Page 8 of Chain Me Knot

“Let’s get her out of here, brother,” I say.

His eyes flick to mine and thank fuck reason returns in his stark expression. He turns his back on the pack of abusive assholes, protecting her with his body, and strides out of the house of horrors and into the night as though she's made of glass. She hasn't stirred once, hasn't made a sound. The only sign of life is the shallow rise and fall of her chest and her open eyes that stare into nothing. She’s awake, but not present.

The paramedics are waiting, gurney ready, but Asher hesitates before laying her down. It’s only her pressing medical needs that allow him to place her into their care. The moment she leaves his arms, she looks even smaller, more fragile. The paramedics snap into action as they load her inside the ambulance. They insert an IV into her thin arm, measure her vital signs and use medical terminology that my training translates into increasingly dire assessments. When we try to follow her in, a paramedic blocks our path with an apologetic but firm hand.

“There's no room. We need space to work.”

It’s only the need to make sure she’s taken care of properly that allows me to stand back as they close the doors.

“Van. Now,” Asher snaps.

He doesn’t have to tell us twice. We scramble to our van, Phoenix already in the driver's seat, engine running. The drive through the city is a blur of red lights and near-misses as we follow the ambulance. None of us speak. What is there to say? We've just found our omega, our scent-match, the missing piece we never knewwe were looking for, and we found her chained in a basement, half-dead, only to watch our prime lose control and claim her without consent.

Chapter Four

Emma

Ijerk awake, heart hammering against my ribs. Something's wrong. The perpetual darkness that I normally wake to... is not dark. Light filters through my eyelids, foreign and frightening. I force my eyes open, then slam them shut against the assault of light, color, movement.

Slowly, carefully, I try again. I see a window through my hazy vision.An actual window. But that… that’s impossible. There are no windows in my basement and yet trees sway outside the glass in a breeze I can't feel, their leaves a green so vibrant it hurts to look at. Cars glide past on a street below, the sun glinting off metal and glass. People—actualpeople—walk along a sidewalk, going about their lives as if everything is normal. As if the world isn’t just darkness and concrete andchains.

And above it all, the sun hangs in a blue sky. My forgotten friend. My eyes water as I drink in its reality. I haven't seen the sun in... how long? The sight is so surreal, so impossible, that hysteria bubbles up in my chest. This can't be real. This has to be a dream, or maybe I'm finally, blessedly dead.

Hope flutters in my chest, a dangerous sensation that makes me want to sob.

Maybe my prayers were finally answered. But then my alphas’ rage crashes through the travesty of a half-bond, freezing whatever warmth the sun might give me. Their emotions slash through me like well-worn knives, reminding me that I'm not that lucky.

Surely death wouldn't include their toxic presence.

But there's something else alongside their toxic-waste emotions. Another presence in my mind, unfamiliar yet somehow... right. It floods me with self-hatred so deep it takes my breath, despair that matches my own, self-loathing that’s oddly protective. Where my other bonds hold only darkness, this one carries light. Painful light, but light nonetheless.

My hand flies to my neck, finding thick bandages where teeth tore into my flesh. The memory hits me of the massive alpha with gentle hands and anguished eyes. The way he gathered me close instead of taking what he wanted when I’d offered my singular worth. Mate, he'd said. But that's impossible. I'm already claimed. Already bound. And I wasn’t in heat.

I look down at myself. Clean white sheets surround me. Antiseptic instead of mold stings my nostrils. A hospital gown covers skin that's been washed so clean I barely recognize my own arms. An IV drips clear fluid into my vein, a pulse monitor on my finger.

I'm in a hospital room. With windows and sunlight and machines that beep steady rhythms. My chest constricts as panic sets in. This isn't possible. This isn't allowed. I shouldn't be here, getting this sort of treatment. They'll come for me, and they’ll make me pay. They always come for me. Always make me pay.

The sunlight is suddenly a spotlight, exposing me, marking me for punishment because good things don't happen. I don't get windows or sunlight or clean sheets. I get darkness and pain and half-formed bonds that let my alphas tortureme from the inside out. And now there's a new bond, a new alpha, a new way to be broken. A new alpha to find more depths of hell to put me in my place. To brand me. Own me. Make me do more unspeakable things because he has that power.

My heart rate spikes as I stare at the window. At the freedom it promises beyond. I’m alone in this room. There’s nothing but glass between me and the outside world. Between me and escape. I might never get another chance like this. No chains, no locked doors, no alphas watching my every move.

I force myself to sit up, muscles screaming in protest. My arms shake with the effort of supporting my own weight and black spots dance across my eyes. The simple act of sitting upright leaves me dizzy and gasping. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting to that window.

The sheets slip away as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. A thick bandage wraps around my ankle where the cuff used to be, but there's no metal biting into my flesh any more. No chain rattling with every movement. Nothing to bind me down.

I rip the IV from my arm and toss the needle aside, watching with detached fascination as blood drips from the wound. I feel nothing. The heart rate monitor comes next, its steady beeping cutting off in a shrill alarm that makes me flinch. The sound pierces my skull, sets my teeth on edge. I have to move before someone comes.

Will I be charged if I steal myself? Can that actually happen? Perhaps not, because omegas aren’t people and property can’t steal itself.

My feet touch the floor, and my knees buckle. I catch myself on the bed rail, fingers white-knuckled as I refuse to fall. My legs are made of water, threatening to collapse with each shuffling step a battle against gravity. It takes forever to cross the room and I struggle to retain my balance. Smears of blood on the floor mark my painfully slow progress but I make it. My hands shake as they touch the window frame, searching for the latch, for any way to open it. The glass is cool under my palms, the world beyond so close I could cry.

There’s nothing. No latch, nohandle, no way out.

I bang my palms on the glass. “No!” My voice is hoarse. Unused.

My fingers scrabble against unyielding glass, desperation making my movements frantic. There must be a way. Has to be something. I can't go back to the darkness. I can't let them chain me again. I can't…

The door opens behind me.

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