Page 114 of Knot What She Seems
She blinks, momentarily taken by surprise, before she nods once. “Yeah.” That’s all she says, but I know not to push her harder. I don’t want her to break.
“Ask me,” I tell her, sliding my gaze toward her before quickly refocusing straight ahead, trying to get a handle on the anger that blazes through me at the thought of some alpha making her sad. I’m a two-hundred-plus-pound beast of a man with muscle upon muscle upon muscle. Yet this tiny, petite female’s heartache obliterates me more thoroughly than any enemy is capable of.
“I know it’s probably hypocritical of me to ask this, considering all of my own secrets, but…” She bites down on her lip, and I resist the urge to save the abused flesh. To press my thumb against the plump skin of her lip until her teeth release it.
Stop myself.
Remind myself that I don’t want to scare her.
“Why do you always wear a mask?” she blurts. “Is it because you have scars? Because of the drone attack?”
Ahh. It seems one of my brothers has been sharing. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say Ridge. He would want her to know why he is the way he is, why he’s gruff and no-nonsense and full of steel.
Hesitantly, I bring my hand to my face and run the pads of my fingers over the ridges of the mask. The skull is cool to the touch, with slits for the eyes, nose, and a larger one for the mouth. I know that I’m terrifying to look at. I’ve seen the fear in people’s eyes when they catch sight of me—the terror of the unknown, of what I’m going to do to them, of what my mask hides.
I must be silent for too long because Brylee begins to shift awkwardly and flex her fingers on my arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked?—”
“I have…scars,” I grunt out, my speech slightly stuttered as I struggle to articulate some of my most heinous demons. “Lots of scars.”
Brylee lowers her head. “So do I.”
A wave of fierce, indignant anger rushes through me, and I suddenly have the urge to turn around and hunt down everyone who dared to mark Brylee’s perfect flesh. Who hurt her? Why? Does it have anything to do with those alphas Luka told us about?
I’ll find them. Kill them.
Should be easy to find their location…
We reach the tiny cottage, and Brylee pauses just outside the door, sucking in a deep breath. It’s almost as if I can physically see the moment she dons her battle armor—her back straightens, her chin notches upward, and her hand uncurls from where it’s gripping my arm and lowers to her side. I’m not looking at Brylee the omega; I’m staring at the princess of our kingdom, and she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“Let’s do this,” Brylee says gravely, like we’re heading into battle, and I can’t help but chuckle. Cute. So cute.
I follow Brylee into the cottage, and we’re greeted with…chaos. Absolute chaos.
I lean against the threshold of the door as I watch my brothers lose their ever-loving shit over a damn turkey.
From the entryway, we have an unobstructed view of the kitchen, which bleeds into the living room. Kylian stands in front of the oven, wearing a hot pink apron with tiny hearts all over it. He holds a pan between two pot holders where a charred bird sits, smoke wafting off of it. Luka stands on a chair, attempting to shut down the fire alarm, which is blaring through the tiny home.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO TAKE THE CHICKEN OUT HOURS AGO!” Ridge rages as he attempts to balance a huge bowl full of mashed potatoes and a second one full of macaroni and cheese in both hands. He’s shirtless and covered in sauce, flour, and what I really hope is some sort of frosting and not cum.
“FUCK OFF! AND IT’S A TURKEY NOT A CHICKEN, YOU IDIOT!” Kylian yells back as he slams the pan of destroyed turkey on top of the stove.
“For fuck’s sake,” Luka grumbles. He finally decides to get rid of the fire alarm completely and unhooks it before chucking it across the room.
“We can’t serve her this!” Ridge barks, no longer screaming now that the fire alarm has shut up. He attempts to point with his elbow at Kylian’s creation.
Kylian huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “You think you can do better?”
“I know I can do better.” Ridge gets right into Kylian’s face, looking about as intimidating as a toddler with his hands full of food and his face covered in sauces. Not that Kylian looks more fierce in his fluffy apron.
The two men glare at each other, the tension between them almost palpable, when Kylian reaches for the bowl of macaroni and cheese.
Ridge jerks it away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Since we don’t have turkey, the mac will have to be the main dish,” Kylian snaps, reaching for it again.
“And that means you have to grab it…why?”
“To put it on the table, dumbass!”
