Page 70 of Chain Me Knot

I force air into my lungs, fighting not to fixate on every delicate nuance of Emma’s scent—the soft warmth, the arousal-laced sweetness I’ve dreamed of tasting at the source. Hell, my body doesn’t care how hard I’m restraining myself. I'm trembling, pulse hammering behind my ribs.

“At least she’s letting Soren give her exactly what she needs.” Phoenix lifts his knife again, resuming with error-free rhythm, focusing perhaps too intently.

“Good,” I rasp, though it doesn't feel particularly fucking great right now. Jealousy tangles viciously with gratitude. A complex snarl of emotions lodge deep in my ribs. I’m glad I tamped down my emotions so she doesn’t feel this.

I have to get myself under control. Emma deserves all the tenderness that Soren gives her. All the gentle reassurance of touch and closeness I denied her in a single reckless mistake. It's a good sign. A sign of healing. That's all that matters, even if my instincts chafe and fight to break free.

I narrow my eyes, forcing my focus stubbornly away from the distraction even if every cell is tuned desperately to the omega down the hall. “It just makes finding answers about why they want her so desperately even more urgent.”

If she goes into heat, it will take the three of us to tend to her. I won’t have her in the danger she’s in now when we’ll be at our weakest.

“Have you had any luck finding this Alpha1465?” I glance sideways at Phoenix, reducing the flames under the saucepan as I turn fully, refocusing on the puzzle pieces laid out in front of us, pieces painstakingly assembled but still incomplete.

Phoenix exhales sharply, frustration shadowing those golden-boy features. “Nothing yet. I've spent hours crawling through that cesspool. Whoever he is, he's covered his tracks tight and deep.”

“We can't stay dark like this forever. And we can’t risk contacting anyone at the precinct. Until we have something concrete, we’re completely blind.”

Phoenix nods, tension etched on his face. “Yeah. I don’t like running blind either. Feels like we're waiting for someone else's move. Whoever's behind this—they’re powerful. Smart. Patient too. It could be Hardwick. Or the commissioner. Or someone else altogether. But,” his voice hardens, determination flashing in his eyes, “no one's invisible forever. We’ll find them eventually.”

“I'm counting on it.” Something sharper than protective instinct drives my resolve. Images of Emma trembling and afraid ignite fury in my gut, demanding justice. Demanding accountability. “I’ll contact Adrian after dinner and ask if Cole has had any luck finding anything too.”

Pack Blackwood are as invested as us to get to the bottom of this. One thing I’m sure of, is that if Sylvia Mercer, Senator Hardwick and Commissioner Axel Turns are involved, this goes big and deep and this Alpha1465 could be the key we need to open a very large can of worms.

The kitchen is quiet for a while, only the steady, rhythmic sounds of preparation filling the silence between us. I keep one eye fixed on the sauce, the other flickering restlessly toward the hallway, anticipation and nerves knotting relentlessly in my chest. Soren knows Emma hasn’t eaten dinner and he’ll want to feed her too. I have faith in my brother that he’ll bring her here when she’s ready, but the wait is fucking killing me.

When footstepsfinallyecho softly down the hall, I lift my head.

Emma steps into the kitchen tucked close by Soren’s side, and for a second my heart just— stops. Her hair, freshly washed and clean, spills pale and luminous over her narrow shoulders. White-gold strands shimmer beautifully beneath the low kitchen lights, so pure and pale my earlier nickname for her—Moonbeam—hits me squarely in the chest, more accurate now than ever before. This isn’t the pale dull blonde shadowed by dirt and sweat, but something purely bright like captured moonlight, shining clear and true.

She’s transforming. Becoming more beautiful in every moment.Flourishing.

My moonbeam.

The sight of her cheeks flushed a warm, healthy rose where there used to only be pale, fearful hollows is a balm to my battered sense of restraint. Even though her features are still too sharp, even though signs of trauma linger, she's fucking glowing, and it helps cool the embers of my envy.

She pauses in the doorway, hesitant, delicate hands pulling awkwardly at the soft cuffs of Soren’s oversized sweater she wears. She lifts her eyes to mine for the barest instant, a frown marring her brow as she rubs her chest.

I catch Soren’s serious gaze, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. He sends a pulse of reassurance through our bond. Something happened but he’s handled it. Whatever it is, I know he’ll tell us both later, but our omega should never have to feel ashamed of the affection or care she deserves. She has nothing—not one damn thing—to be embarrassed about. Healing from trauma means she’ll be up and down, a perfectly natural response.

The small crease between her brows speaks clearly of embarrassment, worry, the sense of shame lingering around the fringe of something beautiful that's just occurred. She’s all gentle uncertainty and nervous modesty and something fierce and protective flares inside me instead of my normal self-loathing.

She gasps, her gaze finding me again and damn, she felt that pulse of emotion from me. It’s hard to shove it back down but I do it for her comfort. I peel away from the stove to cross my arms loosely, head tilted as I try, despite my own awkward stiffness, to offer her something approaching comfort. “You look...” The words dry suddenly in my throat and I clear it quickly before continuing with more confidence, “You look good, Emma. Really good.”

Her startled eyes widen before ducking away once more with a bashful shift of her feet. I catch the faint, soft smile playing at her lips, the pink warmth in her cheeks deepening further. It's enough to ease the tightness around my heart. She’s trying. The shift it represents—however slight—is hopeful.

Beautifully hopeful.

Unless I’m a complete fool and my brain is superimposing its wants on reality.

Fuck, I hope that’s not the case.

Soren grins at us both, knowing we’re both smelling her sweet, satisfied scent. I ignore him, though it's damn near impossible, and Phoenix snorts quietly under his breath, humor coloring his voice.

“Lucky bastard,” he whispers toward Soren, low enough Emma won't hear, eyes sparkling in amused jealousy.

Phoenix covers the distance between Emma and himself, gently cupping the back of her head to place a lingering kiss against her temple. I keep my groan to myself at the fresh burst of honeysuckle.

So perfect. I want her to have that reaction for me.

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