Page 93 of Chain Me Knot

Three days pass, wrapped in warmth and comfort. Three days since I claimed Asher, since I sank my teeth into his skin and broke the chains that tethered me to Pack Carmichael. My mind still struggles to believe how his bond burned them away, leaving only golden peace and alphas who desire my heart, not my submission.

Joy radiates from Asher, constant and vivid, filtering into my heart like warm molasses. Through him, whispers of Phoenix and Soren drift across our tangled bonds, their desire quietly clear.

They long for their claiming, their turn beneath my teeth, their bonds woven deeply with mine. But I wait, even though the sharp, hopefulanticipation from both men pierces softly into my heart. They deserve moments equally sacred, equally right.

Not yet.

A tension snakes through our days and nights, beneath every moment of laughter. We feel it, waiting, vivid as an unspoken warning. Until we find answers, danger shadows us constantly. The commissioner has put more pressure on them. Maybe because of that, they never leave me alone. Never move far from my side.

Phoenix and I comb the beach together, warm salt-spray clinging to my skin, laughing as waves bring new treasures to add to my jar. Soren invites me into the kitchen each night, quiet smiles and gentle encouragement as we prepare dinner. He shows me spices I’ve never seen and teaches me how to chop vegetables in precise shapes. And Asher watches over me, quiet yet aware, his warm, possessive gaze lingering.

Together we cook, walk, laugh.

They pull out board games at night, inviting me deeper into their lives. Stories unfurl, room by room, opening doors into themselves they want me to know. Phoenix embellishes tales of their early days when they’d just formed their pack, despite corrections from Soren. As each hour unfolds, warmth seeps into my bones, seamless ease flowing between us.

Their gentle touches no longer provoke fear. Instead, I ache for them. I crave the brush of fingers on my waist, palms gliding down my back, lingering lips grazing the tender skin of my neck.

We make love daily, freely and sweetly.

I learn the taste of their mouths, the shape of their bodies beneath my palms, their whispered praises hot against my skin. But even as we unite each day, an unsettling awareness hovers at the edge of my consciousness. Despite my thickening scent, I've had no heat signs. Even bonding Asher didn't unleash my dormant heat. Everything has simply…gone away.

I'm a ticking time bomb, uncertain and dangerous.

Perhaps more unsettling, though, is what still lies unspoken. They opened themselves completely, giving me their histories, their laughter, their vulnerabilities. Yet I've remained silent, hoarding memories too dark to share.

They feel my closed doors. My walls. Yet none of them push or rush me. They want my healing, not my pain, and each moment spent in their warmth and patience helps me understand exactly what being scent-matched means.

This emotional tangle, feeling safe yet fragile, wholeheartedly loved yet cautiously guarded, is both exhilarating and terrifying but each day strengthens our bonds, shapes foundations of trust, and knits us ever tighter despite the dark clouds hanging over our heads.

Now I know how much I will lose if Pack Carmichael steal me back.

I don’t think I’d survive it.

I step into the kitchen, my skin still carrying the warmth of sunshine and ocean spray from a walk with Phoenix. The salt-tinged joy fades at the low urgent tone of Asher’s voice as he leans against the island bench with one of our untraceable phones to his ear. I freeze mid-step as Asher’s body goes rigid. His fingers tighten on the phone, tension coiling through his broad shoulders.

“Adrian, slow down.” Asher glances up and meets my eyes, a shadow passing over his expression before he schools his features. “We’re all here now. Might as well tell us once.”

He places the phone on the granite countertop and turns on speaker. I edge closer, my pulse racing, nerves winding tight around my spine, knowing that nothing good is going to come of this conversation.

“I’m sorry to deliver news like this, but Carl Jones's body was pulled out of the Mercy River early this morning,” Adrian says. “Estimated time of death is two days ago.”

I brace against the countertop, my fingers gripping the hard, cool edge until they ache from the pressure. Asher places a steadying palm on my chilled body.

“But that's just the beginning. Cole's already hacked into the backend of their police investigation report… your names are listed right at the top of their current suspect pool.”

Phoenix curses. “We left him alive back at the compound. Unconscious, but definitely breathing.”

My alphas left him there on the kitchen floor after Phoenix took his phone.

His phone.

My breath catches. Could he have been killed because of us? Because Phoenix found evidence that first revealed the existence of Alpha1465?

“Adrian, is there mention of evidence? Anything concrete?” Asher asks, bringing me back to the moment I wish wasn’t happening.

Adrian exhales heavily. “The report is vague about specifics. It mentions eyewitness accounts placing you at the scene. A match with your fingerprints, but anyone with half a brain knows that’s where you were stationed and that you were ambushed. The report is thin and calculated but just enough to aim suspicion right at you. Right at Emma, too.”

“Me?”

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