Knot A Trace: Part One

I wake up to the smell of coffee and the intoxicating aroma of vanilla.

For a moment, I forget where I am, and the unrecognizable high vaulted ceilings make me panic.

I subconsciously reach for a weapon that isn’t there until reality hits me.

Skylar.

I sit up with a start as a lilac blanket falls off my shoulders and pools in my lap. I stare at it dumbfoundedly and rub the material between my fingers.

It’s a nesting blanket.

What the fuck am I doing under Skylar’s nesting blanket?

Did she put this on me?

My inner Alpha roars, and my cock turns to steel.

The blanket smells like pure Skylar, a rich vanilla, along with a subtle hint of fabric softener.

I haven’t been near a nesting blanket, much less a nest, in years and this is just cruel.

If she knew what was going on in my head, she would have never placed that material near me.

Carefully, I move the blanket off myself and fold it neatly, placing it on the opposite end of the couch.

What the fuck.

“Good morning,” a gentle voice sounds, and I turn to see Skylar peering at me from behind the kitchen counter.

My mouth turns dry.

She’s in an oversized white shirt that slouches off her shoulders and shows off her neck. My eyes dart to her pink mating gland before I can stop myself, and I clear my throat and force my dick to calm down.

“Hey,” I croak. “Sorry about falling asleep, I meant to stay up—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she says quickly, dropping her gaze and pushing a white mug towards the end of the counter. “I have coffee if you want some. And I put out an extra toothbrush in the bathroom if you need it.”

This is so fucking awkward I want to scream. It’s like the morning after, but we didn’t even fuck.

I dig my nails into my palms, hard enough that the pain grounds me.

I shouldn’t be here. She’s a beautiful distraction, but I don’t have time for this.

Yet all I want to do is stay here and wake up to the smell of Skylar and coffee every damn day.

This is the most rested I’ve been in months.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say, clearing my throat. “Wait. Do you know where my jacket is?”

I left it on the top of the couch, but it’s not there anymore.

Her face turns pink and her scent spikes.

Interesting.

“Yeah, I spilled coffee on it when I was moving it. I’m sorry,” she says evenly, staring at the coffee mug. “I tried to blot it with a towel, but it didn’t help. I’ll have it dry cleaned for you,” she adds quickly.

She’s fucking lying, and judging by the look on her face, she knows that I know.

I could push it. I really could, because now I want to know what the fuck happened to my jacket.

“No need,” I say instead, standing up. I’m sure I look like a mess; my hair is everywhere, and my shirt is rumpled, but her scent sweetens as I approach her. “I’ll just use your bathroom, then see where the fuck Landon is.”

She nods, still not meeting my eyes. “Okay,” she says. “I have work in about an hour, anyway.”

I raise an eyebrow and walk closer to her. “You’re not going to work,” I say evenly. “You have a concussion.”

Her face flames, but she still won’t look at me. Instead, she snatches one of the coffee mugs off the counter and gently blows on the top of it. “I’m aware,” she mutters, cradling the cup. “But I have a café to run.”

I want to throttle her—she’s just as stubborn as she was yesterday. I bring the other cup of coffee to my lips, staring her down. “If you act reckless, you’ll end up back in the hospital. You need to take care of yourself.”

Finally, she meets my gaze. She stares me down and does her best to look tough, despite the enhanced size of her pupils.

She’s aroused.

I look like shit and sound like an asshole, yet somehow, she’s still attracted to me?

My head spins.

“Because you’re the picture of self-care,” she says instead, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Mister ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’”

I rage inside.

Her safety is not your concern, I try to remind myself.

But my inner Alpha, possessive and unhinged, has finally clawed its way out.

And if I never see her again after today, I need to know that she’s taking care of herself.

“Do you just not care what happens to you?” I snap, placing my mug back on her counter harder than necessary. “Aren’t you trying to find your friend? Or are you too wrapped up in feeling sorry for yourself?”

Pot, meet kettle, I think to myself, already cursing my choice of words.

Her mouth falls open, and her scent sours. Gone is the vanilla; it’s replaced with a tart lemon. It’s still fucking mouthwatering, though.

Her rage makes me hard, despite my own frustrations toward her.

“You know what? Fuck. You,” she says quietly, looking bewildered. “You practically laughed in my face yesterday when I asked for your help. And I don’t even know why you’re still here. Get out of my house, Detective. You know nothing about me. I’ll reach out to Landon myself for my car.”

Before I can reply, she’s exiting the open kitchen and turning down the hall.

Fuck.

I place my hand to my forehead, anticipating a migraine. Then I grab my phone and call Landon.

“Where are you, asshole?” I snap into the phone.

“Good morning to you too,” he says evenly. “Did you have a good evening?”

I hear the sound of a shower running and sigh. “Sure. How far out are you?”

“Well, given the fact that it’s seven in the morning and you never reached out to me before now, I would say more than a good two hours.”

I fucking hate him.

I can’t leave until he brings Skylar’s car back, since he’ll need a ride.

“You’re lucky I don’t just drive off without waiting for you. Hurry up,” I snap.

“You could. I suppose I could just stay with Skylar the whole day.”

A growl sounds in my throat before I can stop it, and I hear Landon chuckle.

“I knew it. You do like her,” he says.

“It’s not your business,” I snarl. “Stay out of my personal affairs.”

He sighs, and I hear the beep of a car key being placed into an ignition. “Fair enough. Is she at least resting?”

I scoff. “No. She’s going to work, apparently.” I pace through her kitchen, trying to walk off my nervous energy.

“What?” And for the first time, I hear Landon falter. “She can’t go to work. She can’t be on her feet for that long.”

“No shit, dumbass. But unless you want to tie her down, there’s not much we can do.” I pause at the mental image my suggestion entails.

She would look lovely restrained, handcuffs around her wrists…

Landon’s voice breaks my train of thought. “Try to convince her.”

“I did.”

“Did you? Or did you just yell at her?”

“She’s not a fucking hostage. I’m not going to negotiate with her,” I argue. “She’s the most stubborn Omega I’ve ever met.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, except for the clicking of a turn signal. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says. “Try to be nice, for once.”

“I’m the nicest fucking person alive,” I hiss as he hangs up.

Asshole!

Speaking to him makes my blood boil.

But it’s obvious he wants the best for Skylar, too, so I’m not as mad as I could be.

Her shower is still running, and I’m full of anxious energy.

I don’t have the time to care about her.

Yet here I am, absorbing every detail of her that I can before I leave.

There’s a photo of her and another woman with light brown hair on her fridge—April.

In the photo, Skylar’s eyes are bright, and her smile is stunning.

I commit it to memory.

If only the police department here could spare a competent detective for her, then she wouldn’t have had to drive for hours, armed with a pretty face and cookies, just to have someone help her.

I studied my cousin’s report before I met Landon at the hospital.

Ben technically did everything right—there’s not much they can do, given how limited their reach is.

Still…

She deserves better.

I survey the kitchen, careful not to touch anything, and just observe.

I deciphered Skylar without even trying, and I saw a frightening amount of myself in her.

She throws herself into her work—the perfect distraction to not have to deal with any personal issues.

The dark circles around her eyes told me all I needed to know about her sleeping habits, and judging by the number of coffee bags lined up on her counter, I’m sure she’s also fueled by the stuff.

She’s stubborn and defensive.

But to be fair, most people are around me.

Then why would she cover me with her nesting blanket? It’s a selfless, vulnerable thing to offer.

It unnerves me.

I make my way out of the kitchen and peer down the hallway. There’s a closed door at the end, which I assume is her bedroom. On the left is the bathroom she mentioned, and I enter it and shut the door behind me.

I catch myself in the reflection as I turn on the lights.

I look like shit.

Looking in the mirror is just another reminder of my failures.

If I wasn’t in her house, I’d punch the reflection looking back at me.

The pain would ground me, and no one would be the wiser.

Instead, I scowl and wash my face, grateful for the products Skylar left out for me.

I was an asshole to her, and she was still kind.

Omega…

My inner Alpha stirs awake, wanting nothing more than to knock down her door and take her into my arms again.

I want…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

There’s a frantic knocking at her front door, accompanied by two muffled voices.

The shower has stopped running, so I assume Skylar will answer the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I rinse my mouth, then head back to the front room, my headache growing as the incessant knocking continues.

“Skylar?” a panicked voice says. “Skylar, open the door!”

I unlock her front door and pull it open.

There’s a young Omega facing me, her eyes shiny with tears.

Only she’s not alone.

My cousin stands next to her, a look of confusion etched in his features.

“River?” he asks cautiously. “I…can we come in?”

Something is seriously wrong.

I nod and step aside to let them in at the same time Landon pulls up to the driveway in her car.

Great.