Page 22 of Rest In Knotty Pieces

He chuckles. “You can’t collect them, my love, they are people.”

I make a noncommittal sound and turn, kissing his cheek. “They have to stay. Just long enough.”

Sage frowns. “For what?”

I hum and bite his jaw. He hisses and pulls away, his hand on my chest, slipping under my robe.

“Blaze?”

I throw my head back and laugh, feeling the part of me that was frustrated and irritated by this collision of people invading my home reset into satisfaction. I start to plan the undoing of my guests.

“Help me keep them?”

Sage frowns. “All of them?”

I press my lips to his throat, purring against the flesh there. “Sage, I want them. I need them.”

He shudders. Although he knows I’m insane, he loves that part of me. He says it’s like dancing with my danger, and it’s just another aspect of me he adores.

“If you need them, then I will get them for you,” Sage replies.

I inhale sharply, pleasure rippling through me. “You are the best alpha ever.”

“I know. But let’s go back before they kill each other. You know, I’m starting to think I should have let you get a puppy.”

I wink at him and pull my black silk kimono shut. “Yeah, you probably should have.”

“House training these four is going to be a lot of work; no slacking. I’m not going to be the bad parent all the time. You have to lay down the law, too.”

“I will.”

We walk back into the room to find Roseland strangling Rolly on the table. Rolly is laughing, even though his face is red, and he’s struggling for air.

King is sitting with his feet on the table, the chair balanced precariously on two legs, while Pix is nowhere in sight.

I narrow my eyes; the room gets cold, and the three of them stop moving and back off, as if they feel the feral danger inside me rising to the surface. Of all the alphas in this room, I am the strongest and most unstable, and my scent is like scenting a man-eating jaguar on a dark night.

“Let’s discuss the rules,” I say in a perfectly modulated tone of voice.

Sage, who is standing just behind me, says quietly enough so only I can hear. “Bad puppies.” Then he laughs.

I don’t find it amusing at all.

Merle

I’m alive.

I lay still, too scared to twitch even a finger, frozen, my heart racing, tears prickling my eyes.Where am I? I was outside, I was in the forest. Why am I in a room, in a bed? Who is going to hurt me now?

My breathing comes harder and faster until I’m gasping, and I can’t…I just can’t get any air. Worse, I’m aware I’m making so much noise, whoever has me will hear me. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to smother the sounds. Spots dance in front of my eyes and then cloud my vision, which shoves me even deeper into my panic.

“Breathe.”

I don’t hear him speak the first time, nor the second or third. I’m not sure when I become aware of his smoky tones, of his calm confidence. His hands are holding my wrists, not in a way that hurts, but as if he’s restraining me. My shoulders burn, and I realise I’ve been clawing at my skin. I didn’t even notice.

“Merle, you need to breathe. Match mine. Ready, inhale, exhale.”

How do you know my name?I want to sob in between desperate sucks of air, just curl up and cry.I’m so tired. Where am I? Why aren’t I dead?