Page 32 of Knot Your Rebel

My eyes trail to her best friend. “Nova… how full was this bottle the last time you had any?”

Her brows furrow. “Um… we’d maybe had one or two shots out of it. Do you…think she drank it all by herself?”

Looking over her shoulder, I direct my next words to Gunnar. “All of it needs to go. Every last bottle.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Huh? What do you mean?”

I don’t answer her. He can give her the bad news. Rebel needs to get this alcohol out of her system. She may hate me for what I’m about to do, but who knows how long that freak was here and what all he managed to tamper with along the way.

Her body curls into mine, seeming to crave the comfort I can provide her, as I walk down the hall towards the bathroom.

Her eyes widen, and she throws a hand in front of her mouth as I misstep and jostle her. “Fink I’m gonsta be sick…”

Bringing my nose to the top of her head, I ruminate in her apple pie scent. It’s calming. “Come on, let's get you to the bathroom.” She drowsily nods her affirmation.

“You smell so yummy…” Then a few seconds later, she says something that has a chuckle rumbling out of my chest. “But he does smell so good.”

Nova giggles. “Is she talking to herself?”

“Yep.”

Rebel curls her delicate fingers into my shirt, her omega is craving an anchor only I can provide. Golden eyes look up at me as she takes in her surroundings. “Ya know we passed my room?”

I sigh, not wanting to voice the thoughts in my head. “I know. You aren't going to like what I’m about to do to you, but it needs to happen. Alcohol poisoning is the last thing you need, and you’re way too small for the ungodly amount you drank.”

She frowns at me. “Whaa…” The words cut off as I set her down in front of the toilet. All the color drains from her face.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for what comes next. Reaching out, I let my thumb caress her bottom lip briefly before I’m prying her mouth open and shoving my finger down her throat. She gags, trying to fight me, but it's no use.

My next words slip out as a grumble. “I’m trying to help you.”

Her stomach contracts the farther back my fingers go, and a minute later, she’s losing all of the contents of her stomach.

I stroke her back and hold her hair as she pukes. Right now, at this moment, all I want to do is take care of her. That mere thought tells me that whatever this is between us is real because even before I marked her, I felt compelled to her like a vampire to fresh blood.

Eventually, it’s only dry heaving into the toilet, and then she’s slumped over the toilet. Her right arm wraps around the toilet seat, and I take a minute to look at the intricate design of the tattoo on her arm. Lifting her arm sleeve, I see that it runs the whole way up to her shoulder. What is the significance of this tattoo for it to be so large.

Did she just like the flowers or is this a memorial to something or someone?

I stand up and grab a washcloth to clean off her face.

Her teeth could use a good brush later, too. Not wanting her to be dehydrated when she wakes, I ask her to take a sip or two of the water bottle someone had dropped off on the counter in the bathroom next to headache meds.

Running my hands over her clammy forehead, I move them down to her cheeks, pulling her to me. “I need you to take a sip, Rebel. Even if you don’t want to. I can’t promise you won’t have a hell of a hangover in the morning, but this has to be better than nothing.

The water bottle cracks as she takes a drink of it, and I watch the dip of her throat with each delicate swallow she takes.

Rebel rubs at her eyes with tiny hands, fighting to stay awake, but I know she’s exhausted. I want to stay the night to watch over her. She can’t stay here any longer. I will remedy that in due time.

A yawn escapes, and I know it’s time for her to rest. I slip one hand under her knees and the other at the small of her back. Bending at the knees, I lift her into my arms. She weighs practically nothing, and as soon as she’s in my arms, her body is once again curling into me.

Her eyes blink open a few times on the way to her room, but it's not consistent. She collapses into the mattress as soon as I set her down, and then I turn to survey my surroundings in the light.

Boring beige walls, a queen-size wooden sleigh bed, her dresser, desk, and a nightstand. The window to the outside is cracked. Giving one more look to Rebel, I make sure she won’t fall off the bed if I go check out the window.

For the second time tonight, she’s asleep, snoring softly. Around the bottom corner of the bed, I run into the shredded bedding from the break in. I grimace at it like the sheets are offensive. “Fuck.” Just knowing some pervert was in her room has me seeing red.

My name slips, whispered, from between her lips, drawing my attention back to the bed. “Tate.” Her eyes aren’t open, but she’s saying my name in her sleep. I love hearing my name on her tongue.

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