Page 59 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

The screaming stops. The begging stops. The man who haunted my nightmares becomes nothing more than another body feeding the flames.

I don’t feel joy.

I don’t feel guilt.

Only peace.

The kind that comes when something broken is finally laid to rest.

I don’t bother to stick around to watch the fire burn. There is nothing left for me in these ashes. Not when I can feel my own heat taking control of my body.

It rolls through me in slow, relentless waves, circling beneath my skin like fate itself has finally decided it’s time for me to move onto my next chapter.

Behind me, my past dies in fire.

Ahead of me, my future waits beneath the moonlight.

When I turn and walk straight out of the bunker, letting my pack mates deal with the aftermath like they promised, I don’t look back. Brett dies with the version of me that spent her life wondering who she was. The woman who walks out of this bunker has a pack waiting for her.

I shed my clothes, then reach into the back of my car for a jersey I had prepared earlier, pulling it over my head so it is the only thing covering me.

It hangs almost to the tops of my thighs, carrying the familiar scent of cedar, leather and ice that has slowly become my home. The fabric settles against my skin just as another wave of heat rolls through me, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Perfect timing.

My pack freezes once they finally make their way out of the bunker, billows of dark grey smoke following them. Orange firelight dances behind them, casting their shadows impossibly long across the forest floor.

They look like nightmares.

Wraiths of the night.

Predators.

Mine.

The smoke clings to them like ghosts. Ash dusts their skin. Their eyes lock onto mine with the same primal hunger that’s been simmering beneath the surface for months.

Death has always looked terrifying from the outside. Standing here now, I finally understand why nobody ever warns you how beautiful it can be.

It's a good thing I am ready to be their prey.

My pulse races. Not with fear. With anticipation. Because I know exactly who is hunting me. And I know they’ll never let me fall.

“Come catch me.”

I turn, taking off in a run, straight into the thick woods. I crash through the thick brush, sticks and branches trying to slow me down but I refuse to let them. Sweat pours down my body as I squint my eyes, trying to use the silver hue of the moonlight to guide me.

I slow down after a few minutes, the sounds of the woods filtering in. I startle when an owl hoots from somewhere above me. I shake my head at myself, annoyed that I let it put me off. I try to calm my breathing, not wanting that to be the thing that tips them off too early to my whereabouts. My scent is already doing that enough on its own.

The sticks beneath my feet creak and snap beneath each step I take. I try to tread quietly, choosing carefully where I step with painful precision, but the snapping of a branch behind me has me whirling around, my heart lurching in my throat. Three shadowed, masked figures stand between the trees, their shirtless skin glistening beneath the light of the moon, looking less like men and more like death given form.

If I thought they were nightmares before, it is nothing compared to the darkness they embody now. The gunmetal skull masks glimmer beneath the silver moonbeams shining through the trees, hinting at the intricate, almost lace-like metalwork detail that conceals their faces. Each of their chests heave with exertion, sweat glistening across their sunkissed skin.

The figures before me aren’t men. They are beasts. Completely surrendered to their baser instincts. I can smell it on them. The men are more wolf than man.

I know it. I can feel it in my blood. Because I am too.

“Caught you, Omega” the middle one,Sashasays. I know he is smiling under his mask, that predatory glimmer in his blue eyes making them almost incandescent in the dark.