Page 47 of Knot My Type

"You're being deliberately obtuse," Fen observed, settling into his own chair with that calm efficiency of his. "And you're scared."

I shot him a look that would have sent lesser men running. "I'm not—"

"You are." His hazel eyes met mine steadily. "We all are. The question is what we're going to do about it."

The bacon was perfectly crispy, the eggs cooked just how I liked them, but everything tasted like cardboard. Outside, I could hear the drip of melting snow, each drop like a countdown timer ticking away our borrowed time.

"We don't do anything," I said finally. "We give her space. We let her make her own choice without pressure."

Rhys set down his fork with a clink. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"It's the right thing to do."

"The right thing?" Rhys's voice carried that edge of alpha command that usually only came out during pack disputes. "The right thing is to fight for what we want. What we all want."

"And what if what we want isn't what's best for her?" The question burst out of me. "What if keeping her here is just us being selfish?"

The kitchen fell silent except for the drip of melting snow and the distant sound of Eliana moving around upstairs. Getting dressed, probably. Making herself coffee in the little setup we'drigged in her room. Going through the morning routine that had become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.

"You think she'd be better off alone?" Fen asked quietly.

The image of her as we'd found her flashed through my mind—soaked to the bone, hypothermic, running on nothing but stubborn will and terror. She'd been alone for months before that storm forced her into our path, and it had nearly killed her.

"I think," I said carefully, "that she deserves the chance to choose her own life without three alphas and a beta breathing down her neck."

"Two alphas and a beta," Rhys corrected. "You keep forgetting I'm not the only alpha in this dynamic."

He was right, and we all knew it. The past month had made it clear that whatever we were building together didn't fit into neat categories. Rhys and I shared alpha traits, but our leadership styles complemented rather than competed. I was the protector, the wall between our pack and the world. He was the heart, the one who could charm Eliana out of her darker moods and make her laugh until she snorted.

And Fen was the anchor. The steady presence that kept us all grounded when our alpha instincts threatened to spin out of control.

"The point stands," I said. "She needs to make this choice freely."

"Then we make sure she knows she has a choice," Fen said. "We make sure she knows what we're offering isn't just temporary shelter, but a real place in a real pack."

My coffee had gone cold, but I drank it anyway, needing something to do with my hands. "And if she says no?"

None of us wanted to voice the answer, but we all knew it. If Eliana chose to leave, we'd let her go. We'd watch the best thing that had ever happened to us walk out that door, and we'd pretend it didn't destroy us.

Because that's what good alphas did. They put their omega's needs above their own, even when it killed them.

A creak on the stairs announced Eliana's approach, and we all fell silent, turning toward the sound like flowers following the sun. She appeared in the doorway wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a soft pink sweater that made her skin glow. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she looked as if she was happy.

"Morning," she said, her voice carrying a lightness it hadn't held in weeks. "Something smells amazing."

"Fen's cooking," Rhys said, his charming grin sliding into place like armor. "Coffee's fresh if you want some."

She moved through the kitchen with an easy familiarity, pouring herself coffee and stealing a piece of bacon from Fen's plate with a teasing smile that made my chest tight. This was what we'd built together in our month of isolation—not just cohabitation, but something that felt dangerously close to home.

"Sleep well?" I asked.

She nodded, settling into the fourth chair—the one that had somehow become hers without any of us officially claiming it. "Better than I have in months. I think finally talking about everything, really helped.”

The way she looked at me when she said it made something warm unfurl in my chest. Last night had been a turning point for all of us, but especially for her. She'd trusted us with her worst memory, her deepest shame, and we'd proven worthy of that trust.

"Good," I said, meaning it more than she could possibly know.

We ate in comfortable quiet, the kind of silence that spoke of deep familiarity rather than awkwardness. But underneath it all, I could feel the weight of unspoken knowledge. The storm wasbreaking. The roads would be clear soon. And our borrowed time was running out.

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