Page 21 of Chain Me Knot

Phoenix kneels next to Asher. A dark bruise is starting to bloom high on his right cheek. Pack Carmichael came close enough to land a fist and I know how hard they strike. “You'll have your own room. With a lock on the inside, not the outside. No chains, no basement. Just safety. I promise.”

I search their faces, looking for the lie, the trap, the moment when the mask falls and reveals the monsters underneath, but all I see is... concern? Determination? Something that looks dangerously like care.

“It's your choice, Emma. We’ll do whatever you need us to do. If you don’t want to go there, we’ll sleep outside your door until you decide where you want to go,” Soren says.

I don't want to trust them. Don't want to trust anyone. But the alternative is Matthew finding me. Taking me back to that basement. The pack finishing what they started—the systematic destruction of everything I am.

They were so close to succeeding.

There’s no non-shitty choice. I have to choose the monster I know or the one I don't, and right now, these alphas are the lesser evil.

“Okay,” I whisper, the word torn from my throat. “But not because I trust you. Because I'm out of options.”

“That’s fair enough. Let’s get you off this cold floor. I'll organize everything, but right now you’re too cold. We need to warm you up a little,” Asher says.

Warm up? I’m shaking. Near-death experiences do that to a person but there’s no warmth in the tile and I'm still clutching Mira like a lifeline.

“Sorry,” I whisper to her, horrified that I've left marks on her.

“Don't be, Emma. We’ve been through worse times. We’ll get through this too.” She untangles our limbs and helps me stand.

Phoenix rips a blanket off the hospital bed and steps toward me too fast and I stumble back, nearly losing my footing. His face tightens, and he extends his arm holding the blanket, slowly telegraphing his movements. “It’s for you. Put it around your shoulders. It will help.”

“I’ll take it for her.” Mira takes the blanket from him and bundles me up. I don’t want it to, but it helps. I’m not sure if he’s the original omega-whisperer but there’s magic in a strong arm offering me fluffy comfort.

Never had that before.

Still notgoing to trust.

Something in me compels me to turn my nose into the part of the blanket he touched, dragging in the dark coffee scent that lingers there after his touch. Phoenix doesn’t miss the gesture, flash-heat making his eyes molten.

After that the alphas snap into action. Soren rips out his phone and organizes transport. Asher speaks to someone in the hallway before stepping back inside, positioning himself by the door. He's clearly on edge but he stays out of my way. His desperate need to approach, to check on me, to protect me, pulses through the bond. It makes my skin itch. I scratch the puckered skin where Pack Carmichael ripped into me with their teeth.

I’m drowning beneath heavy alpha emotions, the bond buzzing with incessant anger. Matthew is relentless, as if his rage alone will make me crumble and go back to them. Joke’s on him. I’d rather live with the wasps inside me than be eaten alive by sharks.

Asher’s gaze follows my scratching. He clenches his jaw and then the intensity of his emotions wane until the bond barely prickles. He’s reining in his emotions. Muting them. For me. I almost stagger as the weight lifts and I can finally take a deep breath.

My hands shake as I clutch the blanket tighter. Damn these bullshit omega instincts making me think soft material is hard armor.

A nurse rushes in with a small pile of clothing. “I'm sorry,” she says, setting them on the sink. “It's all I could find at short notice.”

I don’t care if this is the best she can find even with longer notice. She holds real clothing, not just a hospital gown. Jeans. A soft sweater. Shoes. Dignity I'd forgotten existed.

“We'll give you privacy,” Asher says, ushering the other alphas out, Adrian included. The door closes with a soft click, and I'm alone with Mira.

“I'm scared,” I admit as she helps me dress. The fabric is strange against my skin after wearing “grime chic” for so long.

“Give them a chance, Emma. For your own good.” Mira's voice is gentle but firm. “They're your scent-matches. They physically can't hurt you. It would hurt them too. They'll do everything they can to protect you.”

“I don't want to be owned again.” The words catch in my throat as I pull the sweater over my head.

As soon as I can, I’ll tattoo ‘never again’ across my forehead as a fuck-off sign to any interested alpha. I’ll inscribe it deep enough into my skin to crack my skull if that’s what it takes.

Mira's hands still as she helps me with my shoes. “Being scent-matched isn't being owned. Pack Mitchell is nothing like the Carmichaels. If Asher says he'll put Pack Carmichael away, then I believe him. You're in good hands.”

I might think I was if it weren’t for the stolen bite on my neck.

Mira squeezes my fingers. “I'm only a phone call away.”

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