Page 42 of Knot Gonna Lie
“You cook?” Skepticism and delight mingled in her tone.
“Abysmally,” I admitted, earning a laugh that loosened the knot of tension in my shoulders. “But Seth has hidden culinary talents.”
“Someone has to keep you all from living on ration bars and stubbornness,” Seth protested, color rising in his cheeks.
The courses arrived in waves—each plate a miniature masterpiece, rich in color and careful composition. But the real pleasure wasn’t the food. It was watching Elara discover it.
Her eyes widened at the pop of citrus spheres, surprise giving way to delight. She laughed when a delicate foam melted into unexpected sweetness. And the soft, unconscious sounds she made—pure, honest enjoyment—stirred something deep in me. Made my alpha instincts hum with satisfaction.
We ordered too much but I didn’t care. I wanted her to taste everything. Watching her savor each bite had become my new obsession.
She is mine to provide for. Mine to protect. Mine to cherish.
Through our bond, I felt her contentment settle, wrapping around us like a quiet kind of comfort. This wasn’t the desperation of heat—it was choice. A steady, moment-by-moment effort to build something real from the ground up.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, not looking up from her plate where she was dissecting a flower made entirely of crystallized fruit.
“Can you blame me?”
Pink bloomed across her cheeks. Through our bond, I felt her pleasure at being watched, wanted, cherished. So different from the desperate need of heat—this was choosing, moment by moment, to build something real. “I suppose not. Though I hardly think watching me eat is that fascinating.”
“Everything about you fascinates me.”
Too much honesty, perhaps, but the words had escaped before wisdom could cage them. Seth made a soft sound—amusement or secondhand embarrassment—while Jaxom suddenly became very interested in his wine glass.
But Elara just smiled—that quiet, unreadable look that made me want to know exactly what she was thinking.
I just wanted to keep that smile on her face—whatever it took.
Soon, we’d return to the ship—now that I’d secured our departure clearance—and make our way to paradise.
“This is perfection,” Elara sighed, savoring something the server had calledstellar honey—crystallized into sharp-edged star shards, each one catching the light like fractured glass, golden and glinting with warmth. It melted on the tongue withslow, lingering sweetness, as if the sun itself had been distilled into candy. “Thank you for this. For everything.”
“You never need to thank me for providing what should have always been yours.”
“Still.” She caught my hand, lacing our fingers together with slow, deliberate intimacy. “I’m grateful. For this chance. For you. For all of you.”
Her gaze included Seth and Jaxom, drawing them into the circle of her gratitude. My clan. My family. Built on a foundation of trust—slowly earned over the years we’ve shared.
Hopefully, it was strong enough not to crack under the weight of the deception I’d caused.
Tomorrow,I promised myself again.I’ll make everything clear tomorrow.
The meal wound toward its conclusion in waves of comfortable contentment.
Jaxom regaled us with stories of his first attempts at inventory management—somehow making shipping manifests sound like adventure tales. He earned plenty of questions and comments from Elara, who listened with genuine interest—laughing at his missteps, leaning in when he described close calls on his future hedges.
Seth chimed in with quiet observations that sparked unexpected laughter, his dry humor sliding between Jaxom’s dramatics with perfect timing. He added, almost offhandedly, that Jaxom’s risky bets on obscure supplies had unintentionally accelerated his own research—forcing innovation through necessity.
And Elara…our omega glowed with the simple joy of belonging, as if she’d been starved for this kind of easy companionship her entire life.
As if she was truly ready for a clan—for a pack.
I was so lost in watching her—the way candlelight caught gold threads in her hair surrounded by the restaurant’s gentle ambiance—that I almost missed the shift in atmosphere.
“Alpha.” Jaxom’s tone sliced through my reverie, sharp with warning. “Incoming problem.”
The scent hit me before I turned—sour lime and burnt honey, corrupted sweetness that made my nose wrinkle in disgust. My shoulders tensed as Owen approached our table, but he wasn’t alone. Two others flanked him—the resemblance was clear in their sharp features and predatory gaits—moving with the coordinated precision of mercenaries.
