average human’s Reviews > Knot What She Seems > Status Update

Like this one—I ripped my foam suit the other night when I climbed through the window. My backpack caught on the windowsill and I yanked it—not thinking—and then there was a horrid tearing noise. My bag now has a gash in it…but worse, when I pulled my bodysuit from the bag to inspect it…I realized that my inner thigh does too. A long divot right across the middle, splitting it.
Thank fuck for duct tape.
But I have Hand-to-Hand Combat over at Eros this afternoon, and I’ve spent the past hour in paranoid fear, not only about doing the whole gender swap midday, but that somehow the tape is going to come undone while we’re wearing tight fighting gear…
“Brylee, focus. Nesting is a treasured omega activity.” Madam Ellora’s hand cups my shoulder, yanking me out of my internal pity-panic party and pulling me back into her Friday torture session otherwise known as Scenario Training.
All omegas, no matter the year, are gathered in a huge ballroom today, and a hundred tables have been set out, stacks of magazines, scissors, and glue sticks set at each one. A random beta on the street walking in here would think that this is either Ransom Note 101 or a preschool craft. Unfortunately, it’s neither.
I blink over at my prim and proper professor, attempting to look neutral, as if I don’t think my entire world is about to implode. I’m not sure what expression I manage to make, but based on her thin-lipped reaction, it’s not the calm collected look I’m aiming for.
“Dear, Alpha Brock and his team are a wonderful catch. And you don’t have to worry about including little luxuries in your requests.” She leans in conspiratorially, a tiny grin on her face. “They can afford it. So if that’s what’s holding you back, don’t.”
I swallow hard and nod, eager to make her leave, but also slightly disgusted that she thinks I’m that materialistic. When she moves on, I heave out a relieved sigh.
Yes, all omegas want a cozy nest, but what the heck does she think that entails? It’s pillows and mattresses and soft lighting, not stacks of gold bars and diamond-beaded curtains.
Except then I glance over at my table mate, a freckled omega named Sarah. She’s included several marble statues in her “nest design” dream board.
Turning around, I check on the girls at the table behind me. Harper’s board has some chandeliers, and the girl next to her, whose name I haven’t learned yet, has an indoor fountain.
My own board has a plate of fresh, homemade chocolate chip cookies, a velvet blanket, and a mountain of pillows. I can’t really think of anything else I want.
It’s plain. Simple.
Very un-omega apparently.
Ugh.
I debate adding something ridiculous, like a birdcage full of doves or whatever, but why? If you have an intricate nest, it’s hard to move…and I remember what it was like when we were younger and had to pack up and abandon our summer palace.
There was a huge attack from Nóthos. Missiles hit the city of Paichnidi, near our country home, and intelligence said that they were likely to target us directly.
Leaving there is one of my more potent memories from childhood. I was able to take a suitcase—but one of my dogs, a pug named Porcupine, was out roaming the grounds and didn’t come when he was called.
We left him.
Someone delivered Porcupine to us a few days later, but the sick feeling of driving away from him still clings to my ribs. And I got my puppy back.
My father though?
Dad had the shakes for days after we left. His nest had to be completely abandoned. I never saw him cry…but, looking back, that might have happened behind closed doors.
An omega gets very, very attached to their nest. It’s an extension of themselves. A physical manifestation of home and comfort. My father’s nest had been a tower of mattresses inside that palace, so high that I used to think it touched the three-story ceiling of the room it was built in. I remember a swing in that room. Furs. Exotic trinkets.
I want something simple. Portable. Something I’m not in danger of losing.
Flipping through a magazine, I pretend to consider pictures for the next twenty minutes, but all I really do is run out the clock. I leave my bare bones collage for my nest exactly as it was before, because this exercise is futile.
My mother’s already gifted my life away. She won’t care that I have a scent match—a scent match with a group of assholes that I’ll never, ever in a million years mate with, but still. A scent match.
Why does fate delight in being so cruel?
Matching me at all when I don’t want mates is just wrong.
Harper deserves a scent match, not me.
The other omegas, the ones who want to find mates, deserve a group that’s well-off like Brock’s.
But my mother’s determined to make me politically useful at the worst possible time. Couldn’t she have waited a year? Or forever?
Of course, worrying about why she’s matched me right now—out of the blue—sends me spiraling into thoughts about the war and how it’s progressing. If my parents need allies that badly, it might not be a good sign. I could ask, but they’ll never answer. Not me. Maybe Teddie, but not me.
I hand in a bland, disappointing board that I’m aware will probably immediately be photographed and texted to Stirling and company, a sense of angry desolation sparking inside my veins as I turn in my pink kitten heels and flee from the room.
Harper hurries after me.
“Hey, Bry! Wait!” she calls out.
I half turn, forcing a smile for her sake because it’s not her fault that everything is falling apart around me. Waiting for her to catch up, I say in a low undertone that can’t be heard by those around us, “Can’t. Promised to go see my brother.”
“Oh, okay.” She wisely doesn’t comment on the fact that I’m clearly going to be leaving campus when I’m not allowed. “Maybe I’ll catch you at dinner?” she inquires hopefully.
I bite my lip. “Maybe. But, honestly, his omega is an amazing cook, so probably not.” Caran is an amazing cook, but I’m not going to be sampling his food tonight. Nope. I have back-to-back classes with Alpha Team X, which is basically going to be a nightmare come to life.
“Well, have fun.”
“Will do,” I lie before turning back down the hall and trying not to feel as though I’m marching into a dark cave to face a snarling group of rabid grizzlies.

40%

Faster.
Faster.
Need to be faster.
Need—
I stumble to a stop. Only my quick reflexes manage to keep me upright. I place one hand on the nearest tree trunk and inhale sharply. That smell…
It floods my senses, zipping through my veins like lightning bolts. I’ve never smelled anything like this before. It cocoons me in warmth, in peace, in comfort.
A rumble starts in my chest, and I feel my cock harden in my basketball shorts.
Mate.
My mate.
Like a predator on the hunt, I venture forward on silent feet. Despite my size, I’ve mastered the art of subtlety, of remaining invisible even in a crowd. No one will see me unless I want them to.
Her voice reaches me first—soft and sweet and slightly familiar. Don’t know where I heard it before. Probably never did. My mind—and the demons that reside in it—likes to play tricks on me.
“Fit, you motherfucker. Damn you. Fit.”
Fit?
Irrationally, my brain conjures up images of my nameless, faceless mate attempting to ease herself down onto a cock. An almost incandescent burst of anger shoots through me. People always say jealousy is green, but for me, it’s bright red, speckling across my vision.
I quicken my pace, push through the branches, and arrive in a tiny clearing that’s sheltered from the day’s vicious wind.
Where a young omega is attempting to shove a backpack into a hollow in the trunk of a tree.
The first thing I note is that she’s wearing only a pair of lacy pink panties and a matching bra, both materials hugging her generous curves. She puts her shoulder into it, shoving at the overstuffed bag, and I swallow hard when her ass bounces as a natural reaction to the impact.
All of that gorgeous, golden skin on display…
Blonde hair hangs in a haphazard bun on the very top of her head, and as I watch, she reaches for the ponytail containing it and removes it. Long tresses cascade down her spine.
Looks soft.
Want to touch.
I ball my hands into fists to curb the temptation.
The omega places her hands on her hips, twisting slightly until her profile is to me. From this angle, I can see the swell of her breast peeking through the top of her bra.
Mine.
What the fuck is she doing here out in the forest in her bra and panties? Alone? Unless…
Unless she’s not alone.
The jealousy from before returns with a vengeance, and I find myself scanning the clearing, searching for a mysterious third party.
Gonna kill him. Gonna rip him limb from limb and then feast on his internal organs.
A growl tickles my throat and rattles my rib cage. I can feel my nails digging into my palms, but I allow the pain to ground me. To keep me from spiraling.
Despite my best efforts, a snarl escapes me, and the omega yelps and spins around, her eyes wide in her face.
Familiar eyes.
Teddie?
But no… Those shapely curves don’t belong to the dumbass at the school. Similar features, but she’s so much softer. Those lips look more plush.
She must be his twin sister.
The princess.
Mate.
Mine.
I take an automatic step forward, her scent a rope tugging at my midsection, and she counters it with one backward. I can hear how quickly her heart pounds.
Don’t want to scare her.
Never want to scare her.
I’m a large man. Scarred. Ugly. Need a mask to keep people from asking questions like “What the fuck happened to you?” and “Who did this to you?”
Not perfect like she is.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is very similar to her brother’s, which is on the higher side for a male. But while I want to punch him in the face every time he speaks, I want to kiss her.
Claim her.
I inhale again, and her eyes widen in shock. Those plump pink lips part on a shaky exhale. I know she can smell me too.
Mate.
Mine.
Want her so fucking badly.
I force myself to speak, to use vocal cords that I thought were incapable of working. “Colter.” I point to myself for emphasis.
She blinks at me.
What’s her name again? I search my memories, and it comes to me almost instantly, as if my brain’s been storing the information for this exact moment. As if it knew how important this particular name will end up being.
Brylee.
I take another step forward, and this time, she doesn’t immediately cower away. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s gotten over her initial fear of me or if it’s because she has nowhere to go.
Want to help her.
Want to take care of her.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach around her for the backpack. She flinches automatically—which causes my heart to splinter—but then manages a shaky, “What are you doing?”
I shove the backpack the rest of the way into the crevice in the tree trunk.
If my mate wants it in the tree for whatever reason, then I’ll put it in the tree.
She volleys her gaze between me, the backpack, and the tree. I can’t read the expression in her eyes. And honestly? It’s hard to stare at her face when her body’s on display the way it is. But I try. Want to respect her.
Even still, I dip my gaze to her cleavage for a fraction of a second before I force myself to look away. To stare elsewhere.
Brylee glances down at herself, as if she’s just remembered that she’s practically naked, and she curses colorfully.
I draw my brows together. I don’t think I’ve ever met an omega who curses quite like she does.
Still muttering under her breath, Brylee reaches for a pair of leggings and crop top lying on the grass. She must’ve removed them from the bag for whatever reason. I quickly turn my back, granting her privacy. There’s silence behind me, almost as if she froze, before I hear the shuffle of fabric punctuated by the occasional “motherfucker” and “bitch-smelling anus.”
As she changes, I spot something on the ground and bend down to pick it up. I hold it tenderly in the palm of my hand as I wait for the all clear. After a beat of silence, her tentative—and slightly confused—voice says, “I’m done.”
I turn.
Brylee smooths the hands down the sides of her leggings, carefully avoiding eye contact. Red colors her cheeks.
“’S okay,” I mutter, taking a step toward her.
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“I know I’m scary,” I continue gruffly. I extend my arm, palm open, and show her the flower I plucked. Pretty, just like her.
Brylee’s eyebrows curve down as she focuses on the flower. For a long moment, she doesn’t take it, and panic reverberates through me. Did I already fuck this up? But then she hesitantly reaches forward and grabs the stem from me, holding it gingerly. Her hand only touches mine for a fraction of a second, but I swear heat migrates from that menial connection. I feel hot all over.
She carefully traces one of the petals with the tip of her finger, her gaze intent. I want her to look at me. I want her to look away.
I don’t know what I want anymore.
“So…” She rocks back on her heels and releases an airy laugh—the noise rife with something akin to panic. “This is awkward.”
“Mate,” I murmur, taking another step closer. The final step. The tips of my shoes touch her own. Her feet are so small close to mine.
Brylee sucks in a startled gasp and cranes her neck to stare at me. At the scars on my chest and arms. At the tattoos. At the mask on my face, obscuring the worst of my injuries from view. I allow her to look. Want her to look. Want her to want me, the way I want her.
My heart’s racing so loudly, I’d be surprised if she doesn’t hear it.
She’s so beautiful.
And I’m so…me.
Tentatively, I ask, “Can I…touch you?” I feel heat rush to my cheeks. Grateful she can’t see my face.
“Yes.” She sounds shocked by her own answer, but she doesn’t pull away as I run the pads of my fingers across her cheek with the same tenderness she showed the petal of the flower.
“Beautiful,” I murmur out loud.
Want to spoil her.
Cherish her.
Love her.
Build a nest.
Never wanted that shit before. Now, it’s all I can think about.
The drive to see her smiling, lying amid a mountain of pillows, none as soft as her—it’s a physical need as urgent as a parched throat. As raging hunger.
Want to stand between her and the world.
Stop it from touching her.
Hurting her.
Her lips are slightly parted. Wonder what they taste like. What she tastes like.
I lean in.
And Brylee immediately stumbles away like she’s been set on fire.
“I NEED TO PEE!” The words are practically a scream. Her cheeks immediately turn crimson, and she turns her attention to the backpack. She grabs one of the straps and gives it a tug, nearly falling over in the process as she pulls it out.
I eye her in concern. “Thought you wanted that in there?”
The backpack looks way too large for her. She practically waddles from side to side with it on.
“Changed my mind!” Her panicked eyes flit in all directions, never stopping on me.
I scared her.
I scared my mate.
An intense wave of self-loathing washes over me. I once again dig my nails into my palms.
Bleed. Want to bleed.
Don’t want to scare my mate.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday!” Brylee practically shouts as she moves in the direction of Darling Academy.
Not safe to walk at night.
Need to protect her.
Then her words register.
“Tuesday?” I ask. Why would she see me Tuesday?
“I meant…probably Tuesday. Or Monday. Or some day. Or maybe even tomorrow if you go to the ball!” She’s babbling. I recognize it as something Kylian does when he’s nervous.
Wasn’t gonna go to the ball. Not my thing.
But I want to be near her.
Stop the other alphas from looking at her.
A growl works its way up my throat at just the thought of other men seeing her. I still don’t know why she was in the forest half-dressed. Don’t want to think about the reasons. It’ll make me want to kill someone.
She gives me an awkward wave and then shoots me with finger guns. When I simply stand there, staring at her, my face impassive, she offers me a salute and then hurries down the pathway, the backpack bouncing against the back of her thighs with each step.
I wait until she’s out of sight before ducking into the forest and weaving through the trees once more. Need to protect her. Need to watch her.
She glances over her shoulder occasionally, as if she’s worried I’m directly behind her, but she doesn’t see me. She won’t see me. Not unless I want her to.
I continue stalking her through the forest until she stumbles out of the forest and into the garden directly behind the building. She places her hands on her knees and sucks in a deep breath.
“Motherfucker!” Then, in a softer voice, she adds, “You need to be more careful, Brylee.”
Is she talking to herself? Cute.
She glances over her shoulder once more, a frown tugging at her expressive lips, and then hurries up the stone steps, disappearing inside of the academy.
But I remain where I am at the edge of the forest, watching intently.
Obsessed.
I’m already obsessed.
Now that I found my mate, I’m never going to let her go.
Looks like I need to find a suit to match my mask.
Because I’m going to a ball.