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

But then my eyes are drawn to his neck and the way he swallows hard when he realizes who he almost took out.
“Brylee.” The breathy way he whispers my name makes my knees automatically threaten to buckle, omega swooning coming over me in full force.
Crap. My hood must have fallen down.
I clear my throat and look away, glancing at the cars streaking down the road. Even the scent of exhaust can’t overpower Luka’s alpha scent as it drifts over to me. Or the scent of his dinner.
Something spicy wafts through the air—cayenne pepper? I’m not sure what Luka’s got in that bulging paper bag he’s tucked under one arm. But my stomach growls greedily, and I realize that I can’t recall the last time I ate.
Every day on this insane schedule, bouncing back and forth between schools, is different, so I have no rhythm. No routine.
Not to mention the fact that too much cafeteria conversation is likely to trip me up. I don’t want to get tired and forget that I’m being myself or—heaven forbid—forget that I’m supposed to be Teddie if I’m over at Eros.
No, I eat most of my meals alone. And by meals, I mean protein bars. With the exception of the delicious banquets Caran makes, I don’t think I’ve eaten real food for weeks.
“Hungry?” Luka asks with a gentle smile.
I nod.
He presses his lips together and looks up the sidewalk, where another omega is approaching. Technically, he should be crossing the street right now, heading to the other side for alphas. But he lingers in front of me, blocking my path.
The wind is blowing in from behind him, pelting me with his silky scent and the tantalizing food he’s holding, which is utterly unacceptable.
I move to step around him, but his free hand shoots out to block me. He doesn’t grab me, just blocks.
“Brylee. I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here. Are you?”
My breath freezes in my lungs, and I can’t look up at him as a tremble rocks my spine because I know exactly what this asshole’s capable of.
Fuck.
My stomach knots as I imagine all my plans unraveling…Luka marching me right back to Darling and shoving me in front of Madam Ellora. The pair of them unzipping my backpack and examining the contents.
I’ll be ruined.
Worse.
Teddie will be ruined.
I might puke.
“How about this?” Luka’s tone is nothing like I imagined, and it makes me glance at him. His gaze roams over my face as if he’s carefully selecting every word, and I’ve never seen him so hesitant or thoughtful. It’s almost as if he’s a completely different person right now. “I know you aren’t supposed to be out of Darling right now.”
I tense up, my hands rising to the straps on my bag as I prepare to run, heels or no.
“But, I know a thing or two about breaking rules. And a thing or two about how bad the cafeteria food is.”
Forcing a tiny smile, I latch onto his idea that I’m just out scavenging for something decent to eat and nod.
That encourages him enough to add, “I could probably forget about this little jailbreak if you let me buy you dinner.” He tilts his head toward the diner.
Part of me wants to say no because he’s an asshole. Another part of me wants to say no because the omega genes within my veins are suddenly purring like a newly rebuilt engine ready to race around the track. My scent match wants to buy me dinner.
I take a deep breath and open my mouth to refuse him, but he steps forward, into my space bubble, sliding a hand gently over my arm. Slightly stunned, I simply watch him take my hand from my backpack strap and place it into his own. His warmth immediately sinks into me in a way that’s utterly unnatural and utterly comforting.
“Please?”
It’s the please that breaks my stubborn will. The soft request that’s so un-alpha-like. So undemanding and vulnerable. So not Luka.
My eyes meet his, and I slowly nod.
I’m whisked inside before I can protest.
“Back so soon? You alphas definitely work up an appetite!” An older beta hostess with cropped hair teases Luka in a motherly way.
“Actually, I ran into someone.” He pulls me closer into his side, his fingers squeezing my hand once before letting go and gesturing toward a booth. “Mind if we sit near the back?”
“It’s all yours, sugar.” She grabs two menus and leads us toward our table.
There are other patrons finishing their meals, but it’s late, and the dinner rush is definitely over, which I’m grateful for. I’m already regretting my impulsive “yes” and running through escape plans in the back of my head.
“Here, let me help you.” Before I can stop him, Luka’s lifting the backpack from my shoulders. “Whoa, what have you got in here? Weights?”
Shit.
I go along with his conclusion as I slide my arms out of the straps. “Kind of. Preparing for a camping trip next summer.”
He raises an eyebrow as he sets the pack beneath our table and gestures for me to slide in first. “What kind of trip? With who?”
The second question is a little sharper than the first, and an elated charge sizzles up my spine hearing his tone.
Coyly, I shuck off my cloak and grab my napkin, placing it on my lap before lifting the menu to hide my smile as he puts down his takeout and slides into the booth beside me. “Oh, just camping near the river with friends.”
“Hmm.” His tone is disapproving, but he doesn’t press too much. I can almost feel him folding the information up like it’s a square of paper and tucking it into his pocket—something to follow up on later.
“What’s good here?” I ask. “And what about your takeout?”
With a wave of his hand, he dismisses the bag. “It’ll reheat. And, if you like spicy, then there’s this cayenne chicken with avocado salsa…” He reaches across and taps the item on my menu, using that as an excuse to press the plastic coated page down and make me meet his eyes.
His stare is…unnerving.
I squirm in my seat, slick trickling into my panties just from his proximity.
Clearing my throat, I glance away from him. “Thanks. So, um. I don’t really know what to say.”
He chuckles, and I’m a little ashamed of how the sound melts my stomach as a waitress comes over and brings us glasses of water before taking our orders.
After she leaves, Luka sheds his jacket. Beneath it, he’s not wearing the gym clothes I’m used to seeing him in. He’s wearing a dark blue polo that clings to his biceps when he leans an elbow on the table and props his head on it. “Tell me all about you. Favorite childhood memory?”
He wants to treat this forced dinner like a real date?
For a second, I debate lying to him because he’d deserve it.
But so much of my childhood was in the public eye anyway that I doubt I’d be able to get away with it. And I’m already juggling enough lies as it is—I really don’t have the emotional capacity to balance one more.
So, grabbing my water and taking a long sip from my straw to buy time, I rack my brain. “When we were little, Teddie and I were into board games. Very into. So competitive. We were obsessed with Risk, which is basically about⁠—”
“Conquering the world,” Luka interjects, with a grin. “I bet you were an adorable dictator.”
I snicker, because that comment is surprisingly funny. “I doubt Teddie would agree with you. I was more of a board thrower in those days. If I lost, watch out world.”
He cracks up, probably imagining nine-year-old me stomping her feet, which I did. And then, in a move that might have been natural or might have been calculated, his arm is on the booth right behind my shoulders.
I try not to act like I notice, tell my omega senses to stop purring that his arm is so close to draping around me.
Fuck.
Shuffling my feet, I scoot forward slightly to ensure I’m just out of reach, but that’s as far as my logic is able to control my rebellious body, which is at attention. My nipples are peaked behind my bra, and I cross my legs to try to hide the other things going on that I disapprove of.
“So, losing to him was a favorite memory? Or was there a time you won?” Luka’s tone is warm and soothing, and he’s acting like he didn’t notice my retreat from his touch at all.
Bastard.
Why can’t he just be cold and offended? Angry and demanding? I know it’s there in him—I see that side of him daily. But he’s being careful with me. Respectful.
I kind of want to slap him for it.
Grabbing my water and stirring the ice around with the straw, I say, “Yes. I’m definitely thinking of the day I beat him. I think we were ten. We were playing with a few of his friends, and I made a secret alliance with one to take him out. So we played the entire game, letting him think he was winning until we were the final three players. Then, boom! It was glorious. I put sticky notes on his bedroom door for weeks. ‘Sorry loser.’ ‘Second place isn’t so bad.’ He hated me.”
“Alphas don’t like to lose.”
“I’ve noticed. I think it’s good for them.”
His eyebrows rise. “Really? Do tell.”
Pushing my drink forward, I put my elbow on the table and twist slightly so that I lean toward him in the booth. “Alphas have the entire world bending the knee to them all the time. Omegas can’t even make eye contact with you all unless you initiate. It’s ridiculous. We’re so far under your thumb⁠—”
“Are you?” Luka leans an elbow onto the table, energy matching mine. “Or are we the ones who are under yours?”
I blow a raspberry. “That’s ridic⁠—”
“Do you know how close I came to killing a very good friend of mine last week because I saw his hands on you?” His growl is low enough that the room can’t hear his confession but loud enough for every word to shake my bones.
“What?”
“I’ve known Brock and his alphas for years. But you dancing with them?” He shakes his head. “If I didn’t think you’d be pissed about it, their heads would be floating in the river right now.”
“Please.”

His eyes burn ferociously into mine, and I see a bit of that smoldering anger that’s ever present in class. That barely contained rage. That feral energy that makes my omega side want to whimper and have him throw me into a nest and ravage me. I can’t breathe as he adds, “That’s how much power you have, Brylee.”
My eyes drop to the table, unable to sustain this level of intensity. I don’t want this. “That’s not true.”
His hand slides across the table and over mine, and the touch scalds me in the most intoxicating way. Fire surges through my blood.
I yank away as if it’s scorched, shaking my head. “Well, if it is true, that sucks for you. I don’t believe in mates, and I don’t believe in scent matches. You’re giving your power to the wrong girl.”
It is absolutely not comforting when Luka slides back in his seat with a smug expression on his face. “Oh, I think we are. Alpha Team X likes to win just as much as you do, little omega. And we don’t like it to be easy. We love a good fight.”
Fuuuuuuuck.
We eat in complete silence after that, and then I practically sprint out of there, but there is absolutely no chance that he missed the way slick gushed down my thighs after that statement.
I’m in big trouble.

I hope Sam isn’t a traitor
55%

“Please! Fuck, I can—” Spluttering noises cut off Sam’s words, and it’s as though I can feel him being choked. My own throat tightens in response, remembering how often I used to beg to no avail.
A burst of something—adrenaline, rage, divine intervention—catapults through my veins, and suddenly I’m flying forward into a sitting room at the end of the hallway.
Inside, one of the chairs facing a massive fireplace is overturned. Only the flicker of the fire itself lets me see two figures near the tall windows. A tall, stacked silhouette of an alpha has a hand around Sam’s neck. My roommate is up on his tiptoes, feebly kicking as he scratches at the hands choking him.
Pure, blinding rage strikes me like lightning.
Suddenly, every ache in my body is gone, replaced by raw, feral anger. Launching myself across the room, I jump on the alpha’s back and slam my bottle into his head. Iced tea splashes everywhere as the huge man bellows in fury, dropping Sam to the ground and reaching back over his shoulder for me.
Just from the red bands on the arm of this fucker’s uniform, I know he’s a Noth.
That makes something cruel and dark, something pitch black and boiling like tar, seethe deep inside of me.
How fucking dare they?
I reach around with my left hand and shove my fingers into this asshole’s eye socket, relishing his howl of pain.
Meanwhile, Sam scrambles backward across the ground, clutching at his neck.
Another explosion goes off somewhere, and the walls shake around us before the smoke gets sucked from the room, drawn toward whatever new hole has been blown in the building.
The bastard I’m riding stumbles sideways and then backward, yanking at my arm but unable to get a good grip because my suit is sliding all around my sweat-slicked body. He bucks like a bronco, spinning and moving until—BAM.
I slam backward into a stone wall. Oxygen whooshes out of my compressed lungs, and my ribs threaten to crack as pain slashes up my torso.
On reflex, I jerk the bottle in my hand so that it smashes into the wall too just as the fucker slams me back into the stone again with a grunt, this time throwing his weight into the motion.
Agony.
Pure. Fucking. Agony.
Red speckles line the edges of my vision, and I’m not certain I’m consciously moving any more. My legs feel limp, but my arm swings backward again, almost like it’s on autopilot. Like that one limb alone is fighting for my survival.
The bottle smashes into the stone behind me, cracking, tiny chips falling like ice. Leaving a brutal set of glass teeth on the tip.
Inhaling through the foggy nebula of my thoughts, the disjointed swirling, I swing my arm forward. And then, almost as if I’m watching someone else do it, I drag the bottle across the Noth’s neck.
His hands fly up, which makes me push deeper. Harder.
Red bursts through the air, a blast like canned hair dye. Unreal. Fake like Halloween.
Nothing feels real.
Not the ache in my back as I slide from the Noth’s back and he stumbles forward, trying vainly to staunch a wound that can’t be staunched. Not the blasts I can hear in the distance. Not the way that Sam is blinking up at me in terrified wonder.
The beta lurches toward me, circling far around the dying Noth, who’s now laid out on the ground, gurgling like a stream.
“Ted.”
He reaches me and shakes my shoulders, but he can’t shake off the stunned shock encasing me. Not until he says, “What the fuck happened to your hair?”
That question shatters my trance. Makes my blood run cold. Because I realize…I left my wig in the room.
I’ve been made.