Page 64 of Knot Here for You

I add it to my drafts folder and start a new one. A simple message that gets my point across.

Me:

We need to talk.

I hit send, only… my phone did something stupid, or maybe I did, because as I watch in horror, it sends every single one of my drafted texts. Each one from over the years. From the moment Mathias gave me my new phone with my new number. Starting with a simple:

Me:

Why?

Why would you do this to me?

Little updates about my life. Finding out about me having RMD. The sickness I felt at being close to other alphas. Railing at them for ruining my fucking life. Messages when I was at my lowest and hurting. Messages when something good happened, like the birth of the twins, my nieces and how I wanted to share that happiness with them.

All of my pain, all of my anger, every ounce of emotion I felt toward them over the last seven years, all of it spills across the screen. One text after another. Hundreds of them. I jab at the screen, trying to get it to stop, but my hands are shaking and I can’t line up the tip right with the little x and before I know it, they’re all sent. All out there for the five of them to read.

Shit.

My teeth sink anxiously into my bottom lip as I wait for a response. For anything, from any of them. But nothing comes.

Disappointment hits.

Maybe it was too much. Maybe… Maybe they didn’t like seeing just how much they actually hurt me. Maybe…

There are too many maybes swirling around in my head, so I drop my phone on my bed and go to take a shower. It’s times like this where I wish I was more athletic. I hear the endorphins can really help with stress and depression. If I could just strap on a pair of running shoes and hit the road for a nice long run, maybe I’d come back feeling more settled.

But alas, I am not a runner, or a swimmer or an… anything, not anymore, so the best I can do is soak under the hot spray and try to let the water wash away my anxiety. I close my eyes and let the water rush over me.

My hands reach for the scent canceling soap that I always used before the lilac scented one. But I’m not sure what the point is of that anymore. For so long, I’ve been hiding my omega nature. The suppressants stifle my perfume enough as it is, but using the additional scent canceller was like an extra layer of protection. From what, I have no idea. Maybe it felt like hiding was safer. I supposed to some extent it is, living like a beta is safer than being an unclaimed omega attached to the Kinsella pack.

There is always the chance that some alpha will come along and just claim you without consent, locking your souls together forever. For me, I suspect they would have to knot me and bite me in the middle of my heat for it to stick. There’s all kinds of lore about the claiming mark, and how the bond can be its strongest.

From what bond scientists have figured out, it’s the strongest during a heat when both the alpha and omega consent. The alpha will knot and bite the omega, and the omega will give them a bite in return. If love is involved, the bond can be so strong that they can sometimes hear each other’s thoughts.

Alternatively, if an alpha forces a bond on the omega (or vice versa), outside of a heat, then the bond can snap into place, but it will be weak, and might even die off. Which is a blessing to all those omegas out there that might get bit without consent, that are sold to wealthy packs who just want an omega.

Though that doesn’t help if the alphas in question can just renew the bonding mark every three months. Which is something that happens. I’ve seen the pictures of omegas who have survived that. Their necks are usually horribly scarred. Bite marks all over their bodies where they’ve been claimed repeatedly.

I shiver and grab the scent canceller. That will not be my fate.

I’ll hide for as long as I need to.

I had thought, with all the presents being sent to me and the information I’ve learned recently, that maybe the Werth pack was going to court me. That maybe that is what all the clothing and sweets and flowers and other things are. But if that is the case, then how can not one of them send a response to the years’ worth of texts? How can they remain quiet in the face of that?

I smooth the soap over my body, then follow it up with the lilac scented one, so different from my natural perfume.

I give myself a moment to think about what it would be like, to be claimed by them, to let myself fall into their arms and let them love me, but… It’s almost too painful, too bright, for me to linger on it too long.

So I shut off the water and step out.

I hear my phone buzz in the other room, just once. Frowning, I wrap the towel around my torso and step out into the living room, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood as I go. My lips part on a gasp as my heart rate picks up when I see the two word text.

Jackson:

We’re coming.

Rule 17: Reassurance is key, groveling is necessary

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