Page 88 of Knot my First Rodeo

The temperature in the room drops. Not with anger, but with seriousness. All three of them meet my eyes in turn.

“Done,” Briggs says.

“Not even a nip,” Tripp adds, his tone flat with finality.

Clint’s thumb traces a slow circle against my hip. “We can do that.”

My throat tightens. “I mean it. If anyone even tries⁠—”

“No one’s gonna try,” Tripp cuts in, his voice low. “We’re alphas, not animals. You give a boundary, we build a wall around it. That’s how this works.”

Briggs steps forward, and lifts my chin with two fingers. “Anything else? Pain limits? Positions you don’t want?”

I shake my head, my pulse hammering. “That’s it. Just those.”

He holds my gaze for a beat longer, then releases me. “Then we’re set.”

Clint’s hand slides up my spine. “You did good, Darling. Now let’s get you comfortable.”

The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. I’m still shaking, still hot and achy, but the cramps have dulled to a low throb now that everything’s out in the open.

Tripp pushes away from the table. “Cool. Next step. Nest.”

I blink. “…Nest?”

“Yeah,” he says like this is obvious. “C’mon. Upstairs.”

Tripp’s already heading for the hallway, boots scuffing against the hardwood, and I’m still rooted in place, my brain catching up.

“Nest,” I repeat, testing the word. It sounds ridiculous. Like something birds do. Like something I should have figured out before now.

Clint’s hand slides from my spine to the curve of my waist, turning me gently. “You’ve never made one?”

I shake my head, gaze fixed on the doorway where Tripp disappeared. “I mean…I know of them. Omegas build them during heat. But I’ve never…”

I trail off because admitting I’ve never even thought about it feels like admitting I’ve been hiding from this part of myself for years. Which, I guess, I have.

Briggs steps into my line of sight, those whiskey eyes soft. “It’s instinct, mostly. You’ll know what you want once you’re in the room, but we’ll help.”

“We’ve got blankets,” Clint adds, his breath warm against my ear. “Pillows. Our clothes from the laundry room. Anything soft that you like.”

A shiver runs down my arms. My scent, black cherry and almond, feels thin and distant compared to the wall of alpha musk surrounding me.

I let Clint guide me forward, my legs moving on autopilot. The stairway stretches ahead, dim and familiar, but tonight it feels like a tunnel leading somewhere I’ve never been.

Tripp’s already at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed. The light from the hall catches the dark brown of his hair, turning it almost copper. The key lime pie scent he carries wraps around me like a rope, pulling me up step by step.

“Your room is the most familiar,” he says when I reach the landing. “Figured that’d work best. Close to the bathroom, and the bed’s solid.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my voice small.

Briggs comes up behind me, close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his chest. His banana cream scent cuts through the faint scent of the room’s air freshener.

“Start with what you want. The softest thing you own. The one blanket you can’t sleep without.”

I think about my bed at home. The ratty throw blanket I stole from my brother’s dorm years ago. The pillow that’s molded to my head.

“I don’t have anything here,” I say. “I wasn’t exactly planning to⁠—”