Knot the One They Want (Claimverse Book 1)
Knot the One They Want: Chapter 11

My heels click against the polished marble floor as I walk beside my father down the long hallway toward the gathering room. The scent of his cigars and expensive cologne, usually comforting, now turns my stomach. I take a deep breath, trying to still the butterflies rioting inside me.

‘Remember, Evangeline, the Blackwood pack is a good match for you. I expect you to be on your very best behavior today.’ His deep voice holds a warning note beneath the reassurance.

I nod demurely, keeping my eyes downcast. ‘Yes, Father. I’ll make you proud.’

The words taste bitter on my tongue.

We reach the double doors and I square my shoulders, lifting my chin as the attendant opens them. Sunlight streams through the stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of glimmering colors across the guests rising to their feet. The room is a sea of expensive dresses and suits, the mingled scents of perfumes and colognes tickling my nose.

My gaze is drawn immediately to the dais at the front like a compass needle seeking north. Four devastatingly handsome men kneel there, watching my approach before they rise. My intended mates. My breath catches at the sight of them, something strange fluttering deep in my belly.

Damien is darkly striking in his black tuxedo, power and authority evident in every line of his body. His cobalt eyes pierce me, sending a shiver down my spine. Beside him, Asher looks like a fallen angel in his white suit, golden hair gleaming and a wicked glint in his eyes as they rake over me approvingly.

Cole stands with military precision, broad shoulders straining his navy suit. His expression is stoic but I catch a flash of hunger in his eyes before he shutters it. And then there’s Lake, the epitome of a GQ model in his gray three piece suit, a soft smile playing on his full lips . But there’s nothing soft about the look in his eyes. A hunger that matches his twin’s.

I guess no matter what they think of my personality, at least I know where their alpha brains stand. And not the ones in their heads.

Addie was right about this dress.

And the pack…

They are everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more. Storybook princes come to life, ready to sweep me off my feet and carry me away from my lackluster life and into happily ever after. My foolish heart beats faster, leaping with tentative hope for a split second.

But reality crashes back down as my father leads me down the aisle, a death march disguised in white lace and pearls. This isn’t my fairy tale ending. It’s simply a transfer of ownership.

And the collar around my neck makes that perfectly clear.

I can’t believe I once thrilled at the prospect of wearing one of these. I always figured it would be a symbol of belonging. A mark proudly placed by alphas who loved me and wanted the whole world to know.

Yeah, right.

I’m the princess locked in the tower, watching the world through a gilded cage. I’ve spent my life trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect omega, hoping that if I just played my role well enough, followed all the rules, I would earn my place. That I would finally feel cherished and wanted.

But I’m still the unwanted extra. The one antique from my father’s old life they couldn’t just relegate to the attic or sell off. Not until today. The silly little girl with her head in the clouds. Always too much and yet never quite enough.

Now I’m being given to a pack of strangers. Alphas who want me for my bloodlines and my breeding. Not for me. Never for the real Evangeline buried beneath the shiny veneer.

I blink back the sudden sting of tears, pasting on my most dazzling smile as we reach the dais. I curtsy deeply to my intended mates, the picture of demure grace even as my heart twists painfully in my chest.

Another cage. Another place where I don’t belong.

But I’ll play my role to perfection. The silly, sweet little omega. The pretty decoration on their arms. I’ll giggle and flutter my lashes and pretend I don’t die a little inside with every breath.

No one will ever know. I’ll hide my shattered dreams behind a brilliant smile and bury the real me so deep, she’ll never see the sun.

After all, that’s what I was born to do.

Damien’s hand is cool and firm as he reaches out and helps me onto the dais, his touch impersonal. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the brush of his skin on mine. It’s the icy indifference in his gaze, the way he looks through me as if I’m nothing more than an obligation to be fulfilled.

I kneel on the plush cushion in the center of the other three, the silk of my gown whispering against my skin like a lover’s caress. A mockery of the intimacy I crave. The alphas take their places around me, their powerful frames towering over my diminutive form even as they kneel.

I feel so small.

Insignificant.

A lamb surrounded by wolves waiting for the first bite.

The coalition elder steps forward, his wizened face solemn as he begins the sacred rites. The ancient words wash over me, a spoken song of tradition and duty. Of omega submission and alpha dominance. My role in this grand tapestry woven in strands of gold and blood.

I barely hear him over the pounding of my heart, the rush of blood in my ears. Fear coils in my belly, cold and heavy. I’ve always been afraid of the mating bite, the searing pain and inescapable bond. But to endure four of them at once? The thought makes me tremble, my hands curling into fists on my thighs. At least the abundant lace of my gown conceals them.

I think of my mother, long gone now. Before the omega birth rates fell and alphas had no choice but to form packs to ensure access to an omega and the continuation of their bloodlines. She had one mate, one mark. A love story for the ages, she used to say. Her eyes would go soft and distant when she talked about it, a secret smile playing about her lips as she recalled my father’s courtship.

I used to dream of that. Of a dashing alpha sweeping me off my feet, his eyes filled with adoration as he claimed me for his own. A fairy tale romance, tender and true. How naive I was. How foolish.

The elder finishes the rites, his voice ringing out in the hushed silence. ‘Let the claiming begin.’

Damien moves first, his rough hand curving around the nape of my neck. He takes out a small key with his other hand and unlocks the collar that hasn’t left my throat since their proposal. His touch is proprietary, a silent declaration of ownership. I suppress a shudder, tilting my head to bare my naked throat in submission.

His breath is hot against my skin as he leans in, his lips brushing the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. The skin feels newly vulnerable and sensitive without the now familiar weight of the collar against it. I brace myself, every muscle tense as I wait for the sharp sting of his teeth. The first mark. The first chain link binding my invisible shackles.

Pain explodes through me as Damien’s teeth sink into my flesh, a brutal claiming that rips a cry from my throat. I feel the skin break, hot blood trickling down my collarbone as he holds me in place. It’s more than just physical agony though. As his teeth pierce me, I’m flooded with a maelstrom of emotions that aren’t my own—rage, anguish, bitterness. They surge through my veins like acid, eating away at me from the inside.

I know an alpha’s mark usually comes with an emotional transfer of one degree or another. It’s part of why omegas are so valued. Alphas aren’t exactly the most in tune with their emotions out of the three classes. Omegas don’t just bear the burden of their feelings… we transmute them. And we serve as a link between members of a pack, helping to soothe tensions, and provide a solid center for them to rally around rather than tearing each other apart.

Eventually, a pack without an omega is likely to crumble. If they don’t kill each other first.

I was expecting this moment to be awkward, maybe even painful, given the distaste I know Damien has for me, but I wasn’t expecting… this.

The weight of it all—his hatred, his pain, his resentment—feels like it’s crushing me. Suffocating me.

He releases me abruptly but not a moment too soon and I sway, dizzy and reeling. There’s no tenderness in his eyes as he pulls back, only a grim satisfaction and cold resolve. Any fragile hope I harbored that he might show me kindness now that we’re both trapped together withers and dies, turning to ashes in my mouth.

Asher is next, taking Damien’s place. His gaze meets mine and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of pity in those hazel depths. They seem to change color, depending on the light. Right now, the green flecks in them are winning out. Somehow, his compassion hurts worse than Damien’s cruelty. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want any of this, either. How can they not see that?

His bite is gentler, almost apologetic, but still impersonal. A duty, not a desire. That knowledge doesn’t stop me from shivering involuntarily as he sweeps a strand of hair away from my throat.

I close my eyes against the fresh wave of pain and despair I feel, mingled with his guilt, a single tear tracing down my cheek. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not the beautiful bonding I’ve read about in my hidden romance novels, filled with love and reverence. Yet another dream, taken and twisted into something perverse.

I’m trembling by the time Cole takes his turn, my skin slick with cold sweat. He cups my face almost tenderly, his thumb brushing away the errant tear. But his eyes are shuttered, his touch perfunctory. He bites down swift and sure on the other side of my throat, the brief flare of pain almost a relief. Anything is better than this numb detachment, the way they touch me without truly seeing me. His bite doesn’t come with the rush of bitterness and spite I got from Damien, and while his guilt is there, it isn’t quite as acrid as Asher’s. But the current of fear that floods me is more jarring.

Fear? What does this massive, untouchable alpha have to fear from me? I meet his eyes for a split second as he pulls away and have a strange, fleeting realization that it isn’t fear on his behalf.

His brother?

I have no time to wonder before it’s on to the next and final bite, but I’m already trembling from head to toe. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

Lake is the last and I brace myself, breath coming in shallow pants. But instead of biting immediately, he leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, so softly I almost think I imagined it.

His teeth are in my neck, just below his brother’s mark, his arm wrapping around my waist to keep me steady as I jerk against him. It still hurts, a deep, throbbing ache that seems to resonate in my very bones. But the physical pain is secondary to the rush of foreign emotions pouring into me, a dizzying cocktail of anger and sorrow, guilt and regret. While Lake’s bite is physically the gentlest by far, the emotional onslaught is so intense I forget myself for a moment.

Like the force of it is all too much, and I’m filled with so many intense, conflicting emotions from the four of them that there’s no room left for anything else. For me.

I can feel them now, all of them. The mating bond snapping into place with each bite, a chain I can never break. Four shackles binding me to these alphas, these strangers who now own me body and soul.

I’m panting when Lake finally releases me, my skin feverish and too tight. I can still feel them in my mind once it’s over, a tangle of dark emotions and twisted thoughts that make me want to claw at my own skin. To run and hide and never look back.

But I can’t. I’m theirs now.

Bound to them irrevocably, my very being tied to theirs in a way that can never be undone. My father is speaking, something about a feast to celebrate, but his voice seems to come from far away. All I can focus on is the weight of my new bonds, the way they press down on me like iron chains.

I’m led from the room in a daze, barely registering the faces that blur past. The orchestra strikes up a waltz, the notes jarringly cheerful against the despair choking me. I’m spun into Damien’s arms, his hand firm on my waist as he leads me through the steps of a dance I go through on autopilot. A broken doll somehow just going through the motions, because this is all I know.

All I was made for.

But all I can feel is the throb of his mark on my neck as he touches me, the poison of his emotions still simmering in my blood. I’m trapped in a nightmare masquerading as a fairy tale, my silk dress just another prison.

Eventually, he passes me to Cole, and Cole to Lake, and Lake to Asher. Each dance I share with the members of my new pack is the same as the last. These men I once gushed over are nothing more than faceless automatons.

And what does that make me?

With each turn around the gleaming ballroom, each forced smile and empty congratulations, I feel myself shattering a little more. The silly girl who dreamed of love dying a slow, agonizing death with every beat of the music.

Evangeline Beaumont is gone, buried beneath the marks of her new masters. In her place stands a hollow shell, a pretty puppet dancing on twisted strings.

My hand instinctively goes to Damien’s mark, which seems to throb even more painfully than the others. I’m told the discomfort will subside when we finally mate, and they complete the bond, but I’m dreading that moment in its own way. When my fingers brush the collar, I jolt a little.

When did that get back there? Which of them put it on me?

It’s as if everything after the marking is a black, empty space and I’m not sure I want that to change.

‘Are you alright?’ a low, masculine voice asks, hands loosening around my waist.

I look up and realize it’s Asher. Not that it really matters. The concern in his eyes is genuine. I feel it through the nascent bond forming between us, but I shut it out quickly. Somehow, knowing he’s capable of concern makes it all feel so much worse.

‘Fine,’ I murmur, wondering why I don’t sound as listless and broken as I feel.

As the celebration swirls on around us, I mourn for the innocent dreamer I once was. The girl who still believed in happily-ever-afters.

She didn’t stand a chance.