Page 65 of Knot Your Romeo

"What about my promise to Mom? What about—"

"Right now, the only thing that matters is getting you through this safely," I interrupt gently. "Everything else can be figured out later."

Within twenty minutes, I hear the front door open—I'd given Eli the spare key code. Heavy footsteps approach the bedroom, and the Silver brother appears in the doorway. His face is full of concern, his Alpha pheromones already responding to Jolie's distressed scent. Elias looks devastated, like seeing her in this state is physically painful for him.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Since yesterday evening. It's getting worse." I stand up, immediately feeling dizzy from my own rising fever. "She needs Beck too."

"I know what she needs," Elias says, already moving toward the nest. "The question is whether she wants it from me."

Jolie's eyes flutter open as Eli's presence fills the room. Despite her fever, despite the biological demand making rational thought nearly impossible, she focuses on the Alpha.

"I'm scared," she whispers.

"I won't hurt you," Eli promises, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "I'll only do what you want us to do."

"Promise?" The word comes out as a broken whimper.

"Promise."

25

Beck

The sound of steelblades cutting through ice fills the empty rink as I settle into the bleachers with my coffee, watching my daughter practice her routine for the upcoming Olympics in Italy.

At this hour—six a.m.—the rink belongs entirely to Remi, her coach having unlocked it early so she can work on the triple axel that's been eluding her for weeks.

She moves across the ice like poetry in motion, all grace and controlled power. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and even from this distance, I can see the fierce concentration on her face as she approaches the jump.

She launches herself into the air, spinning—one, two—but something goes wrong. Her rotation is off, her landing awkward, and she crashes hard onto the ice, her left leg twisting beneath her with the sound of the thud echoing through the space.

"Shit," I breathe, already moving toward the rink as Remi struggles to get up, her face contorted in pain and frustration. I pull her off the cold ice and help as she slides toward the boards, one hand pressed against her left thigh, tears of anger more than pain streaming down her face. When she reaches the barrier, she slams her fist against it.

"Remi—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"I can't do it anymore, Dad. I just can't." Her voice breaks on the words. "Six months until Italy, and I'm getting worse, not better. What the hell is wrong with me?"

I climb down to the ice level, opening the gate so she can step off. "Hey, take a breath. You just won your competition last week—"

"That was different. That was easier jumps, basic combinations. This—" She gestures helplessly at the ice. "I used to land this in my sleep. Now I can barely complete two rotations without feeling like my body's going to fall apart."

She's still favoring her left leg, and I can see her rubbing her thigh unconsciously. Something about her whole demeanor seems off—not just frustrated, but almost...fragile.

"Are you ill?" I ask gently. "You seem different lately. Tired, maybe?"

Remi looks away, suddenly interested in unlacing her skates. "I'm fine."

"Remi."

"I said I'm fine, Dad."

But she's not fine, and we both know it. I've watched her skate for years, seen her push through injuries and setbacks, and this isn't normal competitive stress.

This is something else.

"When did you last have bloodwork to check your suppressants were working?" I ask quietly.

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