I stop just short of the doorway, my pulse hammering in my throat.
It’s obviously Knox in there.
Gripping the edge of the wall, I try to steady myself.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to the alpha, but I can’t hide from him forever. Besides, I’m used to this part. Alphas always act like nothing happened after they do something awful. Like whatever they did was no big deal…or it was my fault.
There’s a real possibility that Knox will be enraged with the way I spoke to him last night, yelling and cursing before kicking him out of my nest. He might be in there right now, planning out how he’s going to punish me.
Will he slap me? Spank me? Or maybe he’ll just shove his thumb into my fresh mating bite...Brayden did that once.
I guess we’ll see what kind of alpha Knox really is.
Squaring my shoulders, I pull in a breath that doesn’t quite steady me, and step into the kitchen.
The pack alpha is at the stove, shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark sweats slung low on his hips. The muscles in his back shift as he moves, slow and controlled, like even his smallest gestures are deliberate. His long hair is messy, sticking up in every direction, like he’s been running his hands through it since sunrise.
He doesn’t turn right away, but I can tell he knows I’m here. His shoulders shift, his scent—smoky cherries—deepens in the air, rich and thick enough to taste. When he finally looks over his shoulder, his expression hits me like a punch.
He looks tired. Not just the kind of tired that comesfrom a lack of sleep, but the kind that lives deep in your bones. His eyes are soft, but edged with guilt.
“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.
I swallow hard, my fingers twisting in the hem of Tadeo’s shirt. “Morning.”
The sound of the bacon sizzling fills the silence between us, and Knox turns back to the stove. He gives the pan a small shake, then sets the spatula down. His movements are careful—deliberate, like he’s not entirely sure how to move his body with me in the room.
“There’s coffee,” he murmurs, motioning to the counter beside him. “And I made you toast. I read online that omegas should eat light after they’ve been…mated.”
His voice falters on the last word, quiet but careful, like he’s trying not to spook me.
I blink at him, stunned for a second by how earnest he sounds.
It’s weird, this version of him. I expected some unshakable alpha who refuses to admit he’s wrong. Instead, Knox seems kind of distant. Hesitant?
“Does your mark hurt?” he finally asks. “Do you have any muscle weakness or cramping?”
“I’m fine,” I say, before glancing away.
While I appreciate his concern, I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling the alpha that those articles are about omegas recoveringaftertheir heat,not a forced mating outside of it.
But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to push my luck.
“I also read that you might be chilly.” His gaze drifts over the oversized shirt hanging on my body. “I can get you a sweater.”
He half-turns, already moving like he’s going to fetch one, when I reach out and catch his arm.
“Seriously,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “I’m okay.”
Knox goes completely still. His eyes flick down to where my hand rests on his skin—light, hesitant—and something soft and painfully hopeful blooms across his face. He looks almosthappy,like he hadn’t expected me to ever touch him again.
The expression twists something in my chest.
Then the toaster oven dings, a sharp little sound that makes me jump. Knox reacts immediately, as if grateful for something to do. “That’s for you,” he says softly, turning back to the counter.
He grabs a plate and starts stacking the toast. The butter’s melted perfectly, pooling into golden swirls that soak through the center. It smells good.
He sets the plate down, then wipes his hands on a towel before turning back to me. “Come on,” he murmurs.
