Chapter 10
Knox
The transmission rebuild requires concentration I can't seem to muster today. My hands move through the motions, inspecting worn gears and replacing shot bearings on the 1972 Ironhead that's occupied my bay for the past week, but my mind keeps drifting to Sarah. To the way she curled against me this morning, her breath warm on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across my skin. The bond between us hums with contentment, a steady pulse that tells me she's at the clubhouse, safe, going about her day.
I've become addicted to that feeling. The constant awareness of her.
Finn appears in the garage doorway, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. "That Ironhead giving you trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle." I set down the float assembly and reach for a clean rag, scrubbing at the grime under my nails. "What do you need?"
"Just checking in. You've been distracted lately." His mouth curves into a knowing smirk. "Can't imagine why."
Before I can tell him where he can shove his observations, the bond flares.
The sensation hits me like a fist to the chest—Sarah's emotions flooding through the connection so fast and intense that my vision whites out at the edges. Shock first, sharp and sudden, the kind that steals my breath and stops thought. Fear follows, threading beneath the shock like ice water in my veins. And wonder. Raw, trembling wonder that doesn't match the fear at all, that contradicts it in ways I can't understand.
More fear layered on top, thick and choking, but underneath it all—hope. Hope so fragile and buried she's trying to hide it even from herself.
The wrench clatters from my numb fingers. I'm moving before my mind catches up to what my body already knows, grabbing my keys from the workbench, shoving past Finn without explanation.
"Knox? What the hell—"
I don't answer. Can't. The only word in my head is a single command that drowns out everything else.
Home. Now.
The ride from the garage to the clubhouse takes three minutes on a good day. I make it in two, pushing the bike so hard the engine screams in protest and my tires leave black marks on every turn. Brothers scatter from my path as I tear through the compound gates, gravel spraying in my wake, I'm off the bike before it fully stops rolling—kicking down the stand, taking the stairs two at a time, my boots thundering through the hallway like war drums.
Sarah stands beside our bed, her back to the door, her shoulders rigid with tension I can feel radiating off her inwaves. She's holding something—a small box clutched in white-knuckled fingers, her head bowed as she stares down at the contents like they might bite her.
I know what's in that box before I'm close enough to read the label. The bond tells me everything, painting her emotions across my awareness in vivid, overwhelming detail. Wonder and fear tangled together so tightly I can't separate them. Hope buried so deep she's terrified to acknowledge it exists.
Pregnancy tests. Several of them, still sealed in their packaging.
"Sarah."
She turns at the sound of my voice, and the sight of her face nearly brings me to my knees. Tears track down her cheeks, her eyes red-rimmed, her lower lip caught between her teeth hard enough to leave marks.
"I'm late." The words tumble out of her in a rush, broken and breathless. "Two weeks late. I'm never late, Knox—not ever. My whole life, I've kept track, and I'm never, ever late."
I cross to her in two strides and take her hands in mine, folding them—box and all—between my palms. Her fingers tremble against my skin, small and cold despite the warmth of the room, and I can feel her pulse racing through the bond.
"We'll figure this out. Together."I keep my voice low and steady, though my own heart pounds hard enough to crack ribs. "That's how this works. That's how we work."
"It's too soon." She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "You only claimed me two weeks ago. Everything's still so new, and you'll think—"
"I'll think what?" I release her hands long enough to cup her face, tilting it up until she has no choice but to meet my eyes. "That the woman I love might be carrying my child?"
Her breath catches. Through the bond, I feel her shock like a physical blow—the way her heart stutters and her thoughts scatter and everything goes still and silent inside her head. She stares up at me with those wet, luminous eyes, her lips parting around words that won't come.
"But it's so fast—"
"Sha'keth va'run." My native tongue feels strange on my lips after so many years, but the words come easily. "My heart, my home. It's what my people say to the ones we belong to."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you own me." I press my forehead to hers and I breathe her in and there's something new underneath. Something I almost missed because I wasn't looking for it, a change in her scent so subtle I might have dismissed it as imagination if I didn't know better.
