Page 14 of Knot So Lucky
"You're not stupid enough to get caught on a camera when you're overwhelmed or tired. You know every camera installed in this facility and check them every day before your shift starts, so you can fuck off with that bullshit excuse."
She shrugs, the movement pulling her coveralls tight across her shoulders.
"Whatever."
But then she goes still in a way that makes my Alpha instincts immediately go on alert.
Her eyes have that distant look, like she's seeing something that isn't there. Or not seeing what is there. Her face has gone slightly pale under the grease smudges, and her breathing has that shallow quality that means her body's not getting enough oxygen.
I don't think.
I just move.
My hand grabs her chin, forcing her face up so she has no choice but to look at me instead of whatever void she's staring into. I lean in close, letting my scent wash over her in a way that should trigger her Omega instincts even through the suppressants.
"Aurora," I whisper, putting every ounce of Alpha command I can muster into her real name.
She blinks, and I can literally see the moment she comes back to herself. The confusion clears from her eyes, replaced by that sharp intelligence I've always admired, even when it's turned against me.
One eyebrow arches.
"Why are you using your 'sexy in bed' voice on me at work?"
Despite everything, my lips twitch.
"Stop touching me," she adds, swatting at my hand with more annoyance than actual force.
But I don't let go.
Instead, I shift my grip from her chin to her forehead, pressing my palm flat against her skin to check for fever.
"The fuck are you—" She grunts and tries to shoo me away like I'm an annoying insect.
No fever, at least. Small mercies.
I pull my hand back, studying her face with the kind of attention I usually reserve for race strategy and mechanical diagnostics.
"When did you eat?"
She stares at me.
Just... stares, with those emerald eyes that are a shade darker than her brother's, like shimmering jewels hidden by clouds instead of clear crystals twinkling in the sunlight.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with implication.
"Fucking hell," I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose because of course.Of fucking course."You're always cooking for everyone and their aunties at home, but god forbid you feed yourself fucking bread while you work fourteen-hour days."
"It's not that serious?—"
I flick her forehead.
Not hard enough to actually hurt, but enough that she jerks back with an indignant "Oww!" and glares at me like I just committed a war crime.
"You're lucky our families are on good terms," I tell her, letting my frustration bleed into my voice, "or I'd let you just die from starvation out of spite."
"Fuck off," she shoots back, but her voice has climbed half an octave without her realizing it.
That higher pitch that happens when she's actually comfortable.
