Page 52 of Chain Me Knot

I drag my gaze up his broad chest, over his wrinkled clothes to chocolate eyes that are trained on me.

“Clothes?” My sentences are apparently single words.

Asher swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. “He said he stocked it for Mira, but if you want anything else, we’ll get it for you.”

He’s still thinking of me. They all are. They fought for me. Put themselves in the line of danger.

For me.

“But you're...” I gesture at their state, dirty and blood-stained from last night's chaos. The words stick in my throat, this unfamiliar concern strange on my tongue. My body remembers their gentle touches, how Phoenix cradled me in the car like I was something precious. How Soren fired bullets out of the car window. How Asher drove like a crazy man to outrun whoever was after us.

Something warm flashes in their eyes at my worry, and a smile ghosts over Asher’s full lips. “We’re fine, Moonbeam.”

“We'll take turns showering after we take care of you,” Soren assures me.

Something soft goeskersplatinside my chest and it has everything to do with giant alphas who are dangerous in their gentleness.

Red alert lights flash inside my head.

“I...” I swallow hard, gathering courage. “I'd feel better if you cleaned up too.”

Their scents warm and now a siren blares inside my skull.

“How about this? You shower first, get comfortable. We'll all get cleaned up in another bathroom because this house is stocked with anything and everything and then we’ll get you something to eat. Deal?” Phoenix says.

I sit up. I can’t stay lying down. Not when the place between my thighs starts to throb the way it did in the shower. With me naked in Asher’s lap writhing in pain and begging to make it stop. My stupid omega genes would have let them do anything to me. But they…stayed clothed.

Tended to me.

Gave me what I needed with their mouths. Hands. Tongues.

Stoked my painful burning waves of pain into the only orgasm I’ve ever had.

“How is that a deal when you’re doing everything for me?” I ask, grateful they seem to be ignoring my scent.

Soren’s mouth curves up on one side and my heart does a spring-jump it never has before. “That’s the best kind of deal.”

I nod because I don’t know what to say in the face of this sort of assault.

“Besides,” Phoenix says, his blue eyes dancing with mischief as he carefully draws back the top cover, “it's in my best interest to keep you scenting like honeysuckle and vanilla rather than alpha sweat and dried blood.”

Soren helps me to the edge of the bed, his touch careful but steady. Asher places the clothes beside me, close enough to reach but not touching my blanket-wrapped form. I'm naked and vulnerable beneath this thin barrier, but they don't leer, grab, or take advantage.

“Call if you need anything. We’ll hear you,” Asher says, and they then just…leave.

The door shuts behind them. I sit on the end of the bed drawing in their lingering scents. The urge to wash off the terror of the night is too much to ignore. The bathroom is as beautiful as the bedroom, all sea-glass tiles and shell-shaped fixtures. The shower pressure is perfect, the water hot and plentiful. I stay under the spray until my skin turns pink, marveling at this simple luxury I'd forgotten existed.

I dry myself with a large, fluffy white towel and set it aside before I pick up the clothes Asher picked. I slip on the underwear, working the soft exercise bra over my chest. My breasts are so small, I don’t really need the support of a bra but it’s nice to put one on.

I pull on the matching set of gray and pink yoga pants, T-shirt and oversized top, feeling more feminine than ever. I’m glad Asher told me these clothes belong to Mira. I know she’d have no problem lending them to me.

When I open the bathroom drawers, I find everything I could need, hairbrush, toothbrush, even a hair dryer. My throat closes as I stare at that ordinary appliance. Such a simple thing, being able to dry my hair. Warmth spills on my cheeks. I wipe it away to find tears.

Tears. Over a hairdryer. Yet...it's so much more than that.

Haven started the systematic breakdown of everything that made me human. Teaching us that omegas don't deserve basic dignities. Don't need to brush our hair or dry it or care how we look. We existed for alpha pleasure, nothing more. The Carmichaels were only too happy to continue that lesson, strip away every vestige of my humanity until I was nothing but an animal in their basement.

Something hot and unfamiliar burns in my chest. Anger. Pure, molten rage that I've never allowed myself to feel before. Anger is dangerous. Anger means hope, means believing I deserve better, means acknowledging the depth of what they stole from me.

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