Page 6 of Knot So Social

But it’s her eyes that I can’t look away from. Blue as the sky, smoky with subtle brown and copper dust on her lids and framed by black mascara.

And in them lives a sorrow that haunts me.

Her red-rimmed gaze fixes on the dog at my side and her fingers extend slightly toward him, like he’s the most precious thing in the world. The deep need emanating off her stops me in my tracks.

Padre always said I had a gift for reading people. I never thought much about it until now, but this woman feels like a book that needs to be read cover to cover.

Faint smudges of mascara run on her lower lids, suggesting hastily-wiped tears. This beautiful woman was crying over her runaway dog.

I hide my grass-stained hands behind my back, wishing I’d thought to tidy myself up before coming over.

Mr Shares barks and tugs on my make-shift leash. I slip the belt free and he bounds up the steps, jumping up at her without touching her legs. With a strangled cry, the woman kneels inside the door and wraps her arms around his neck, stroking him over and over. Her dog licks around her ears, wriggling with joy. She clutches him tight and murmurs into his coat, the words spoken too softly for me to catch them.

“Thank you,” the woman says in a shaky voice after a long reunion, kissing her pet’s head once before looking up at me.

True gratitude, heartfelt and sincere. She loves her dog like family. Not like the people around me who keep animals as showpieces and guards. Mr Shares bunts his head under her arm for more cuddles, returning the love.

“My pleasure, ma’am,” I say. “I couldn’t believe when he flew in right over that big fence.”

She quirks a smile. “You and me both. I had it raised once already, because he can jump so high.”

I lock my hands behind my back.

“As much as I enjoyed Mr Share’s company, can I suggest you raise the height again? He nearly came to disaster with the guard dogs over there.” I point in the general direction of her back yard.

The woman winces, suddenly appearing very small, crouched in the entrance of her massive house.

“That’s what I was most afraid of.” She looks up, her eyes boring through me as if she’s the soul reader. “The fence is already at the max regulation height. I think I’ll only let him out the front from now on.”

I chew on my lip.

“About the fence,” I start, hesitant. “What about adding a decorative panel? I’ve seen a few places around here add them to the top of the fences. That might keep your pretty boy contained without violating any, ah, codes. Sì? I mean, yes?”

Her face lights up. “Oh, really? I haven’t seen that.”

I stare, stunned. With a smile, she looks like a completely different person. Relaxed, carefree. Approachable even. Instinct drives me a step forward.

Isn’t she uncomfortable crouched down like that? Especially with an alpha towering over her? Granted, my presence isn’t particularly strong, but most people give alphas a second look.

She shifts on her knees, patting her dog while sneaking glances around her, and that’s when I realize the truth. She can’t spring to her feet.

I offer her my hand, stooping down to her level. “If you’d like, I can show you some photos of what I mean?”

Getting in people’s business is a bad idea, especially around here. The locals don’t like suggestions most of the time, only a “yes, sir,” or “right away, sir” response. But I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.

The woman glances at my hand, hesitates, and then takes the offered help. The moment her skin warms mine, I catch a hint of her scent. Jasmine, sweet, softened.

Merda! She’s an omega. A hot pulse runs through my chest.

At the same moment, she pulls free of her dog, revealing a small remote in her other hand. The logo on its metallic gray covering belongs to an ultra up-market security company. No wonder she isn’t afraid of me. But she does seem afraid of something, because she glances out at the sky as if looking for rain, before backing up from the doorway.

“Come in.”

I wipe my boots carefully and step inside, leaving the warm summer sun behind. Like all the houses in Crescent Guild, hers is modern, built with timeless elegance and decorated in pale, neutral shades. Her scent lingers, but it’s overridden by the less natural deodorizer air puffing from a small diffuser on the side table. It’s as if the omega doesn’t like her own Jasmine tones. Which is a pity, really, because I’d love to breathe her scent deeply.

But what strikes me most is the absence of personality in the house. No photos of family on the walls, no eclectic art cobbled together from various travel or combined tastes. Not even rumpled throw rugs draped over chairs or shopping bags waiting to be unpacked. Just quiet refinement that reads like a static home display.

This omega lives as a ghost in her own home.