Page 30 of Knot My Type

“To stories and new beginnings,” I say, raising my mug high.

“To stories!” they echo, their voices blending harmoniously, a sound that feels like the first hints of spring breaking through winter’s icy grasp.

As I settle back onto the rug in front of the fire, I let the heat wash over me like a comforting embrace. The shadows in my heart start to diminish, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a glimmer of hope.

The cabin is small, but as the frost clings to the windows and the wind howls outside, I realize it’s also a refuge—one where I can face my past, find solace in shared stories, and perhaps learn to open my heart again.

Rhys grins, leaning forward to poke the fire with a stick. “Alright, who’s up for the first official story session?”

I glance around, meeting the earnest eyes of my companions. “I’ll go first,” I say, emboldened by the cozy atmosphere and the cocoa’s warmth. “But I want it to be a real story—a tale that has shaped me into who I am. Not a polished fairy tale, but the raw truth.”

The more I share, the more I feel unshackled—a spirit rising within me that I thought I had lost forever.

And as each man listens, the unlit embers of their own stories begin to spark, and I know this snowstorm won’t just bury us in isolation; it will force us to dig deeper into ourselves and emerge more whole than we began.

The storm rages outside, but in the little cabin, the warmth of shared laughter, stories, and connections shines brighter than any winter night could ever dim. We each share pieces of ourselves, with all the fears and joys that come with it—this is more than merely surviving; it's learning to live again, together.

And above all, it's the kind of love that’s unexpected, the kind of bond that can weather any storm that comes our way. In thiscabin, filled with winter's wild embrace, we might find the very thing we didn’t realize we were searching for.

KAEL

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts warm shadows across Eliana's room as I sit on the edge of her nest, watching her arrange the pillows behind her back. She moves with that careful grace that's become familiar to me over the past few weeks, her dark hair catching the light as she settles against the headboard. Her dark eyes find mine, patient and waiting, and I know she can sense the weight of what I'm about to tell her.

The house is quiet except for the distant sound of Rhys moving around in the kitchen, probably making his third cup of coffee of the evening. It feels like the right time, finally, to tell her the truth about who we are and how we got here.

"You asked me once why I'm always looking over my shoulder," I begin. The words feel heavy on my tongue, weighted with three years of guilt and regret. "Why I don't trust easily."

She nods, not pushing, just giving me the space to find my words. It's one of the things I love about her – the way she can be patient even when I know she's curious, even when the not-knowing must be eating at her.

"There's something you need to know about us. About how Rhys, Fen, and I ended up together." I run a hand through myhair, feeling the familiar ache in my chest that comes with these memories. "We weren't always a pack. We weren't even friends, really. Just three guys who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I can feel my jaw clenching automatically, the way it always does when I think about Marcus Thorne.

"Three years ago, we were at a pack gathering in the city. One of those big inter-pack events where everyone's supposed to play nice and network." The words taste bitter in my mouth. "I was there representing my family's interests, Rhys was with the Coastal pack delegation, and Fen was working security."

Eliana shifts slightly, drawing her knees up to her chest. The movement makes her look smaller, more vulnerable, and something protective flares in my chest. I want to reach for her, but I need to get this out first. She deserves to know what kind of man she's bonded herself to.

"There was this omega there," I continue, my voice dropping lower. "Just a kid, maybe sixteen. She was serving drinks, trying to stay invisible the way omegas do at those kinds of things. But she was nervous, shaking, and she accidentally spilled red wine on Marcus Thorne's shirt."

The name hangs in the air between us like a curse. Even now, three years later, saying it makes my hands clench into fists.

"Marcus Thorne," I explain, seeing the question in her eyes, "was the alpha of one of the most powerful packs on the eastern seaboard. Mean as a snake and twice as dangerous. He had this reputation for discipline. Especially with omegas who didn't know their place."

I can see the understanding dawning in her expression, the way her eyes widen slightly with horror. She knows where this is going, but I have to tell it all. She needs to understand.

"The girl started apologizing immediately, practically prostrating herself, but Thorne he just smiled. That cold, cruelsmile he was famous for." The memory makes my skin crawl, makes that familiar rage start building in my chest. "He grabbed her by the hair, hauled her to her feet, and backhanded her so hard she hit the floor."

Eliana's hand flies to her mouth, a soft sound of distress escaping her. The scent of her distress reaches me, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to go to her immediately.

"The whole room went quiet," I continue, forcing myself to stay focused on the story. "Everyone just stood there watching, because that's what you do when an alpha like Marcus Thorne decides to make an example of someone. You stay out of his way and count yourself lucky it's not you."

I stand up, needing to move, needing to pace. The memories are too vivid, too close to the surface. I can still smell the fear-scent that filled that room, still hear the omega's terrified whimpers.

"But she was just a kid, Eliana. Just a scared kid who'd made an honest mistake. And he was standing over her, getting ready to really hurt her, and everyone was just watching." My voice breaks on the last word, the old rage and guilt crashing over me like a wave.

"What did you do?" she asks softly, though I think she already knows.

"I lost it." The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. "Completely. One second I was standing across the room with a drink in my hand, and the next I was breaking Marcus Thorne's neck with my bare hands."

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