Page 23 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

“You won’t when you’re bleeding from all your orifices.”

“Are you sure? I am crazy, don’t you know?”

Pix goes still, and then his hand closes over mine, grinding the bones together, twisting me until I’m standing in front of him staring at his cold mask.

“You aren’t crazy. You’re perfect.”

My heart slams against my rib cage. I lean in closer to him and catch the strong scent that is always so tightly wrapped around him.

“Pix,” I murmur.

“Don’t read too much into it, Alpha. You are mine. You aren’t crazy, or if you are, it’s the perfect amount. I don’t give a shit what anyone else says.”

“So, you’re claiming me now?”

Pix sighs. “It would seem that we are all bound one way or another. There’s no guarantee we will survive this, so we may as well face facts. Biologically, you are my perfect match. I would like to keep Roseland. If you help me do that, I want you, too.”

“You are obsessed with Roseland. I’m jealous.”

“He continues to resist me; I find it vexing.”

“I find you vexing. And attractive. And altogether far too mysterious. You drive me insane,” I say in a seductive murmur, leaning in and catching his scent, dragging it deep into my lungs.

We’re standing close now, my breath on his lips. He’s only a fraction shorter than me, we’re almost the same size, and the power rolling off him is something that could intimidate the hell out of a lesser alpha. Not me, though; I want to get him mad, I want to see him lose control. I want all those sick smiles of violence and the whispered promises of pain.

“Pix…” I close the distance, flicking my tongue out to taste his bottom lip. He doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t let me any closer either.

“Would you beg me?” Pix snarls warily.

I smile, my eyes crinkling, watching the confused and heated anger turn his skin flush.

“Of course. I have no shame when it comes to you or her.”

His eyes flicker back and forth as if he’s trying to read the truth from me, but I’m an open book. For him.

For them.

I see the moment he believes me, I feel the fight go out of his body, his fingers loosen on mine, all the blood returns in a painful rush, but I ignore it, watching the cocky arrogance turn into something colder, lonelier. He’s waiting for me to reject him, I can see it clear as day, but why?

Because he’s so uncertain of how I feel, I close the distance, wrapping my arms around him, kissing him. Taking and giving. Claiming. I’m not walking away from this omega, this is my declaration, and he is mine to keep, mine to hold, mine to protect.

Even from his own demons.

“Why do you think I’m going to walk away?” I whisper against his lips. “Why are you defeated before we even begin?”

He stiffens, but I don’t allow him to pull away. We’re too tightly wrapped together now, and though he struggles, I refuse to let go. My teeth graze his jaw, and I give him a warning bite, which drags him into stillness.

“Who didn’t want you?” I ask in deadly silence.

He trembles. “My family. My dad. I was a tool, a weapon to be trained. To steal, to bring in money, to deceive. Every time I went back to the Sanderson’s, he’d wait and then come get me. I’d stay, living like shit, getting beaten, starving, until Yvonne would find his new hideout and come get me.”

“They saved you.” I stroke his hair and close my hand on the back of his neck, holding him still.

“How did you get away?”

“He died in a ridiculous argument when I was seventeen.”

“You saw it?”