Page 134 of Knot Their Arrangement

Rather than answer immediately, I focus on returning the box to its exact position beneath the floorboard.

Each movement is deliberate, ensuring everything looks undisturbed should anyone else come searching. Only once the mattress is lowered back into place do I turn to address his question.

"It's my grandmother's heirloom," I explain, my fingers tracing the intricate patterns unconsciously. "It runs in the family, passed down to the heir. In our culture, this piece is instantly recognizable. One look, and everyone knows you've received grandmother's approval. That's why I've kept it hidden."

A bitter smile tugs at my lips as I continue.

"My father didn't want me to have it since I'm a girl. Usually it goes to the son, regardless of birth order because of sexism or whatever archaic reasoning they use to justify it." The bracelet catches the light as I gesture, sending rainbow reflections dancing across the walls. "But my grandmother was very clear – if my father tried to bypass me, he'd be outcast from the family. Some crazy ultimatum like that."

Pride colors my voice as I add.

"She may have been an Omega herself, but I guess she acquired enough wealth to have a say in things."

My eyes scan the room one final time, making sure I haven't overlooked anything important. But something keeps nagging at my senses, drawing my attention back to the strange atmosphere.

"Jeez, it smells though. We try to keep everything very clean and scentless so I don't know what this stench is." The observation carries growing concern as pieces start clicking together in my mind. "Someone had to have come by."

Turning back to Ezekiel, I have to squint as my vision suddenly seems to blur. His frown deepens as he notices my expression, one eyebrow arching in question.

"What's wrong? Can't you see me?"

"No, it's not that..." I rub my eyes, trying to clear whatever's causing this strange effect. But when I look again, the problem has only gotten worse. "There's two of you."

His face transforms from concern to alarm in an instant as he processes my words.

A curse tears from his throat as he lunges forward, but his movement seems to happen in slow motion. Or maybe I'm the one moving slowly as my consciousness starts to fade.

The last thing I register is the sensation of falling, my body refusing to respond to any commands as darkness claims me completely.

23

THE INSTINCTIVE NEED TO ESCAPE

~EZEKIEL~

Kamari's body falls into my arms like a marionette with cut strings, her weight slight but precious as I catch her before she can hit the floor.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, years of medical training kicking in as I immediately press my fingers to her neck. The pulse beneath my touch is slightly thready but maintains a strong underlying beat – not ideal, but better than I'd initially feared given the circumstances.

My mind races through the implications even as I check her other vital signs.

The odd scent I'd noticed upon entering makes terrible sense now, though I curse myself for not identifying it sooner. I'd recognized it as out of place but hadn't classified it as an active threat – the telltale sweetness of aerosolized Theta-9 had been too subtle, deliberately dispersed to avoid immediate detection by even trained professionals.

It's a rookie mistake, letting my guard down in what should have been a secure location. But then, the Safe Haven's reputation for neutrality usually ensures certain lines don't get crossed.

The fact that someone dared use chemical agents here speaks volumes about how desperate our opponents have become.

Low-life bastards.

Scooping her up with practiced efficiency, I take a moment to arrange her against my chest in a way that will protect her airways. Her head lolls against my shoulder, dark hair spilling over my arm in a way that makes my inner Alpha snarl with protective rage.

The trust she's shown us, the way she's begun to fit so naturally into our pack dynamic – and now this happens under our watch.

We’re playing with forces that don’t mind playing dirty. We can’t let a mistake pass like this again.

I rush back to the living room where Damon stands with his phone in his grasp, clearly on speaker. A deep frown creases his aristocratic features.

Even in crisis mode, he maintains that dangerous grace that makes hardened criminals think twice about crossing him.

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