Page 72 of Chain Me Knot

My chest opens wide and a rush of emotions stumble through me. Terror—deep, overwhelming. Fear—gut-wrenching fear. Alongside the terror,anxiety pours, colored sharply with worry, tenderness, and raw desperation in a swirling, chaotic storm that belongs completely and entirely to him.

Powerful and overwhelming but…these emotions aren't mine.

They’re Asher’s and he…he’s scared. For me.

Blinking away the hot tears running down my cheeks, my vision slowly shifts into clearer focus. My face presses into Asher’s strong throat. His pulse beats wild and urgent beneath the scratch of his stubble. His breath brushes quickly against my temple as he drags in uneven breaths, desperately trying to calm himself. To calmme. The bond is open and I read his emotions as though they’re my own.

He’s trying to tamp down his emotions, but he’s finding it impossible against the terror shearing through him.Forme.

This is nothing like Pack Carmichaels’ emotions. Nothing like their bond.

In fact, with Asher’s dominance, I can’t feel them at all.

Hot breath ruffles my hair and on the wings of it is a whispered plea, anguished and fiercely protective. Asher rocks gently in the chair, cradling me carefully on his lap as though I'm something precious, something devastatingly fragile.

My head clears enough to realize he’s in the chair in my seaside room. I'm curled on his lap, wrapped against the hardened shelter of his powerful chest. His heartbeat pounds fiercely beneath my cheek. He's holding onto me as if he’s terrified I might vanish if he loosens his grip. Holding me as though I'm his anchor, every bit as much as he's become mine in this exact moment.

“I'm here. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to get you, Moonbeam.” His voice is shaky and hoarse, a low rasp in my ear. “You're safe. You're with us. I've got you.”

His surety becomes mine, steadying my shattered breaths, quieting the rush of cold panic along my nerves. My body shudders, hands curling into fists over his broad shoulders, clutching now instead of fighting. My nightmare fades slowly, replaced by the vivid, comforting reality of his arms encircling me, his rich scent enveloping me completely.

It was a nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare.

I draw another unsteady breath, taking in more of him. I can’t stop myself because it loosens the terror, replacing it with something deeper and sweeter than fear.

Trust.

And now I feel so stupid for not realizing the nightmare for what it was, as real as it seemed.

Shame pulses through me. I bury my head against his chest. “I'm sorry. I-I thought…it doesn’t matter. It was just a…a nightmare.”

Saying that doesn’t really describe how real it was. The terrorlivedinside me. I saw the basement. Breathed in the foul air. Felt the damp surrounding me.

I wasthere.

“It's okay, Emma. You're allowed to have nightmares,” Phoenix murmurs.

He’s here too. His hand settles on my knee from where he’s kneeling on the carpet in front of me. His eyes, cloudy with concern, are luminous even in the dimness of the room; staring at me intently as though I’m the sole focus of his entire universe.

Soren sits on the edge of my bed, watching me closely, his gaze fierce with worry. Right now, there's no hiding his vulnerability, not as he hunches forward slightly ready to catch me if I spiral back into fear.

My cheeks flush with shame. I hate the fact that I’ve let a nightmare drown me. That I've drawn them all here in frantic worry. Again.

Outside, a storm rages against the windows, rain lashing fiercely in harsh, angry sheets. Bright white flashes periodically flood my room, accentuating the sinister twist of bare tree branches in silhouette against sharp bursts of lightning. Thunder growls a deep, rumbling bass that resonates through the walls and floor, vibrating deep and low within my bones. The storm woke me, the sudden, furious boom anchoring itself inside my nightmare.I’m so stupid.

“I’m sorry I woke you up for nothing,” I say.

“Don't,” Asher’s voice is rough and firm, carrying a quiet intensity that burrows beneath my skin. His arms tighten around me. “Don't apologize, Moonbeam. It's not nothing. Not even close.”

His words hang softly in the air between us, silencing my shame but not quite chasing away the shadow of embarrassment still clinging to me. The three alphas exchange a silent, weighted look, something deep and wordless passing between them.

Soren leans toward me. “You've been through experiences no person should ever have to endure. Nightmares, anxiety, panic attacks and all completely understandable given what you've survived.”

His eyes hold mine steadily, sincerity reflected in their dark depths, and I find myself swallowing thickly. “Remember this isn't weakness, Emma. It's Post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD.”

The unfamiliar term settles inside my chest, sharp-edged and foreign. “It is?”

“It’s your mind’s way of responding to severe trauma. When you've experienced something deeply frightening or harmful, something dangerous or hurtful that's robbed your sense of safety, the brain tries to cope any way it knows how, often by replaying the event or triggering panic and anxiety through dreams, flashbacks, or even certain sounds and smells. And you’ve been subjected to trauma for years.” In the light falling from the hallway, his face is hidden in shadow, but beneath a heavy brow, his gaze is liquid.

---