Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)
Her Knotty List: Chapter 25

He’s whipping something totally different in this one:

I’m watching him jack off a carrot. Hold on.

Ope.

Checking out your new mans.

His butt is my screensaver, btw.

…

Jesus.

Look at his TONGUE.

I’ve always tried to be honest. With other people, of course, but mostly with myself.

And honestly?

I cannot imagine a more perfect mate than Emma.

I spend our entire dinner watching her, absorbing tiny details and her more general personality traits, too. Those are pretty easy to spot—positivity, curiosity, a good sense of humor, and absolutely zero self-importance.

All of that would appeal to me on a soul-deep level, even if she didn’t smell so perfect or look like she belonged at the top of Knox’s nonexistent Christmas tree.

But it’s the little things that press the solid weight of certainty deeper and deeper, anchoring it into my stomach by the time our meal is done.

Like the way she giggles every time Zane tries to make her laugh—even when she’s clearly feeling shy or uncertain. Or how she looks for little things to link each of us—pointing out that Gunnar and I both like to work out, Zane and Gunnar have both traveled a lot, Knox and Gunnar both follow most major sports.

There are also random things. She eats two-and-a-half bowls of pasta with zero shame, and I love that. She coos adoringly over the dog every time he presses his nose into her lap. Her cheeks turn pink the second she has to answer any questions about herself.

I don’t think she dislikes sharing; it mostly seems like she isn’t used to being asked. Which is odd for an omega with such a large family and so many friends. Not to mention her former pack.

Do people not ask about her?

Why not?

She is adorable and smart. An ultra-endearing combination I’ve rarely encountered. Most sharp people like to act sharp. Emma is soft through-and-through, despite being so intelligent. Almost as if she’s never noticed that she is.

She grins easily as she describes her guidance counselor work with elementary-aged children, giggling about their antics and obliviously dipping into her well of child psychology knowledge. Talking about how goofy it is to Chicken Dance for a living before casually mentioning that her master’s degree is in a frame that she let some five-year-old smother in Elmer’s and macaroni.

There’s simply no pretense about her whatsoever. To the point where I wonder if she’s ever noticed how impressive she is.

I doubt it. She’s clearly beautiful, caring, hard-working, and smart—but she’s also the punchline to all of her own jokes.

As if she thinks she’s the joke.

I hear it again when Gunnar grumbles his own series of questions, asking how she wound up engaged over the past year and why they decided to have their bonding ceremony here. His shitty attitude—which, c’mon, dude, as if this whole mess isn’t your own damn fault—notwithstanding, I replace I’m rapt to hear her answers.

Helping children understand their feelings, being the glue that holds her high-achieving siblings together, speaking about all of her friends and her sister-in-law with empathy, despite the fact they all essentially left her to deal with the bonding ceremony alone…

Emma obviously has tons of emotional intelligence—how did she end up with alphas who were going to use her?

When she doesn’t answer Gunnar right away, his roasted pecan-and-chestnut scent darkens into something burnt. He’s been hovering near her protectively ever since they came downstairs. Given how his essence is all over her—covering mine—I think I can guess why.

But his arm drops from the back of her chair while his face pales. “It was me, wasn’t it?” he asks, clearly pained. “Because your Omega felt rejected by me?”

Somehow, I smother the growl vibrating at the base of my lungs. I’ve seen him apologize, and obviously, he and Emma came to some sort of understanding upstairs…

But still.

Who the hell does this guy think he is?

Rejecting my omega?

My mate.

Because, God help me, but that’s what she is. Every word out of her mouth, every giggle and sigh and twitch of her blonde brows. Even her love of children and desire to have a big family—it all feels tailor-made, just for me.

And, apparently, three other strangers.

Jesus. This is a mess.

I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before. Omegas who have partners or a pack and then meet another alpha they want to add? Yes. But this?

I can’t seem to wrap my head around how this will work. It’s not as if any of us will be able to bond with her while we’re here—unless all of us do, but that would be insane. Willingly inviting three people you don’t know to literally access your innermost thoughts?

Not to mention the sharing aspect. Even if we somehow got it together to bond her separately, without a pack leader to form a central pack bond for us… she’d be torn four ways. Forever. Juggling four alphas who each want her all to themselves.

Simply going through a heat with her would be a trial for each of us. It’s one thing when I volunteer at the clinic and the omegas are as anonymous as the other alphas in the nest. More often than not, I’m only marginally attracted to them or their scents.

But with Emma? She smiles, and my soul snaps to attention. She laughs, and my lungs stop working. Not to mention her perfume… which would only be stronger during a heat.

How would we keep from ripping each other to shreds?

Bonding with her on the spot?

Accidentally tangling ourselves together for the rest of our lives?

My Alpha isn’t as hopeless as I am, though. He has me turn my head, taking in each of their faces before I settle on the way Emma chews her lip.

Mate, he thinks. And it’s a resigned, indulgent sort of thing. As if he’s saying, anything she needs…

Even if it’s these guys.

Which I think may be the case.

They’re as enamored with her as I am. Even Knox, who won’t admit it to himself. He doesn’t need to—I feel the way he leans in, listening closely as she answers Gunnar’s sorry ass.

“After that night, my Omega was in a really bad way,” she admits, mumbling to her lap. “My sister’s friends had all used a matching service before. I thought maybe, if I did, too, the pack they put me with would actually, um.” Emma swallows. “Want me?”

She’s in my arms before I can even breathe through the pain lancing my lungs. It puts a serrated edge on my purr, but my omega dives for the sound anyway.

“Sweet girl,” I murmur, my throat tight as I cup a hand around her head and urge her closer. “I’m so sorry for everything they put you through. So sorry I wasn’t there, God.”

She burrows into my throat, whining softly. Zane’s own rumble revs up, much smoother than mine. I meet his dark eyes across the table, and we both snap our gazes over to Gunnar, joining Knox in his murderous glare.

It’s sort of difficult to threaten a man who looks this lost, though. His skin seems so ashen it’s almost gray enough to match his eyes. Those are rimmed in red and full of misery. He watches Emma press her face into my chest like it’s ice for a burn. Balm for her broken heart.

My arms flex around her as I turn my gaze back where it belongs. Emma’s eyelashes twitch as she exhales deeply, not bothering to pretend she doesn’t enjoy the attention. My mouth curls up in a grim smile she can’t see.

Really, I should be thrilled that Gunnar’s such a fuck-up. It strengthens my case, surely—and I am all-too happy to provide anything he failed to.

The fact that I only feel disappointment toward the guy and utter dismay about him leaving Emma means something I’m not sure I’m ready to accept yet.

If ever.

Knowing we all need a subject change, I give her a little bounce on my lap and whisper, “So, you like it up here in the snow? That’s why you wanted to have your ceremony here?”

To my delight, she doesn’t even attempt to hide her massive cringe. “Um, no. Not exactly.”

When she sits up a little, Knox wordlessly pushes his own bowl of noodles closer so I can feed her. Zane flashes our girl a smile I can only describe as “dazzling,” even if I’m not the one dazed by it.

Ignoring her wide-eyed reaction to his grin, the smooth bastard asks, “Did your mom choose it? Is she a Momzilla?”

Emma giggles. “No, no, nothing like that! I like this area! We used to vacation up here in the summer when I was a kid and always loved it. With the wildflowers and the fireflies and the pretty sunsets. Doing it this time of year wasn’t ever my idea. It was the, um, beta in the pack, actually. A white Christmas in the mountains was her dream wedding.”

And, of course, my sweet girl wanted her new pack to be happy, even if it cost Emma her own dreams. I doubt she even noticed that part until everything went sideways.

I don’t love that. But maybe I would enjoy planting my fist in the faces of the alphas she left behind last night. Fucking assholes.

That has to be the one thing all four of us have in common. I hear the others choke down growls the same way I do, silencing our rage so Emma can continue defending the horrible woman who encouraged her alphas to use our omega.

“It actually wasn’t bad timing!” she chimes, still kind as ever. “My heat is coming in a couple of weeks, so⁠—”

Her heat?

Oh God.

The image I had earlier—of the four of us ripping each other apart to get to her—flashes through my thoughts. Zane’s mouth drops, his features slack. Gunnar’s eyes bulge. But Knox…

A very low, ominous growl hisses out of him. Emma’s heart accelerates into a sprint as he pins her with an intense look and roughs out, “What?”

She shivers. I guide her face back to my throat and fold my hand around her head, purring more while I pin him with a glower.

“She said,” I repeat, slow and even, “that her heat is coming in a couple weeks.”

There’s no reason for anyone to be angry or panic. She has no control over her body’s cycles, and I refuse to let anyone make her feel bad about it.

My brain snaps pieces together as I snuggle her closer. “That’s probably why you had that spike earlier, baby. I’m so sorry—if I had known, I would have given you my knot right away.”

Gunnar surprises me when he nearly falls out of his chair to kneel by my side, lifting his hand to her cheek. “Are you okay now, Em? Does it still hurt? Do you need more?”

Her answering smile is as shy as it is lovely. “I’m okay now.” She flicks a nervous glance at Knox, who still looks pissed, his nostrils flaring. “I-I don’t want to be an imposition.”

Whatever he sees on her face helps him marshal himself. He slowly sits back in his seat, gaze fixed on Emma’s profile. She turns to Gunnar, reassuring him with a squeeze to his wrist.

“I promise I’m okay. There isn’t anything we can do about it right now, since we’re stuck here. I’m sure the road will be fixed way before I need to leave to get to”—she stumbles over herself, then sniffs—“a clinic, I guess.”

Because her home is gone. She doesn’t even have her own nest.

Tension pulls tight between all four of us—the stirrings of that competitive aggression I was worried about. We each want to be with her for her heat. All of us except maybe Knox—who’s looking at her like she’s a foreign creature he doesn’t quite understand. Or maybe some riddle the universe sent for him to solve.

It’s clear the intuitive omega senses trouble ahead. With a nervous shiver, she wiggles out of my arms and starts to stack our bowls. Zane shoots up, swooping in to kiss her cheek and snatch the dishes out of her hands.

“Nice try, gorgeous,” he grins. “You go get comfy, huh? Use the blanket on the couch; it’s cold in here.”

Knox seems to take that personally, snapping out of his stupor to flash a baleful look at Zane’s bare chest. “A shirt might help.”

Zane rolls his eyes good-naturedly and shrugs. “Shirts aren’t really my brand, Grinch.”

I can tell Knox wants to argue, but his gaze skirts over to Emma’s fretful face, and he sighs. Muttering under his breath, he shoves to his feet and trudges to the thermostat.

Gunnar watches him go, frowning warily at his flannel-covered back, then down at the nearly matching borrowed shirt he has rolled up to his forearms. With a minute shake of his head, he turns to me.

“So.”

I cross my arms and sit back, testing the aggression rolling off him. “So.”

Our alphas clash. He flexes his dominance, and I shove my own right back, both of us upping the ante until Knox comes stalking back in.

He pauses between us, turning from my face to Gunnar’s, then pointing his eyes at Emma’s trembling shoulders.

Oh. Shit.

His hands fly out, knocking each of us on the backs of our skulls. His own—more potent—brand of power washes over the room while he snaps, “Enough,” and reaches his hand out to Emma.

She blinks at it before accepting with one of her beaming smiles.

Gunnar rubs the side of his neck, but his scowl morphs into begrudging fondness while we watch the little omega follow Knox’s lead every bit as eagerly as McKinley does. If she had a tail, it would be wagging.

I chuckle, bemused. This situation might be impossible, but I’ve already smiled more today than I have in weeks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I realize out loud, leveling my gaze at Gunnar. “So, you’ll have to get used to me if you plan to stick around this time.”

An angry V forms between his eyebrows. “I’m not leaving her again.”

I have questions about that, but a dishtowel lands in the middle of the table. We both whip our attention to Zane, who leans over the island with a shit-eating grin on his face. “None of us can leave, you idiots. And it seems to me, as long as we’re all stuck here together, trying to win Emma over, this is prime time for some serious courting.”

Damn it. Of course.

He’s right. This is exactly why courting exists. To show an omega their options and allow them the opportunity to see who can meet their needs.

Maybe it will only be one of us.

Maybe it will be all of us.

God. My mind spins out again, trying to imagine the impossible. How the hell is this going to work?

Zane seems alarmingly unbothered. He gestures at the dinner he made and the fact that he’s currently the only one cleaning up. One of his groomed eyebrows arches. “Not to brag, but if this turns into a real competition because you fuckers can’t play nice, I’m pretty sure I got a head start.”

Zane smirks at the way we scramble to our feet. He tosses a second towel over. “Good boys. No reason we can’t wash a few dishes while we measure our dicks, right?”