Page 75 of Knot So Lucky
"It's notwhatever?—"
"It really is, though."
Roran stops pacing, turning to face me with an expression that's equal parts exasperation and genuine fear. His scent shifts from aggressive to something softer, more vulnerable—ozone mixed with worry and that underlying note of pack-bond that we share as twins.
"You're lucky you only got bruises," he says quietly, and the change in tone is more effective than any amount of yelling. "The way that car tumbled... Aurora, we thought?—"
He cuts himself off, but I can fill in the blanks.
We thought you were dead.
The unspoken words hang heavy in the air between us.
I let my arms drop, abandoning the defensive posture because he's right and we both know it. I should acknowledge the danger. Should admit that I scared the shit out of everyone who cares about me. Should probably express some level of remorse for the reckless decision that led to me flying through the air in several thousand pounds of prototype death machine.
But the words stick in my throat, tangled up with stubborn pride and the need to prove I'm more than just a fragile Omega who needs protecting.
"Sure, sure," I mutter instead, which is the closest I'm getting to agreement right now.
Roran's expression shifts from worried to annoyed, clearly frustrated that I won't acknowledge the full gravity of what happened.
"Where's Cale?" I ask, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a brick through a window.
Roran huffs, running a hand through his hair in that gesture we both inherited from our mother.
"Sulking in some corner."
I frown, shifting slightly in the bed despite the protest from various bruised muscles.
"Why is he sulking?"
Roran just gives me alook.
That particular twin look that communicates entire paragraphs without words. The one that saysyou know exactly why,don't play stupid,andwe both know what's happening here, even if neither of us wants to address it directly.
Before I can push for an actual verbal explanation, something moves under the blanket at my feet.
A small black head pops out from beneath the covers, and the kitten—the cause of this entire disaster—lets out a loud, demandingmeowthat sounds like it's summoning its people.
We freeze and stare at the tiny creature.
The kitten stares back with those big green eyes that have no concept of the chaos it's caused, tail flicking with feline satisfaction at being the center of attention.
"Where is..." I pause, suddenly uncertain how to refer to him. "Uh... Elias?"
Saying his name feels strange on my tongue. Intimate in ways I'm not ready to examine. Like acknowledging his existence somehow makes the scent match thing more real.
"He hasn't left yet," Roran answers, settling into the chair beside my bed with the resignation of someone who knows he's going to be here for a while. "He's letting his pack know he's here. Making calls or whatever."
His pack.
Right. Because scent matches don't just affect two people—they affect entire pack dynamics. Elias has a pack, which means other Alphas.
Now I'm apparently going to be integrated into that structure.
The thought makes my chest tight with anxiety that has nothing to do with my injuries.
I nod slowly, trying to process this information while my brain still feels like it's wrapped in cotton from whatever painkillers they've got me on.
