Page 70 of Knot So Lucky
Two and a half hours.
Two and a half fucking hours of being lectured by the Lane parents about responsibility and recklessness and appropriate boundaries with their children.
My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. My hands are balled into fists in my pockets because if I let them relax, I might punch something expensive and make this situation exponentially worse.
Aurora's father—Gregory Lane, CEO of Lane Industries and one of the most intimidating men I've ever had the displeasure of knowing—spent forty-five minutes detailing exactly how disappointed he was in our "failure to properly protect Aurora during routine testing procedures."
Never mind that Aurora made her own choices. Never mind that she's a grown woman capable of assessing risks. Never mind that she literally saved someone's life today.
No, clearly the problem is that Roran and I didn't physically restrain her from getting in that car.
Aurora's mother was somehow worse. Spoke in that quiet, disappointed tone that's more devastating than any amount of yelling. Made it abundantly clear that Cale Hart—heir to a family with connections but not quite enoughlegitimatewealth—is on thin ice when it comes to his relationship with their daughter.
Relationship.
As if what we have could be classified so simply.
Roran got it slightly easier because he's the golden child, the legitimate racer, the one who's supposed to be taking calculated risks. But even he looks wrung out, shoulders tight with tension that hasn't eased since we left the conference room where we got dressed down like misbehaving children.
Now we're walking toward Aurora's private hospital room, and the only thing keeping me from turning around and leaving is the need to confirm she's okay.
Actually okay. Not just "stable" according to medical reports, but awake and alert and able to tell me herself that she's fine.
My Alpha instincts have been screaming since the moment I saw her crash. Since I watched that car tumble through the air in a maneuver that should have killed her, thatwouldhave killed most drivers.
The need to see her, to touch her, to confirm she's alive and breathing is a physical ache in my chest.
I push open the door to her room, Roran right behind me, and everything in my world grinds to a halt.
Aurora is sleeping peacefully.
In the arms of the nerdy Alpha who dared to claim he's her scent match.
My vision actually goes red around the edges.
The sight hits me like a physical blow—Aurora's small form tucked against Elias Vance's chest, his arms wrapped around her with possessive certainty, both of them peaceful in sleep in a way that makes my Alpha instincts roar with territorial fury.
Mine.
The thought is immediate and violent and absolutely irrational.
Because she's not mine. Has never been mine, despite the months of sleeping together and the toxic hot-and-cold dance we've been doing. We've never discussed exclusivity or commitment or anything approaching an actual relationship.
But fuck, seeing her in another Alpha's arms makes me want to commit murder.
My heart is racing—pounding against my ribs so hard I can feel each individual beat. My hands flex at my sides, fingers curling into fists as I fight the urge to cross the room and physically remove her from his embrace.
My mind is trying to convince me that murder is worth it.
That jail time would be a reasonable price to pay for removing this threat from Aurora's life.
That I could pull strings—call in favors from my family's less-than-legal connections, makeElias Vance disappear in ways that wouldn't trace back to me.
The thoughts are dark and violent and completely genuine.
Roran is equally stoic beside me, his scent spiking with barely controlled aggression. Ozone and fresh linen mix with something sharper, more dangerous.
We both pause mid-step in the doorway, frozen by the tableau before us.
