Page 51 of Knot for Me
She shoots me a knowing grin and begins to read. I watch her for a minute, enraptured by the joy and openness I see. Reagan’s gaze skates over the pages, absorbing the words as she falls into the fantasy. I hide my smile and open my own book, letting go for a little while so Xavier and Letty can work out their frustrations.
ChapterThirteen
REAGAN
I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason. Glancing at the clock, I frown. Two in the morning. I’m usually a great sleeper, so something must have woken me. I listen carefully, hoping I’ll hear someone walking around and know they’re responsible for the early morning startle. No creaking floorboards. No slamming doors.
Hm. I guess no one is awake. Turning on my side, I snuggle under the covers and focus on steadying my breath so I can go back to sleep. Then I hear it. A faint strumming. Deep and soft and melodic. Someone is playing guitar. I sit and tip my head to the side, trying to hear the song better. More strumming and plucking, slow and sad. It reminds me of one of those country songs from a hundred years ago where some man lost the love of his life so he picked up a guitar. Letting his sorrow bleed out in twangy notes. Whoever is playing shows no signs of stopping, and now that I know what woke me, I settle in and listen, closing my eyes and letting the haunting song lull me back to sleep.
The next time I wake up, my alarm is the cause. The soft beeping breaks through a ridiculous dream of Lucas being the ice cream man. It’s honestly pathetic how hard and fast my dream-self ran to catch that van.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and sigh when I see the alerts. Most of them are junk, the social apps trying to get me to open them for some reason or another. But one alert makes my stomach clench. My email. The red circle showing the number two taunts me. I’d forgotten about the strange message until now. I tap my thumb against the screen and the email app opens.
One message from someone pretending to be the Omega Council. I click on that one first, reading through the badly written message. Seriously, do these scammers even want to scam people? The least they could do is run a spellcheck. I trash that message and go back to my inbox, hesitating when I see the subject line.
Pretty Omegas Die.
“Real subtle,” I say under my breath, opening the threatening email.
You were warned. Tick-tock. Tick-tock, goes the clock. Will it be a glorious boom or will it rain blood?
I guess we’ll know soon enough.
Growling, I throw the phone across the bed and hit the mattress with my fist. What the hell is this? Are the guys hazing me? Or is it someone who knows them?
Amelie and Jefferson?
Amelie said she wanted to do what was best for her alpha. Maybe she decided I needed to go and resorted to scare tactics to send me packing. It doesn’t seem like something she’d do though. Someone, whoever they are, wants me gone. I purse my lips and climb out of bed. I’m not leaving. If I leave, they’ll only sell me off again, and living in a mansion is kind of nice. Especially if I get to sit in the library and read.
With Cory?
Cory can read in the library if he wants but that’s not why I want to go there. The room is big but cozy. The couch is legit, and the large selection of romance novels doesn’t hurt either. Is it worth getting killed for?
Probably not. But I don’t even know if the messages are serious. I mean, they sound pretty menacing, but betas can be very protective of their alphas. I’m going to lunch with Amelie today, so I can ask her about the message then. If it’s not her, maybe she’ll know who did it. Shaking off the rest of my unease now that I have a plan, I strip out of my pajamas and slip into a pair of jeggings and a long, loose T-shirt with a cow skull on it. Not the most practical outfit to clean in, but I don’t have a uniform so this will have to do.
* * *
Amelie arrives a bit like she did the first day we met. A loud slam of the door. A bellowing hello, hollering for me like I’m a dog that’ll come running. I sigh and set down the rag I’d been using to polish the countertops. They were already clean, but now the granite is shining. I wash my hands out of habit and wait for her to wander in my direction. She can probably smell her way to me, so I don’t yell her name.
“Well, well, well. Look at you being all Betty Crocker and shit.”
I burst out laughing. “Betty Crocker cooks, Amelie.”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “Same thing. She’s totally bangable and so are you.”
“Thanks. I think?”
“Take the compliment, babe. Don’t make me beat you with it.”
“Wow, you’re aggressive this afternoon.”
“I’m being nice,” she says, scoffing and leaning her hip against the counter across from me.
“Nice can still be aggressive,” I point out. “Are you trying to butter me up for something? Planning to kill me?”
“Oh yeah, I have a special spot to take you after lunch.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be your friend. Friends make jokes. Friends are kind and shit.”
“And shit,” I say, grinning. “I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”
