Page 60 of Knot for Me
“Marco talked to you about training?”
“Yup.” I set the plate in the dishwasher and wipe my hands on the towel. “I get the concept, but it seems a little unnecessary.”
“How is protecting yourself unnecessary?”
I bristle and spin to face him. “I’ve lived my entire life without worrying about being hurt.”
“You’re Pack Bullet now. There are plenty of people who want to hurt our pack members.”
“Like they did to Emily?”
He pauses mid bite, face darkening. “I’m well aware of my failures.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Really? Why else would you bring her up?”
“The only people who have told me anything about her are Amelie and Jefferson. The three of you aren’t offering any information. How seriously do I need to worry about my safety?”
He sets the plate down, leaving his pie half eaten. “She’s dead, Reagan. I’d say you need to worry.”
“But I’m not your omega.” I frown. “It wouldn’t make sense for someone to try and hurt me.”
“Do you have to make this so difficult?”
“Do you have to be so cold?”
“Cold?” he growls, stepping toward me. “You haven’t seen cold, Reagan.”
“No? What do you call avoiding me every night?”
“I’m trying to give you space.” He comes a little closer, towering over me like the alpha that he is. They always try to make themselves big and intimidating.
“I didn’t ask for it,” I whisper shout, instantly cringing. “You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”
Lucas’ blue eyes bore into me. “What if I’m not?” He’s so close his alpha scent curls around me like an old friend’s embrace.
“What does that mean?” I furrow my brow. “If this is about my meltdown, I told you it wasn’t your fault. That was all me. I appreciate what you did for me, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”
I did. I was the one who forgot myself. Lucas makes me want to forget everything.
“That’s not what I mean.” He searches my face and sighs. “We can’t seem to talk without arguing. Have you noticed that?” I bite my lip and nod. “Goodnight,” he says.
He leaves his pie and a mess of confusing emotions swirling inside of me.
* * *
When I wake up in the early morning hours, I sigh and roll out of bed. It’s entirely too coincidental that I’ve been waking up to the music. Whoever is playing is being too loud or something. Maybe they forget themselves in the music or maybe they don’t realize how much noise they’re making. Either way, it’s time to let them know they’re not the only person in the house. There’s an entire mansion. The least they could do is go down into the basement.
Rubbing at my sleep-tired eyes, I shuffle toward the guitar strumming. Lucas’ door looms before me, and I debate going back to bed and letting it slide so I don’t have to face him. That’s too pathetic so I knock softly and let myself inside. Here in his room, his scent is like a heavy fog, so dense I nearly choke on the delicious perfume. The space is clean for the most part, but his bed is unmade and a pair of sweats lie on the ground next to it.
The strumming continues and I take him in, sitting on a stool with his back to me, Lucas wears a headset and plays a song, correcting the parts he messes up every once in a while. The dark stained computer desk holds a fancy at home studio set-up and the monitor shows that he’s recording what he’s playing. Soft humming caresses over my skin, the vibrato deep and satisfying. Of course he’s a great singer.
Has he no flaws?
Surely his shit stinks. Everyone’s shit stinks.
With that thought planted firmly in my mind, I move to tap him on the shoulder. He jerks, dropping the guitar into the stand with surprising gentleness before grabbing my hand to turn me and twisting it around my back. His front presses into my back, and his growl rumbles through the room, vibrating against me.
