Page 6 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

Reverent, almost, like I'm something precious rather than something to be used.

"Be calm, Omega," he whispers, his scent enveloping me like a protective cloak as he leans closer. "No one will hurt you. Not even me."

The promise resonates through bones that have known nothing but clinical cruelty and scientific detachment. Tears I didn't realize I was holding back spill down my cheeks, and his thumb gently brushes them away, the gesture so unexpected that a small sound escapes my throat.

He freezes immediately, misinterpreting the noise as fear.

"I'll stop?—"

"No," I interrupt, surprising both of us with my vehemence. "It's...it's okay."

The words feel inadequate to describe the warmth spreading through my chest, so different from the burning heat of artificially triggered biology.This feels... right.As if some part of me recognizes him on a level beyond conscious thought.

His other hand slowly rises to cup my face, thumbs brushing gently across my cheekbones. The scent-marking is subtle – nothing like the aggressive claiming I overheard doctors discussing while they thought I was sedated.

"You're strong," he murmurs, his forehead coming to rest lightly against mine. "Remember that when they try to break you. You're stronger than they know."

The words slip past institutional walls built around my heart, planting seeds of resistance I didn't know I needed. For the first time since being brought to Ravenscroft, I feel something beyond fear and resignation.

I feelseen.

"Time's up!" Press's voice shatters the moment, clinical interest evident even through the arena's sound system. "Preliminary compatibility indicators are promising. Separate them for individual assessment and blood work."

Riot's hands fall away from my face, but his eyes hold mine for one more precious moment.

"Remember," he whispers, the word carrying weight far beyond its syllables.

Then guards flood the arena, tranquilizer guns trained on him as they approach with practiced caution. He rises slowly, hands raised in surrender, his gaze never leaving mine until they force him to his knees with electric prods designed to subdue even the strongest alpha.

He doesn't fight them – not physically.

But something in his eyes as they drag him away promises retribution, protection, and a connection that transcends the cage they forced us to meet in.

I press my fingers to my cheeks where his touch lingers, the first gentle contact I've experienced since being brought to this place of scientific cruelty and calculated torture.

For the first time, I understand what affection feels like.

Ice water crashesover me with shocking force, ripping me from memory's embrace and hurling me back into present reality.

The straitjacket clings to my skin as freezing liquid soaks through padded material, my gasping breath creating clouds in suddenly chilled air.

"Patient 496 demonstrating dissociative episodes again," a clinical voice observes from the observation window. "Standard aversion therapy proving minimally effective."

I blink water from my eyes to find three white-coated figures watching me through reinforced glass – the executioners of Charles Press's twisted vision, carrying out his procedures whilehe maintains plausible deniability behind expensive suits and charitable foundations.

"Responsive now," another notes, making a mark on their ever-present clipboard. "Subject has maintained remarkable physical condition despite week-long nutrient restriction. Blackwood genetic markers continue to demonstrate exceptional resilience."

My laughter bubbles up from somewhere primal and uncontrolled, the sound bouncing off padded walls with manic intensity.

"Would you like to hear about genetic markers?" I ask, voice raw from screaming sessions they pretend not to document. "I could tell you things about Blackwood genetics that would make your little clipboards spontaneously combust."

The head researcher steps closer to the glass, his expression unnervingly devoid of emotion.

"What we'd like," he states with clinical precision, "is information about Patient 495's escape. The pack that assisted her. Their potential objectives and destinations."

I tilt my head, water dripping from magenta roots into teal tips.

"My sister is beyond your reach now," I reply, satisfaction warming my core despite the freezing water. "And those alphas? They're the least of your problems."

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