into my chair. It takes a few minutes to get everything updated in both systems, and then I send an email to Chris requesting a meeting first thing tomorrow. She accepts the calendar request before I’ve put my phone in my pocket. Faedra stands and adjusts her bag, wiping her hands on her shirt before blowing out a breath.

Her smile is more confident when she looks up at me as I take her hand.

“She really doesn’t—”

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