Page 131 of Knot Their Arrangement

The ceremony he's planning isn't just about claiming me — it's about making a statement to the entire community. About showing what happens to Omegas who dare to defy their designated path, who try to choose their own destiny instead of accepting what their families arrange for them.

My gaze drifts to the book I've just set aside, to the world of possibility and hope that Kieran created within its pages.

How cruelly ironic that I finally found the author whose words gave me courage, only to have reality remind me why some dreams are better left as fiction.

Rising slowly from my seat, I bow deeply, the gesture carrying all the formal grace my upbringing instilled.

"Thank you for giving me the best twenty-four hours I could ask for, despite the implications." My voice remains steady through sheer force of will. "Your kindness and desire to take care of me is not only acknowledged but leaves me humbly grateful."

Memories flood through me unbidden – every moment from that first encounter at Cardinal's until now.

The way they protected me from hunters in the forest, how they tended my injuries, their genuine interest in my thoughts and feelings. Even these last precious moments, simply reading in comfort while "my" Alphas kept me company, represent everything I thought I'd never experience.

These are memories I can hold onto, I tell myself.

Treasures to clutch close during the dark days ahead. At least I'll know that such tenderness is possible, that not all Alphas view Omegas as property to be controlled. I've had a glimpse of what pack life could be – what it should be – and that knowledge will have to sustain me.

I intend to stand, to walk away with whatever dignity I can muster, but my body feels leaden with defeat. The mere thought of leaving this sanctuary, of walking willingly into what I know awaits me, makes every muscle protest.

I'm aware of the lump forming in my throat, trying to swallow it back because this isn't the time for cowardice.

Dark suede slippers enter my downcast field of vision, followed by gentle hands cupping my cheeks. Then words in Hindi –my birth tongue– float through the air like a loving caress:

"Meri rajkumari, tum kyun ro rahi ho?"

I blink rapidly, the familiar language taking a moment to process.

Ezekiel's question –asking why I'm crying– makes me realize that tears are indeed flowing down my cheeks. His thumbs brush them away with infinite care as I slowly lift my gaze to meet his.

Confusion wars with wonder as I study his face, understanding dawning that he not only speaks my language but pronounces it with the kind of precision that only comes from true cultural immersion.

The realization that he might share my heritage, might truly understand the weight of tradition and expectation I carry, makes something crack inside my carefully maintained composure.

"Main nahi jana chahti jab mera dil itna bhara hua hai,"I confess in Hindi, the words carrying more truth than I could express in English.

The admission that I don't want to leave when my heart feels so full breaks something loose inside me.

A quiet sob escapes as I watch his eyes darken with shared pain.

Before I can try to recover my composure, his arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest with protective urgency.

"You're not going anywhere," he declares firmly, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other presses securely against my lower back. "We're not giving up on you."

His voice carries absolute conviction as he continues.

"When Damon said our pack has the intention of marrying you, we meant it. If we only have two days to prove it, then that's what we'll do."

The strength in his embrace matches the determination in his words, offering physical anchor to emotional promise. His scent — that perfect blend of coffee, bourbon, and sandalwood – wraps around me like a protective blanket, while his heartbeat thunders steadily under my ear.

Fresh tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind.

If anything, his hold tightens slightly, as if he can shield me from the world through sheer force of will. The gentle way he rocks us slightly, the soft Hindi endearments he murmurs into my hair — it all speaks of genuine understanding rather than mere comfort.

He's not just an Alpha offering protection to an Omega.

He's someone who comprehends the cultural complexities I'm facing, who recognizes the war between tradition and personal choice that's been raging inside me.

"We are going to fight for you," Ezekiel declares against my hair, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Though no one else has proven such to you, it's about time a pack does, and we'll keep our word." His arms tighten around me, the gesture protective rather than constraining.

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