Page 9 of Torment Me Knot
Her face pinches and she swipes a hand through her hair. Her jaw works before she speaks. “You don’t have to do anything for this. You were hungry and I should have thought of getting you food sooner. This is on me, and just so we’re clear, under no circumstances do you need to do anything for food. Or anything else for that matter.”
Words. Just words. She could change them in a second.
But the smell of the soup is climbing into my head and my mouth, and I'm already pushing up on my elbows, testing. Testing what she said. Testing what happens.
My arms shake. I get halfway up and have to stop, breath sawing, the room tilting at the edges.
“Let me—”
I freeze. Every muscle locks.
Sera stops mid-word. Her hand, already half-lifted toward me, goes still in the air. She doesn't close the distance. She sets her hand back down on the mattress, slow, and waits.
My stomach growls. Loud. Embarrassing. A raw, animal sound that gives me away. The soup smells like salt and something green and my mouth is watering so hard it hurts. I can't think past it. I can't think past the tray being there and my body being here and the space between us closing if I just reach.
I slide the tray closer. I fumble a toast triangle and it drops to the sheets. Heat floods my face. I try again, get it to my mouth, chew. My stomach clenches around the bite I manage to get down, but I can’t make myself stop. When the toast is gone, I reach for the soup.
The spoon shakes in my grip, broth sloshing over the edges. I spill more than I swallow, liquid dripping down my chin, onto the sheets.
“Sweetheart,” Sera whispers. She looks miserable.
Weak. Disgusting. Can't even feed yourself like an animal.
“I c-can…” When I drop the spoon the second time, she darts in.
I flinch. Hard, violent, jerking back against the pillows. My heart pounds against my sternum, vision tunneling down to her hands.
She freezes. Her scent goes rancid with distress. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to help you eat, I wasn't going to...”
She trails off, pulls her hands back, sits on them. Actually sits on her own hands, pinning them beneath her thighs like she can't trust to not reach for me again.
Her eyes gleam as she holds my gaze. “I would never hurt you. I know that doesn't mean anything right now. I know words are cheap. But I need to say it anyway. I will never raise a hand to you. I will never force you. I will never...”
She stops. Swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is rough.
“What do you need? Tell me what you need and I'll do it. If you need me to leave, I'll leave. If you need me to stay but not touch you, I can do that. If you need me to sit across the room and not look at you, I'll do that too. Just tell me. Please, I… I need to look after you. That’s all.”
I stare at her. The words don't make sense. They're the wrong shape, like she's speaking a language I used to know. Alphas don't ask. Alphas take. They decide what you need and give it to you whether you want it or not.
“D-don't...” The word scrapes out of my throat like broken glass. “Just... don't...”
I can't finish. Can't string the words together.Don't touch me. Don't come closer. Don't make me need you.But she nods like I said something coherent. Like she understood.
“Okay.” Some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders. Her scent starts to shift, the burnt edge fading, though the worry remains. “I understand. I won't touch you again. Not until you ask me.”
She wants to fix me. Her scent is a mess, protective fury tangled with anguish and something that might be patience. I can't tell what any of it means. I ignore it. Focus on the soup. On surviving this meal. On getting strong enough to run.
“We're going to figure this out.” She smiles. Small. Sad. Tentative, like she's not sure she's allowed. The worried lines smooth away, the corners of those amber eyes crinkling.
Beautiful.
For one heartbeat, my chest unclenches. The constant brace-for-impact eases, leaving only the warmth in her eyes and the ghost of that smile. Like she might actually mean all the gentle things she keeps saying.
But maybe that’s just biology. The omega part of me twisting hope into something dangerous. Convincing me fate might finally be kind. Convincing me this alpha is who she claims to be.
The fucked up part is that I can’t tell if any of it is real.
Chapter Five
