Page 113 of Chain Me Knot

An undeniable urge tugs at me to comb through the whole house and gather every soft thing, every pillow and blanket, and make the nest perfect. My fingers twitch with a restless spark of longing unfurling through me.

Heat prickles under my skin, lighting up my nerves in a quick, hungry wave. Pressure builds in my lower belly, a deep, tightening cramp that has me curling my toes and pressing a hand against my side. My scent thickens in the kitchen, honeysuckle, vanilla, something richer beneath the surface. Asher’s nostrils flare. He straightens, eyes darkening as he studies me.

“Are you all right, Emma?” he asks.

I pause, trying to read my own body. The cramp fades, just a ghost when I try to find it. The blaze beneath my skin cools, leaving me almost embarrassed for the false alarm. My heart thuds unevenly. If I went into heat before the gala, right before Leah’s rescue, it would be a disaster. I'd need all three of my alphas to tend me through it, and we’d lose our chance to get Leah back.

Just a couple more days and then biology can take over. Then I will look forward to this heat.

I shake my head lightly and wave him off when he approaches. “I’m fine,” I say, giving him a quick smile. I force my hands to steady as I reach for my coffee, pretending not to notice the concern etched on their faces.

“Are you sure, Butterfly?’ Soren asks.

“There is something I want to run by you all,” I say.

All three of my mates give me their undivided attention and I will any heat that bubbles up to go the hells away.

I clear my throat softly, meeting their eyes as my pulse quickens. “There's something Mira and I talked about. We both agreed it’s important for us to be at the gala when you bring Leah out.”

Taking a steadying breath as tension tenses their bodies, I continue before they can speak the protest I see building on their lips, willing them to understand. “After everything she’s been through, Leah won't trust any alpha who approachesher, no matter how gentle or careful you are. The only way she'll trust anyone enough to let herself be rescued is if Mira and I are both there, too.”

“Tough Girl…” Phoenix starts, shaking his head.

“Please, hear me out. You’ll have your hands full with the commissioner and Pack Carmichael, and gods knows how many officers trying to stop you. They’re going to put up a fight. You can’t look after Leah and stop someone like the commissioner at the same time. Mira and I will hide with Leah. You tell us where and how and we’ll get her out.” I watch their faces carefully, bracing for argument but refusing to let my determination slip. “We won’t get in the way. But we need to be there for her. For all of us.”

Soren stares at me, jaw working. Tension bunches his shoulders and creases his brow, but he doesn’t shoot down my idea; he just stands there quietly, considering, his thumb rubbing circles over the edge of the counter.

Phoenix leans back against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest. He glances at Soren, then at me, searching my face.

“I don’t like it,” he admits, voice rough with worry, but there’s no heat behind the words. “But you’ve got a point we hadn’t thought of before. You’re right. Leah’s been in hell. She needs faces she trusts when shit hits the fan, and a calm omega will be a hell of a lot easier to handle given the shit that’s going to go down. I won’t pretend I want you anywhere near that mess but if you really think it’ll help, I won’t shut the damn idea down.”

Asher draws in a deep breath, his hands braced on either side of the sink. His pulse ticks visibly at his throat, clearly from the strain of trying to balance protecting me with respecting my choices. He searches my eyes for any crack in my resolve.

Then, with a heavy exhale, he nods. “I don’t like the risk either, but if Leah sees you and Mira first, it might make all the difference. She’ll trust us because you’re there.” He cups my face, brushing his thumb along my cheek. His touch is gentle but his grip firm, grounding. “Promise me, if anything does go sideways, you get out with Soren and you run no matter who's with you. You’re the most important person to us no matter what we’re trying to do. Understood?”

Soren’s soft gaze roams my face despite his worry. “We’ll set up every exit route, keep you in eyeshot the whole time.”

Phoenix shoves his hands in his pockets and lets a reluctant smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I guess this means we're shopping for an evening gown for our omega.”

Their acceptance, no protest, just fierce concern and careful planning, settles something deep in my chest. These men always surprise me. Their trust and faith make me feel less like a risk and more like a partner. More like a pack.

“And a disguise. We can’t disguise her designation, but we can make her unrecognizable,” Asher says. “I don’t want Pack Carmichael to have the slightest hint you’re you.”

I nod, because he’s right. I don’t want the Carmichaels to recognize me either. I don’t want to cause any trouble at all. All I want is freedom for my pack, and Leah.

***

I slip into the gown I found in the expansive wardrobe adjoined to my room.. Mira’s alphas really did think of everything—matching shoes, jewelry, even delicate underthings I never would have chosen for myself but somehow, they fit perfectly. I hope the house, if Mira truly wants me to have it, comes with all of this.

Of course, her offer to give me the house is too generous, too big. It’s something I haven’t let myself think about for more than a flicker. I wonder how her alphas feel about the idea, about Mira giving away a house they bought for her. When things settle, I’ll ask Asher to find out for me. I need the particulars before I can really let myself accept something so monumental.

The dress, though… I have to look like I fit in at a gala, even if worms squirm in my stomach.

The dress glides perfectly over my frame, like it was made for me. Sky blue and soft as seafoam, accentuating whatever curves I have. I lean over the bathroom countertop and do my makeup as best I can, fumbling with palettes and brushes,uncertain with each stroke. No need for makeup locked in any basement, but I’m happy with the results. My eyes look bigger, my mouth a pouty pink.

I tug on the wig, adjusting it until the dark, loose curls spill over my shoulders and down my back, transforming me into someone unrecognizable. A stranger stares back from the mirror—soft-cheeked and delicate, eyes bright and luminous, lips flushed and full. I don’t look like the girl who stared back at me from the mirror in the hospital bathroom, skin stretched tight over bones, hair lifeless and dull. I don’t look like a ghost of an omega, hunted and hollow-eyed.

Tonight, I’m someone from a regular fairytale.

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