Page 26 of Knot My Band: Part Two
“And I love you, Aiden,” I reply, my voice catching as waves of pleasure build between us—slower this time but no less powerful.
“Forever,” he promises, sealing the vow with a kiss that leaves no room for doubt.
“Forever,” I echo, surrendering to the sensation, to the love, to the man who holds my heart.
Stumbling out from the cocoon of blankets that have shielded us from the world, Aiden’s arm is a steady weight around my waist. My hair is a wild tangle of rose gold waves. The air in the tour bus feels suddenly cooler against my flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat we’ve left behind.
“Look who decided to join the land of the living,” Chase teases, his drumming fingers creating an impromptu beat on the tabletop. His green eyes twinkle with mischief as he leans back.
“Glad to see you’re back,” Jack chimes in, his blue gaze dancing with laughter. He lounges effortlessly, guitar resting against his leg like an extension of his playful soul.
Aiden just grunts, a low sound vibrating from his chest, his possessive grip telling me he’s far from done claiming me. But Dax captures my attention, sitting quietly with his bass guitar, his hazel eyes observing us beneath furrowed brows.
Clearly, they were just playing some music together.
“I hate to break the moment, but we need to share something,” Jack says.
“Alright, spill it. What’s up?” I ask, eager to break the tension that’s settled over the room.
Jack straightens, suddenly serious. “Last night, security came around. They found something in the flower arrangement sent to us every show. A listening device.”
My heart skips a beat, not from desire but from a sharp prick of concern. “A bug? In our flowers?”
“Yep,” Jack confirms, his usual levity gone. “Someone’s been trying to eavesdrop on us.”
My instincts flare with protectiveness—not just for myself but for my pack.
“Security’s on it, though,” Jack continues, his tone reassuring. “They’re tracing it back to the source.”
“Good,” Aiden growls, pulling me closer. His warmth envelops me, a reminder that no matter what happens outside our little sanctuary, I’m safe with him, with all of them.
My pulse hammers in my ears, a mix of shock and outrage boiling inside me. “Are they close to finding out who’s behind this?” I demand, my eyes flickering between Jack’s somber face and Chase’s clenched jaw.
“Still working on it,” Chase mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But they’re gonna figure it out.”
Aiden’s arms tighten around me, a solid wall of muscle and warmth that grounds me. I lean back against his chest, drawing comfort from his presence. “You’re safe, Oli,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting anyone hurt you or get away with this.”
His scent—fresh cookies, tinged with the sweet edge of his lingering rut—washes over me, soothing the chaos churning in my mind.
I place my hand over one of his, feeling the callouses from hours of playing the keyboard, a reminder of the countless ways we’ve intertwined our lives. His lips brush against my temple, a kiss so fleeting yet filled with promise. “Always,” he adds, and I can’t help but believe him.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability within the circle of his arms. The rest of the world may be unpredictable and dangerous, but here, with Aiden and my alphas, I find an anchor in the storm.
Oli
OMEGA BUZZ GOSSIP COLUMN
OLI HART AND THE EDGE BRING EVEN MORE ENERGY TO THEIR PERFORMANCE IN NEW ORLEANS, PROVING EVERYTHING IS FINE
June 8th
I’m sitting on the bus, wrapped in blankets from my nest, covered in the scents of Jack, Aiden, and Chase.
The three of them were called away for a quick press call. I couldn’t join because the interviewer might have heard my scratchy voice and had too many questions I couldn’t answer.
I hear footsteps on the bus, looking up to see the other person on this bus who wasn’t allowed to do press.
Dax strides toward me, a man on a mission with the weight of the world in his hands—or at least that’s what it looks like with the way he’s gripping that little package. His fingers drum a nervous beat against the paper, wrapped tight enough to strangle whatever secret it’s holding. I can’t help but notice the determination set in his jaw.
