Page 80 of Ready or Knot

Jude’s silent as he climbs the stairs and leans over me, his touch soft where he trails it over her cheek.

“It was—” Logan tries to soothe, but she cuts him off.

Her voice is sharp. “Don’t tell me it was normal. I’ve read enough to know that it wasn’t.”

Jude makes a noise deep in his throat, wedging a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him. Logan drops his hand and palms her knee.

“You were told it would be more intense than normal,” he says. She frowns, and I tighten my arms around her. “It wasn’t what I would have wanted for your first heat. It was longer than typical, and your reactions were more acute.”

She blows out a breath, pushing against me until I let her sit back up. Jude doesn’t release her face, his palm moving to cup her cheek.

“Now that it’s done, you can focus on becoming more comfortable with the daily aspects of being Omega off suppressants. We have another six months or so before we need to worry about what a typical heat will be like for you.”

She holds his gaze for a long moment, her fingers picking at the hem of her slip again.

“Sounds like a plan,” she says. She glances past me to the kitchen, her eyebrow ticking up as she licks her lips. “Any of that left for me? I’m starving. And then I need a shower.” She adjusts how she sits, flinching a bit. “Or maybe a bath.”

* * *

FAEDRA

I frown down at the letter again, taking in the watermark of the Council’s insignia, faded enough to not interfere with the official notice typed on it.

Five days to finalize the match. Failure to do so will result in the Council reassigning me.

It should be easy to bring up to the guys. I’ve been in Denver for nearly six weeks. I’ve gone through my first heat, and they didn’t back away or hold my ridiculous reactions against me. We’re happy. And despite me still being convinced that Logan’s words were just a figment of the heat haze, the reality is that I love them. All three of them.

I know the Council doesn’t always get it right. It’s why there’s a system for being reassigned—and even for matches to be dissolved years later if necessary, like the more common divorce courts. But it feels like they’ve gotten it perfect for me.

Logan makes me laugh, a friendship dynamic I’ve never had before in addition to our physical relationship. Carter adores me and challenges me to think about the future. Jude and I are able to be scholars together in the middle of the night when the others are sleeping. All three of them support me and want me to go after my dreams.

So why is broaching the subject of filing the final bit of paperwork so incredibly overwhelming?

I don’t have an answer as I unlock the condo’s main door and slip off my sandals, taking my bag with me into the living room since it has my quilting hexagons in it. The guys are spread around the room, Jude in the large wingback facing towards the windows, Carter and Logan on opposite ends of the sofa. They glance up in near unison as I enter the room, and I can’t help but blush under their collective attention.

Carter notices the letter in my hand and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands steepled in front of him. “Everything alright, little Omega?”

A weight releases from me as his husky voice curls around my nickname.

I hold up the letter. “I got an official notice that we have five days to finalize everything, or they’ll reassign me.” My lips twist into a sardonic smile, and I scoff. “Not that they sent the paperwork with it. Just the reiteration that we’re almost out of time.”

Jude nods, glancing at the others before getting up and crossing the condo, taking the steps two at a time before closing the door to his bedroom softly behind him.

“How are you feeling, Red?” Logan asks once Jude is out of sight. “Confident in making everything permanent?”

My gaze catches on Jude’s closed door.

“Not confident enough to talk about it with Jude upstairs,” I mutter, and Logan laughs.

Carter holds out his hand, and I let him guide me onto the sofa between them. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and Logan palms my knee. I bask in the feel of them both, ignoring the anxiety simmering in my belly the longer Jude is upstairs.

The others don’t seem to be in any rush to talk about everything while he’s gone, and I follow their lead, pulling out my hexagons and working on a few of the larger pieces. Soft steps sound across the hardwood a few minutes later, and I look over my shoulder, setting down the fabric after tucking the needle away.

Jude perches on the coffee table in front of me, a nondescript black folder in his hand. He shares a long look with Carter, one of those unspoken conversations happening between them before he sets the folder next to him and holds his hand palm up toward me. I lace my fingers with his, and he tightens his grip. Logan moves until our thighs touch, his hand soft where it cups my knee.

I start before they can say anything.

“When I prepped for matching this spring, I didn’t let myself think about what it might look like,” I say, looking at Jude’s hand intertwined with mine. He runs his thumb across my knuckles. “The Council sent all kinds of material to prepare me. The more I read, the fewer expectations I wanted to have going into the gala. It seemed like they would get crushed.”

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