Page 1 of Knot My Type

KAEL

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

The rain hammers against the windows of the safe house, each drop like a bullet against glass. I've been staring out at the storm for the better part of an hour, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. Three days we've been holed up here, three days since everything went to hell, and I still can't shake the image of Marcus Thorne's lifeless eyes staring up at nothing.

"Kael." Rhys's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "You need to eat something."

I don't turn around. I can't. The rage sitting in my chest is too close to the surface, and Rhys doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of it. None of this is his fault, even though he was there when it happened. Even though he saw me lose control.

"I'm fine," I lie, my voice coming out rougher than intended.

"Bullshit." This from Fen, who's apparently grown tired of tiptoeing around my mood. "You haven't eaten since yesterday morning, you haven't slept, and you're about two seconds away from putting your fist through that window."

He's not wrong. My hands are clenched at my sides, and I can feel my alpha energy crackling just beneath my skin like a live wire. The safe house feels too small, too confining, and everyinstinct I have is screaming at me to fight or run or do something other than stand here uselessly while the Thorne pack probably mobilizes half the eastern seaboard to hunt us down.

"Maybe I should," I say, still staring out at the rain. "Maybe I should put my fist through something."

"That's not going to bring him back," Rhys says quietly.

The words hit like a physical blow, and I finally turn around to face them both. Rhys is standing with a concerned look on his face by the small kitchen table. Fen is perched on the edge of the couch, his hazel eyes focused on the floor as if he’s trying to process what to do next.

"You think I don't know that?" I growl. Good. Maybe they should be worried. Maybe they should realize what they've gotten themselves mixed up with.

"I think you're blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault," Fen says. It's one of the things I respect most about him—he doesn't back down, even if as a beta, he wants to submit.

"Wasn't my fault?" I laugh. "I killed him, Fen with my bare hands in front of a dozen witnesses."

"He was going to kill that omega," Rhys interjects. "The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen. What were you supposed to do, just stand there and watch?"

I close my eyes, but it doesn't help. I can still see it all—the young omega cowering on the ground, Marcus Thorne standing over her with his fist raised, the sick satisfaction in his eyes as he prepared to beat a child for spilling his drink. The way my vision went red, the way my alpha instincts took over completely.

"I was supposed to be smarter," I say, opening my eyes to meet Rhys's green gaze. "I was supposed to think before I acted. Now Marcus Thorne is dead, his pack wants our heads, and we're all fugitives because I lost it.”

"You controlled yourself plenty," Fen says dryly. "You could have torn his throat out. Instead, you just broke his neck. Quick and clean."

"Jesus, Fen." Rhys shoots him a sharp look.

"What? I'm just saying, if Kael had gone completely crazy, that whole building would have been a bloodbath. Instead, he eliminated a threat and got us all out of there alive."

The casual way he talks about it should disturb me, but instead I find myself almost smiling for the first time in three days. Trust Fen to find the practical angle in even the most fucked-up situation.

"The girl," I say suddenly, the memory hitting me. "Is she—"

"Safe," Rhys assures me quickly. "I got her out while you were handling Thorne. She's with the Riverside pack now. They'll take care of her."

Some of the tension in my chest eases. At least there's that. At least she's safe.

"So what now?" I ask, finally moving away from the window to slump into one of the mismatched chairs around the small table. "We can't stay here forever, and it's not like we can go home. The Thorne pack has allies everywhere."

"We make our own pack," Fen says simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Both Rhys and I stare at him. "What?"

"Think about it," he continues, leaning forward with the intensity he gets when he's working through a problem. "We're already functioning like a pack. We look out for each other, we fight together, we trust each other with our lives. The only thing missing is the official designation."

"Fen," Rhys says slowly, "starting a new pack isn't exactly easy. We'd need territory, resources, recognition from the Pack Council..."

"All things we can work toward," Fen interrupts. "But first, we need to decide if we're in this together or if we're going our separate ways."

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