Page 154 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

The words didn't just sting. They branded her.

She squirmed helplessly, heat-addled and bound, nausea curling in her gut from the cocktail of drugs that shouldn’t have hit her this hard. The suppressant—Darius had promised—had been a double dose. And yet her body was aflame, all her Omega instincts overriding logic. Something had been done to her.

Another injection, maybe. Or worse.

A shudder rocked the building.

Boom.

The blast was deafening. It came from the far side, the floor beneath her shivering as dust and shards rained from the ceiling. Serenity gasped, the sudden jolt of noise jerking her senses. She blinked rapidly, disoriented and drenched in heat and terror.

An instant later, sprinklers erupted, soaking the room in a torrential downpour. Cold water hammered her from above, slicking her skin and plastering her hair to her face. She coughed, gasping as the shock briefly cut through the heat fogging her senses.

Chaos.

She heard snarls and yells, stomping boots and the hiss of weapons being drawn.

"Check it!" Nikolai barked, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "Find out what the fuck that was."

Shouts echoed. Someone opened the door. Footsteps rushed out.

She couldn’t see clearly. Her head lolled to the side, her vision swimming as shadowed figures blurred in her periphery. The world had tipped sideways. Her body felt too heavy, her limbs disconnected from willpower. Still, she refused to whimper. She would not give them that satisfaction.

But then—more shouting. This time not commands.

Threats.

"Drop your weapons! Hands where I can see them!"

Serenity’s breath caught.

Gunfire thundered in the distance. Boots slammed into the concrete. Her captors hissed. She heard the unmistakable click of a rifle being raised.

And then?—

A flash of movement.

Someone was at her side. The cords around her wrists sliced free in one clean jerk.

“Don’t,” she hissed, struggling to rise, limbs jerking uselessly. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need anyone. Don’t want anyone?—”

Her voice cracked into something half-feral, half-manic. She shoved at the hands helping her, panicked and desperate to maintain control when she had none.

“I’m not yours. Not yours.”

"Hey. Easy now," a deep voice murmured. Calm. Steady. Familiar.

She froze.

"Little runaway wasn’t the one to blame this time, huh?"

That voice?—

Ronan.

Her head dropped back, trembling with the force of relief. The moment his scent hit her—earth, gunpowder, leather—her entire body buckled.

She whimpered. “Everything hurts.”

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