Page 102 of Knot for Me
On Thursday, I’m halfway through my hunt for fake candles when Amelie shows up.
“Wow, okay. It’s happening then.”
“Of course it’s happening.” I dig through another drawer in the kitchen, growling and slamming it shut when I don’t find what I’m looking for. “Of course they don’t have fake ones.”
“What are you looking for? Let me help.”
“Why are you always so nice?” I ask, scowling at her. “It’s not natural.”
“I think we have different definitions of nice, babe. But right now I’m definitely the nice one. I forgive you since I canreallysmell the omega in you. Hormones are a bitch, huh?”
“They’re a fucking cunt. They’re fucking cunts?” I frown and yank open another drawer. “Cunts all around.” I try to close the drawer but a plastic spatula gets lodged in the way. “Who the fuck invented spatulas?” I rip the drawer open again, grab the stupid utensil, and slam the drawer shut. I march to the trash can and throw the spatula away.
“Oh, okay. Couldn’t have just shifted things around?”
I give Amelie a look.
She holds up her hands. “Right, right. Throwing away utensils that piss you off is super rational.”
“I’m about to throw you away!”
“Pfft. I’d like to see you try. What are you looking for? Help me help Cory and his kitchen supplies.”
“Fake candles. Of course these rich fuckers don’t have any.”
Amelie hums. “Of course.”
“I can literally feel your condescension seeping into my pores.”
“Literally?”
“God, you’re an asshole.” I huff and storm out of the room.
“Ditto.” She jogs to catch up, keeping pace with me on the way to the library. “What do you need fake candles for?”
“My nest,” I say, like it’s obvious. “I realized I don’t want to burn the mansion down in the middle of my heat. Not even a fire can interrupt omega hormones, and I’d much rather prefer to be holed up in my nest than standing in the driveway watching this beautiful fucking place burn to the ground.”
“Wow, that’s some forward thinking.”
“Whatever,” I grumble, searching the library for any cabinets. “There!” I run to the cabinets under the shelves on the back wall, digging through the contents.
Paper.
Blank notebooks.
Half-written in notebooks—which is a complete waste of a notebook if you ask me.
Cases of fancy pens.
Miscellaneous office supplies.
“Dammit.”
“No fake candles?” Amelie asks with a hint of a laugh.
“You know, sometimes I hate betas.” I close the cabinet and lean against it, crossing my arms and squinting at her. “Will you do me a favor?”
“You want me to be your white knight?”
