Page 31 of Knot My Type

The silence that follows is deafening. I can't bring myself to look at her, can't bear to see the fear or disgust that might be in her eyes. This is the part where she realizes what kind of monster she's tied herself to, the part where she understands that the alpha she's bonded with is capable of killing without hesitation.

"Good," she says quietly, and the word is so unexpected that I spin around to stare at her.

"What?"

"I said good." There's steel in her voice now, a fierce protectiveness that takes my breath away. "He was going to hurt a child. You stopped him. Good."

I blink at her, not sure I heard correctly. "Eliana, I killed him. With my hands. In front of dozens of witnesses."

"And how many omegas did that save?" she asks, her dark eyes flashing with an emotion I can't quite identify. "How many children won't suffer because you had the courage to stop him?"

The way she looks at me, like I'm some kind of hero instead of a killer, makes my chest tight with emotion. "You don't understand," I say desperately. "After I killed him, everything went to hell. His pack wants revenge, they've got allies everywhere, and Rhys and Fen got caught up in it because they helped me get out of there."

"Tell me," she says simply.

So I do. I tell her about the chaos that followed, the way the room erupted into violence as Thorne's pack members tried to avenge their alpha. I tell her about Rhys appearing at my side without hesitation, about Fen cutting off the exits to give us a clear path out. About the omega – the girl I'd saved – and how Rhys made sure she got to safety while I was still standing over Thorne's body in shock.

"We barely made it out alive," I continue, starting to pace again. "Had to hole up in a safe house for days while half the eastern seaboard mobilized to hunt us down. Three days of rain and paranoia and trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do next."

I can still remember the weight of that responsibility, the crushing guilt of knowing that two good men were facing exile or worse because of my actions. The way Rhys and Fen had lookedat me, not with accusation but with loyalty, had been almost harder to bear than outright blame.

"That's when Fen suggested we form our own pack," I say, the memory bringing a small smile to my face despite everything. "Just threw it out there like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Said we were already acting like a pack anyway."

"He was right," Eliana says softly.

"Maybe. But it wasn't easy. We had to start from nothing – no territory, no resources, no recognition from the Pack Council. Just three fugitives with prices on their heads trying to build something that would keep us alive."

I think about those early months, the constant moving, the careful negotiations with smaller packs who were willing to offer sanctuary in exchange for protection. The slow, painstaking process of building a reputation that wasn't based on violence and death.

"The Thorne pack never gave up," I continue. "Marcus had three sons, all alphas, all meaner than their father if that was possible. They've made it their mission to hunt us down, to make us pay for what I did."

"What you did was protect someone who couldn't protect herself," Eliana says firmly. "Don't you dare apologize for that."

Her fierce defense of my actions does something to the knot of guilt and shame I've been carrying for three years. It doesn't make it disappear, but it loosens it somehow, makes it easier to breathe.

"The point is," I say, moving closer to the bed, "this is who I am. This is what you've gotten yourself into. We're not just some peaceful pack living quietly in the woods. We're fugitives, Eliana. There are people out there who want us dead, and being with us puts you in danger."

She's quiet for a long moment, considering this. Then she looks up at me with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul.

"Do you regret it?" she asks. "Saving that girl?"

"No," I answer without hesitation.

"Then neither do I." She reaches out, taking my hand in both of hers. Her touch is warm, grounding, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. "You did the right thing, Kael. The brave thing. And if that makes you a fugitive, then I guess I'm a fugitive too."

The simple acceptance in her voice nearly undoes me. After three years of looking over my shoulder, of carrying the weight of that decision and its consequences, to have someone look at me and see a protector instead of a killer...

"You don't know what you're saying," I protest weakly.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Her grip on my hand tightens. "I'm saying that I'm proud to be bonded to a man who would risk everything to protect the innocent. I'm saying that whatever comes next, we face it together."

The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupts us, and a moment later Rhys appears in the doorway with a steaming mug in his hands. His sandy brown hair is mussed like he's been running his fingers through it, and his green eyes move between Eliana and me with sharp intelligence.

"Sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound particularly sorry. "I heard voices and wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Kael was telling me about Marcus Thorne," Eliana says, not releasing my hand.

Rhys's expression grows serious, and he steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him. "Heavy conversation for this time of night."

---