Page 85 of Knot So Sweet
"Without games." Garrick gives the cat one last scratch before joining us.
"With complete honesty." I pull open the door. The bell jangles.
We stand there for a moment, the three of us in the doorway. The decision settling between us like something solid we can all lean on.
"Time to show Violet what a real pack looks like." Garrick steps out first.
I follow, then Liam, who pauses to flip the sign to "Back in 15 minutes" before pulling the door shut.
Behind us, through the window, the orange cat sits on the examination table. Still purring. Like she's wishing us luck.
We're going to need it.
21
VIOLET
Ikick the front door shut with my heel, juggling an armful of mail and a steaming mug of cocoa threatening to slosh all over my favorite sweater. The late afternoon light is already fading, winter stealing the daylight earlier each day.
"Home sweet home," I announce to absolutely no one, because apparently I've started talking to myself now. Great. Next I'll be having full conversations with the houseplants.
The radiator hisses in the corner, pumping out just enough heat to keep my toes from going numb. Outside the window, I can see clouds rolling in, heavy and gray like a bruise spreading across the sky. The weather forecast mentioned snow tonight. Looks like they got it right for once.
I flop onto the couch with zero grace, my drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Smooth, Violet. Real smooth."
My blanket's been waiting for me, draped over the back of the couch like it knew I'd need rescuing from another day of being the town's newest entertainment. I wrap it around myself, creating what I like to call my "burrito of solitude." Much better.
The coffee table's bribing me with a plate of brownies still warm enough to make the whole apartment smell like achocolate factory explosion. I grab one and take a massive bite, closing my eyes as the gooey center practically melts on my tongue.
"Garrick, you beautiful, grumpy man," I mumble around a mouthful of fudgy goodness. He definitely loaded these with extra cocoa chips. Maybe muttering about “omegas and their sweet tooth" the whole time he was making them, his hands working the dough the same way they'd worked my hips this morning when he'd kissed me breathless against the bakery counter.
My thighs clench at the memory. The way he'd growled my name against my throat, possessive and hungry, before pulling back with visible restraint because customers were about to arrive.
Three alphas circling me like I'm something worth having. The idea used to terrify me. Now it just makes my skin heat with anticipation of what comes next.
It's weird being here alone but not feeling like I want to crawl under a rock and disappear. Mark made me feel like I was taking up too much space just by breathing. Like the world would run smoother if I'd make myself smaller. Quieter. Less.
"Well, joke's on you, Mark," I say, raising my mug in a mock toast. "I'm taking up all the space I want now. And getting thoroughly kissed while doing it."
A soft knock interrupts my one-woman celebration, and my stomach does this annoying little flip. But then that scent hits me through the door. Pine and smoke and something that makes every nerve ending wake up and pay attention.
I know that scent intimately now. Know how it gets stronger when Xaden's aroused, how it clings to my skin after he's had his hands on me.
I pad to the door in my fluffy socks, mug still in hand, already smiling. "Xaden?" I call through the wood.
"It's me." His voice is low and careful, but I can hear the want underneath. The same want that was there last night when he'd backed me against my bedroom wall and kissed me until I forgot my own name.
I yank the door open, leaning against the frame with what I hope is a seductive smile. "Look what the cat dragged in. Come to finish what you started last night?"
Heat flares in his eyes immediately, pupils dilating as his gaze drops to my mouth. "Dangerous question, gorgeous."
"Maybe I like danger." I step back to let him in, but slowly, making him brush past me in the narrow doorway. His hand finds my hip automatically, possessively, and the touch sends sparks racing up my spine.
Cold air rushes inside with him, carrying the sharp bite of winter and the promise of snow. He fills my doorway completely, all broad shoulders and controlled power wrapped in a leather jacket dusted with snowflakes.
"Want some cocoa?" I gesture with my mug toward the couch, then add with deliberate innocence, "Or did you come for something else?"
His laugh is low and dangerous. "You're trouble."
