Page 99 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

Merle has shut down. She is just staring at us with enormous eyes that have washed out all the amber. Her hair is tangled from her constantly running her fingers through it, and the skin around her fingernails is bleeding from where she’s picking. Worse is the flinching. I want to scream every time she flinches away from one of us. Like we’d hurt her, as if we even could. Her body is reacting before her mind recognises us. Her fear identifies a threat, and her body reacts in the only way that she thinks she can survive; by trying to get away.

I hate it. I see the logic in it. My heart doesn’t care about logic. My heart sees my omega hurting and wants to do damage control, and if that means taking out the population from here until the nearest ocean, so be it.

Our return has stopped the bond sickness. She lay in arms, was passed around. We touched her, purred for her. Nothing sexual, just all comfort, and gradually, she relaxed enough to sleep.

The bond sickness did ease.

But it’s like her mind decided the trauma triggered something else, and Merle is reacting to a past event that we can’t see. I can’t kill what I don’t know about.

I stomp my feet louder so she hears me approach and then start speaking, low and soft.

“I’ve brought your eggs.” Pause. I don’t like that pause. “Do you like eggs?”

She hesitates.

I frown, and the alarm in her eyes hurts. She reaches for the plate, but I swing it out of the way.

“Merle, you don’t like eggs, do you?”

She nods her head, but it’s too frantic, her smile too wide. I scowl and shove the plate at King.

“Eat that.”

I go back to the kitchen, but she chases me, grabbing at my arm, miming that she will eat. God, there are tears in her eyes, and she’s shaking. I wrap my fingers really carefully around her hands and pull them off my arm.

“I hate eggs,” I whisper. “Now, we’ve got a great excuse to make muffins.”

She searches my eyes, her body tight as a bow.

“I prefer apple and walnut muffins. Sage likes banana and blueberries.” I watch her face. “Roseland likes orange and poppy seed.”

Her eyes flicker.

Gotcha.

“How about you make a batch of each? And chocolate!” Rolly shouts from the bathroom.

“Hmm, I could do that. I enjoy cooking. It’s very peaceful. Would you like to help me?”

She’s tempted, but then she withdraws into herself again and backs away. Merle looks at King and back at me, gnawing on her bottom lip.

“Stop biting that. If you want to hurt someone or bite someone, I can give you an alpha who will happily lay down and let you nibble your way up and down his body all day long, but I don’t want to see a single drop of blood on this lip. There will be punishments if I do. I’ll make you babysit Rolly during a musical marathon. That is enough to make anyone behave,” I mutter.

Rolly shoots me a grin that is utterly unrepentant.

I walk away from her but watch as she blinks several times. She sways on the spot, looking confused and lost in her head. After another glance at me, then King, she creeps back to the couch and sits there with a ramrod-stiff spine.

I make a circular gesture in the air, and Pix responds at once, walking over and dropping almost on top of her.

“Do you like dogs, Merle?”

Her eyes get wider still. She shakes her head no.

“Oh, thank fuck for that. I am not a dog person, but my best friend Mark loves dogs. The family officially have five, but they are more Mark’s dogs. He treats them like babies, and they always have to lick my face. I hate it.”

“The licking?” Sage asks suggestively.

“From the dog, yes,” Pix growls. “Okay, I have an even better question. Are you a cat person? If you are a cat person, we might have to break up.”