Page 16 of Chain Me Knot

“How is she?”

“Is she in pain?”

“Does she need anything?”

“Can we see her?”

Those alphas, my scent-matches, sound desperate, worried. Their deep voices make my heart rate spike until I hear the doctor's firm but gentle reply. “She's awake but needs care. Please don't disturb her.”

“But—” That's Asher, his protest carrying through the doorway.

“No buts,” Dr. Chen says. “She needs time. Space. And right now, three large alphas hovering over her will do more harm than good.”

“At least tell us if she's eating,” one of them pleads. “If she's—”

“I will update you on her condition regularly. Now, please. Let her rest.” The doctor moves through the door and shuts it with a firm click. The silence in the room is both unsettling and a relief.

Through Asher's bond, I feel his discontent, his desire to come in, to check on me. The emotion rolls through our connection. Concern, worry, the need to protect, but he stays outside. That's... unexpected.

A beta nurse enters, her movements efficient but kind as she helps me to the bathroom and onto a seat in the shower. The water is heaven. Pure, clean heaven. It's almost too much—the warmth, the pressure, the ability to actually get clean.

The nurse checks the IV drip in my arm with practiced care before preparing a basin of warm, soapy water. Her touch is confident yet kind as she gently wipes away layers of dried blood, carefully avoiding my bandaged sores and the tubes trailing from my veins. Warmth and cleanliness seep into my skin with every stroke, almost too much after so long in filth and discomfort. The nurse never loses her professional composure, even as I flinch or tremble. When my arms grow too heavy, she murmurs encouragements, washing my hair in sections and expertly teasing out the tangles. All the while, she speaks in a soft, soothing voice filling the silence, though not expecting me to answer.

My skin is mottled, bruised and scarred. My bones poke under my skin and I almost wish for the filth back. That, at least, hid my ordeal, but the nurse helps me into another clean hospital gown that feels like silk on my skin and I’m all covered up. Even better, the gown doesn't smell of basement or fear or alpha or pain.

She settles me back into bed and brings me food. Simple broth and crackers but it’s more than the stale peanut butter sandwiches I’ve lived off for so long that it’s like fine dining to my taste buds. I manage a few spoonfuls before my stomach fills and exhaustion pulls me under.

A knock wakes me. I blink as the door opens.

My heart stops. Starts. Stops again.

The woman who looks at me is... healthy. Clean. Her auburn hair is neatly styled, her clothes are nice.

There's no haunted look in her eyes.

No signs of the terror we shared at Haven.

I'm either dreaming, or at least one of us made it to freedom after all because the woman with tears running down her cheeks is Mira.

Chapter Seven

Emma

Asound escapes me, a wounded sob that has no right to be in my throat, as Mira rushes to my bedside. Her hands hover over me like she's afraid to touch, afraid I might break. Or maybe afraid I'm not real. Like I'm some ghost conjured from her memories.

“Emma,” she whispers, her voice catching. “Oh gods, Emma.” Her tears fall faster as she takes in my condition.

My eyes cloud over as I reach for her hand, needing to feel that she's solid, that she's really here. Her fingers wrap around mine, warm and real.

“Are you…actually here? Tell me I’m not dreaming,” The words catch in my throat as I study her. Healthy. Whole. There are roses in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes that has never been there before.

Shesits on the edge of my bed, careful not to jostle me. “It’s impossible to be in the same dream.”

“Are we dead and this is the afterlife?” This afterlife I can deal with. It’s a step up from the hell I’ve lived in.

She shakes her head, her lips curving into a smile. “This is definitely real and we are definitely alive.”

It’s then I see the silvery scarring on her neck. She’s been bitten. Claimed. Mated. I swallow hard. I can’t take my eyes off those marks of ownership.

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