Page 139 of Knot So Social

He lifts his head and presses my face down into his throat. I whine as his sun-baked summer scent hits me. I need that. Need it in my throat, in my veins, in my head, to drown out the terror. My tongue darts out.

“That’s it,” he croons, stroking my hair. “My precious omega. Taste your alpha. I’m real.”

Another tongue, cool and wet, laps at my back.

“Hey! Get outta here, you silly dog!” Joel growls.

I peek around to find a leggy red-brown and white dog panting along my back, slobbering and grinning.

Joel catches me looking. “That’s Jock. He doesn’t have any of your boy’s good manners.”

The dog leans his chest into my spine, snuffling at my hair. A ghost of a smile twitches on my lips, before the thunder strikes again. I scream and bury myself in Joel’s chest.

His arms tighten. “Fuck, baby. What can I do for you?”

“The p-panic r-room.”

“Where?”

Where is it exactly? With every storm I hide myself in there, but right now I’m not even sure of my own name. Past the paintings, around the kitchen. An image forms in my mind.

“P-Pantry,” I slur.

Joel scoops me up. I grip his collar tight and bury my face in his shirt as he carts me through the house.

“My d-dog.” I tap his shoulder. “H-Him too.”

He reverses direction and lets Mr Shares out of the laundry where I’d put him to finish his food, right before the storm broke.

Lightning arcs across the window; the storm god frantic to find me. I squeal and flinch.

I can’t bear the light—every trace feels like spirit fingers burning into my brain. Trying to set my nerves on fire once more. My tears flow down Joel’s chest as he carries me through the house, huffing slightly.

Finally the brightness cuts out, replaced by the moderate artificial light in the pantry.

“Where’s the door?” Joel asks.

I point to the rear shelves and when he steps closer, I grab the edge and tug. Joel finishes the job to reveal a solid titanium door with a hand scanner. When I reach out, my palm shakes so much that the panel can’t get a read. Joel rests my ass on a countertop and reaches around to hold my wrist.

Beep.

The door slides open and he sweeps me up. “How long does the door stay open?” he rasps out.

“Until someone t-touches the p-panel inside.”

He nods and sets me down on the beanbag across the small room. “Do not move, you hear me? Promise me you won’t close the door?”

I nod once.

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

“J-Joel?”

“Yes?”

“M-My blanket, in the n-nest, p-please.”

The alpha swears under his breath as he runs from the room.