Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)
Her Knotty List: Chapter 8

I wake to the toe-curling scent of cedar and pine.

The smell is like a treasure chest full of family heirlooms. Or a quiet forest after the rain.

It’s so comforting; it takes me a minute to realize I’m awake. And that’s fortunate since I wasn’t able to keep my eyes open the last time I tried.

“Hey.”

I gasp, bolting upright.

In the foggy, pain-filled moments after my car hit the snow drift, I remember feeling panicked that I couldn’t seem to stay alert long enough to replace my phone or get out of the car. I had freaky visions of Deliverance-style cannibals coming for me. Which seemed a little silly at the time, but⁠—

Turns out, I had good reason to worry.

Because I’m now in an unfamiliar bedroom with a strange man looming over me.

I yelp. I can’t help it. The shrill sound slips out while I rush to gather the many blankets draped over me and bundle them around my chest. I note with relief that, while my dress is gone, my tights and bra are still firmly in place.

The man’s expression falls. Then his long, square features and black brows crease into a pained wince. He holds up two hands in a supplicant gesture.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, voice low and steady. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Someone saw smoke from your crash and called it in. I’m an EMT.”

My eyes fly over him nervously, noting the fire department symbol etched into the puffy red jacket zipped around his big body. Very deliberately, keeping his hands up, he takes a step back.

“W-wh—” I try to ask where I am, but my anxiety rises too fast for me to contain it. A whine slips out of my throat, and the fireman cringes with his whole body.

Alpha, then, my unhelpful brain supplies. Even more dangerous.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats, desperate to calm me down. “I was coming off a shift when your accident got called in, so I came straight away. I don’t have any colleagues that aren’t alphas, but I can call my brother to come if you want another omega with you.”

The whines tumbling out of me won’t stop. I try to speak around them, but words tangle with the fear vibrating in my gullet, choking me. Tears stream out of my eyes and trail down my cheeks.

I’m so scared. My head is pounding, and my feet feel numb. I just want my big brother. Or my dads. Meg would know what to do. Or Serena—she’s the toughest omega. Hell, my mom would be just as freaked out as me, but I’d even take her hysterics at the moment.

The poor man facing my breakdown runs both his hands over his buzz cut…

Then he crouches right to the floor.

…what?!

Another whine jags out of me. His expression looks a lot like heartbreak. “Aw, sweet girl. You’re killing me. I promise I’m not here to hurt you. What can I get for you? Is there someone I can call?”

I try to say Theo’s name, but I can’t get it out. I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. Right as another loud whine rips out of me, a second man appears in the doorway of the palatial bedroom.

“What’s going on?”

His voice booms. I shrink back, my fingers digging into the bed. The alpha kneeling on the floor casts the new alpha a glare. “Knox, lower your voice. Emma is scared.”

The brunet alpha in flannel only peers out from under the brim of his canvas hat long enough to confirm this. He then turns on the heel of his hiking boot and leaves. A second later, a third guy shows up.

Seriously?

Three of them?

When I cower again, the guy on the floor sighs, exasperated. “Perfect. Yeah, just come on in, Zane. Pay no mind to the panicking omega.”

The third guy—what kind of name is Zane?—looks nothing like the other two.

Because he’s basically a God.

Seriously. Rich tan skin, perfect musculature. The sort of thick black hair and slashing features that grace the covers of magazines.

And he’s also naked.

Aside from… furry panties?

Oh my God, where am I?

The third difference between this guy and the other two becomes apparent immediately: he has absolutely no chill. Doesn’t even pause as he sweeps into the room and comes right at me.

I scrabble back and whine again. But he’s fast. One second, he’s in motion—and the next, he’s sitting beside me on the bed, his furry hip touching mine through the layers of blankets between us.

The mostly-naked guy reaches both his hands over and cups them around my head, staring deep into my eyes with his endlessly dark gaze. “Shhhh,” he barks softly.

It’s like hypnosis. The bottomless depth of his eyes; the steady, sensual rasp of his voice. “Settle, baby,” he murmurs, shifting a bit closer. “Settle.”

I gasp in a deep breath, and he nods, smiling just enough to incapacitate my brain. Holy⁠—

“That’s a good girl, Emma,” he says, his voice almost a purr. “Relax for me, okay? One more breath.”

I listen, unable to break from the swirling brown irises. This time, as air fills my lungs, the scent wafting off his bare chest hits me.

It’s chai—as rich as it is complex. Citrus, clove, cardamom, and a delicious thread of sweetness.

Inhaling him is like taking a hit of ecstasy; I feel my pupils bloom while my whole body trembles. He grins, and I suddenly can’t breathe again.

“Mmm,” he comments, noting my expression. “Nice to meet you, too, gorgeous. I’m Zane. That guy on the floor is Micah.”

He turns and smirks at the other alpha. “Dude, get up here. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Soft morning light grazes Micah’s flawless brown skin as he quietly gets to his feet and ambles over. His long fingers start to reach for my neck but stop. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to, sweet girl, but I should check your vitals.”

Sweet girl?

My brain feels like it’s rebooting. I can’t think about anything. My entire existence has narrowed to the chai spices wafting in the air.

Every time I dare to inhale, a new shiver races through my blood. I feel like I should be perfuming, but trembles quiver through my body without landing between my hips.

Seriously, what is happening?

I feel dizzier by the second. So I finally nod, wanting the fireman—Micah, I guess—to tell me if I’m having some sort of seizure.

At this point, a seizure might actually be a relief. Seizures make you smell stuff, right? I think I remember seeing that on Grey’s Anatomy.

Pretty sure you’re supposed to sense burnt toast and not whatever this panty-creaming, decadent, delicious spice is… but still.

Micah kneels again, trying to cram his broad shoulders into the space between my body, Zane’s knees, and the bedside table. He pauses, quickly assessing the available area, and decides to shuck his puffy jacket.

It doesn’t really help.

He’s still wide and rounded with muscle, all straining under a thin red thermal. With a grunt, he shifts closer, knocking Zane’s legs out of his way.

The chai alpha doesn’t seem bothered. He leans further over my lap, his hands sliding off my cheeks to brace beside my hips, holding himself up.

Micah looms closer. Lovely, concerned hazel eyes scan my expression before settling on my gaze. He frowns, all sincerity.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Emma. Can I check your pulse and your temperature? I just want to make sure we don’t need to call a helicopter.”

I can’t even get caught up on the idea of calling a frickin’ helicopter—what?!—because I’m barely letting myself breathe. I don’t want to perfume accidentally and turn these seemingly nice alphas feral, but Zane’s scent makes that blunder increasingly likely.

What I wouldn’t give for someone familiar. Theo, or my parents, or one of the Ash Pack alphas. Hell, at this point, I’d even take Gunnar Sinclair.

With a pitiful whine, I manage a half nod. Micah immediately gets to work, his touch professional but warm as he skims the pulse in my unmarked throat.

“You’re unbonded,” he notes quietly, flashing a disarmingly genuine smile. “That’s surprising.”

It’s a harmless compliment, but I shiver all over again. His lips quirk in another concerned frown. “Steady pulse,” he reports, moving to touch my forehead. “You still don’t feel quite warm enough, but you have no fever.”

He stretches his torso to maintain a respectable distance as he reaches up to my hairline and feels for the place where I hit the windshield. As soon as his fingers brush the bump, I gasp in pain.

Bad move.

Such a bad move.

The lungful I suck in comes directly off his exposed throat.

And it. Is. Impossible.

The scent of… winter? Sharp peppermint and cool frost and a friendly flurry of flakes. It’s an enchanted forest with a thermos of mint tea. It’s the first breath of air on the first snowfall of the season.

Magic. Rejuvenation and possibility and magic.

And now I’m perfuming.

Thank God there are about eighteen thick blankets trapping the smell of my shame.

Good Lord. I’ve been thinking of this whole thing as one of the Shakespearean tragedies Bridget loves so much, but I think we’re firmly in sad-clown comedy territory. I feel more like a jester by the second. If someone gave me a hat with bells on it, I wouldn’t even be offended.

Micah misinterprets the way my spine snaps straight and backs off instantly. “I think the contusion is mild,” he mutters. “But does it hurt? Do you have a headache? Dizziness? A stiff neck?”

The bump hurts, but only when he touches it. And I’m sure the dull ache in my skull will subside soon… I shake my head, holding my breath again.

He smiles that same kind, pure-hearted grin. “That’s great. I’m going to go make you some hot broth, okay? That will get your temp up a few more degrees. Come on, Zane. You need pants.”

Zane makes a face. “Do I, though?”

Micah shoves his shoulder on his way past. “If you don’t want Knox to kick you out, then yes.”

With a flirtatious wink, Zane vaults off the bed in one easy move and follows his friend out of the room.

Okay…

What?!

Panting, I scramble to get a good look around. The room is huge. A big square with rustic wood floors and matching blank timber on three sides. Across from me, though, the wall is made entirely of windows. From the walnut underfoot all the way up to the A-frame of the room.

There are beams supporting the ceiling. Thick black, metal ones that go with all the plain black furniture. It’s all metal, too. Masculine. No throw pillows or pops of color.

A man’s bedroom, for sure. One of theirs? Or the other guy they mentioned?

It’s… tidy? Too clean, really. Almost sterile, somehow, despite the breathtaking view of the sunrise over the smoky Blue Ridge Mountains. Instead of adding charm, the surreal vista only underscores the empty—almost lonely—vibe in here.

Lonely but not scary. There aren’t dead animal heads on the walls or knives laid out on the dresser. I see no evidence that a deranged mountain-dwelling psychopath lives here.

I see no evidence that anyone lives here.

Part of me wants to get up and go through the bathroom cabinets. That’s where everyone keeps their dirty secrets, after all. The minute I move these blankets, though, my perfume will fill the whole room.

But I’m desperate for more information. I don’t see my phone anywhere. Or my purse. So unless something in this room can tell me whose house I’m in, I’m sort of at the mercy of these strange alphas.

On impulse, I tug open the bedside table’s drawer, fully expecting a loaded gun or some equally terrifying weapon. Instead, there’s—well, I don’t even know what.

A tube?

It’s a flesh-colored tube.

At first, I think it’s a dildo. Because it’s a long, rubber object in a drawer. In my omega world, that translates to a dildo. Only, it has no penis-like features.

Curiosity is the first non-terrifying emotion I’ve had since I opened my eyes. My dumb, positive brain latches on to it with a vengeance. I replace myself reaching for the tube, wanting to inspect it closer.

I only have to turn it in my hands to discover that I’m holding a masturbation sleeve designed to look like a woman’s⁠—

“What are you doing?”

It’s the flannel-wearing, booming-voiced alpha. Aghast, he stands in the doorway and gapes across the room.

A squeak flies out of me. I jump, tossing the pussy replica away like it’s burned me. The masturbator goes sailing through the air…

…where a big black dog leaps up to catch it.

While I watch in horror, the pet clamps its teeth around the silicone tube and snatches it. Then he happily trots back to the alpha in the doorway, wagging his tail as he drops the fake vagina in front of its owner.

Is it too late to have the other guys come back in here and murder me?

Because I want to die.

Furious, the man snatches the sex toy off the floor and throws it at the leather chair shoved into the corner beside the window. Which would be fine, except the dog goes for it again. And when the alpha shouts, “McKinley, down!” the pup spins, changing course mid-air to obey⁠—

But his whipping tail knocks the flesh tube into the huge window.

Which cracks.

Oh holy night.