Page 59 of Knot What She Seems
A twisted little part of me must love that vision of the two groups squaring off, because my nipples tighten. I think the omegas around me must like the idea too, because the air is suddenly full of decadent perfume. It smells as if I’ve walked into a bakery. Sugary sweetness and cinnamon fill the air so thickly that I can practically taste it.
Sneaking a glance over Kylian’s shoulder, I see two omegas in ball gowns who are clutching their hands near their chests in obvious longing.
“Tell them.” Kylian spins me around to face Brock and company, his massive hands still planted on my waist in a claiming manner.
The other alpha group does indeed look ready to throw punches. Brock’s unbuttoning his tux jacket, Nic’s cracking his knuckles one by one, and Jamie’s eyes are locked on Kylian’s in dark challenge, war brewing in his eyes.
My throat dries out as my thighs tighten, and I discover a very, very new kink: violence.
Not against me. But over me.
I don’t want to be claimed at all, but I do want these men to fight for me. I want to watch their muscles bunch as they brawl and throw one another across the room, right into the punch bowl—splattering it everywhere. And then, once they’re wet, they’ll rip each other’s shirts off, leaving me with a view of washboard abs as they try to best each other.
What the hell, Bry? Where did that vision come from? You’re clearly fucked up.
But I can’t quash the naughty sense of temptation dancing on its tiptoes inside my stomach. That’s why I look up at Kylian and say, “Tell them what? That you’re delusional?”
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to manage a scoff. My lower belly is on fire, and I’m certain slick is about to flood my panties and trumpet my lie to the entire ballroom. It’s a good thing my bedroom eyes and my hooded disdainful look aren’t too far apart.
Luckily for me, the omegas nearby scenting the air seem to be hiding my own weakness.
“You heard the lady. She doesn’t smell a scent match. Now. Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.” Nic steps forward with an authority I don’t expect.
Nic—the quiet one from Brock’s group. Now, my favorite. He grabs my hand and pulls.
Kylian yanks me back into his body, and my hand brushes an area that no proper omega should ever brush in public. My cheeks burn, and there is absolutely no chance of stopping the first bit of slick from soaking my panties.
He’s hard.
So hard.
And so big.
I breathe through my mouth in an attempt to quell the scents making me drunk against my will, and then I snap my hips into Kylian, startling him off balance and giving myself just enough room to glide over to Nic and take his hand.
“Dance with me?” I ask the startled alpha as I pretend to be oblivious to the snarling asshole behind me.
Nic’s free hand glides around my waist as he deftly spins me away from the brewing fight and into the parade of waltzing dancers. Against my better judgment, I find myself glancing over at Kylian, who’s being forcefully held back by Brock and Jamie. It’s impossible to keep the smug amusement off my face.
“So…he’s not your fated mate? Jealous ex?”
Scent matches are, of course, nottechnicallyfated mates. That doesn’t exist in real life. However, scent matches are considered to be the perfect complement. Every omega only receives one scent match in their life, and vice versa with each alpha group. I secretly believe that scent matches are just biology’s way of saying you’d make cute babies together.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I debate what to tell him. But the doors to the ballroom smash open then, making Madam Ellora and several other omegas shriek in fear and the band stop mid-song.
All heads turn to see a masked alpha enter. His all-white tux does little to nothing to soften the effect of his presence—perhaps because it just helps draw attention to the skull on his mask. Scandalized whispers whip through the room as the band resumes.
“You okay?” Nic asks quietly. Everything about him is warm and gentle and comforting—the way I always imagined an alpha should be. But, of course, fate couldn’t tie me to a man like that.
“I’m fine,” I squeak, though I’m clearly not, trying to duck down a tiny bit—regretting my heels, because Colter is nearly a head taller than anyone else in the room. He’s going to spot me any second.
And I doubt that huge alpha can be stopped as easily as Kylian was.
I doubt he can be stopped at all.
He’s a force of nature.
Fuck.
