Knot the One They Want (Claimverse Book 1)

This is it. My new home.

The thought echoes hollowly in my mind as the limousine glides to a stop in front of the imposing Blackwood pack house. I stare up at the sprawling mansion, which is far from the sleek lines and cold glass I expected, and try to quell the rising tide of anxiety in my chest. This place looks like some sort of Victorian mansion with its vast columns and ivy climbing up the sides. Even the lights coming through the big, stately windows seem to have a warm and inviting glow, as if they’ve been waiting just for me.

It’s exactly the kind of house I dreamed of living in as a little girl. The flicker of excitement in my chest quickly becomes a stone weight as I remind myself that while this may be the place I live now, it’s far from my home. Not yet.

You can do this, Evie. You have to.

I take a deep breath, wincing as the movement pulls at the tender skin of my neck. The mating bites throb in time with my pulse beneath the collar, a constant reminder of the chains that now bind me to this pack. To them. I can’t for the life of me understand why it’s customary to still wear a collar if they’re this painful in the immediate aftermath.

I know the marks will heal quickly once the mating is complete, but the thought sends a shiver of dread down my spine rather than offering any relief. Mating with one alpha would be daunting enough, but four? Four alphas who have made it abundantly clear how little they think of me, how unwelcome my presence is in their pack?

It feels like a cruel joke, a twisted fairy tale where the princess is thrown to the wolves instead of being saved by her prince charming.

Stop it, I scold myself firmly, giving my reflection in the tinted window a stern look. Pity party over. Time to be the omega you were trained to be.

The pack may be arriving later, but that doesn’t mean I can afford to let my guard down. First impressions are everything, and if I want any hope of winning them over, of carving out a real place for myself here, I need to be perfect.

The perfect omega. Demure, graceful, domestic. Ready to build a warm, inviting nest for her alphas.

No matter how much the very thought makes my stomach churn with resentment.

The driver opens the door and I step out, my heels sinking slightly into the gravel drive. I take a moment to center myself, to slip on the mask of serene composure that has been drilled into me since I first presented.

Smile, Evie. Chin up, shoulders back. Glide, don’t walk.

I ascend the steps to the front door, my hand trembling slightly as I reach for the handle. The door swings open easily, revealing a grand foyer all done up in sleek modern lines that contrast garishly with the warm, classic exterior of the house.

It’s lovely. Cold and impersonal, but undeniably lovely.

Rather like my new alphas, I think wryly.

I make my way deeper into the house, my heels clicking on the polished hardwood floors. It’s eerily quiet, my own breathing unnaturally loud in the stillness. I feel like an intruder, an unwelcome guest in a home that is now meant to be my own.

You have time, I remind myself as I explore the sprawling layout, committing each room to memory. You can make this a home. You WILL make this a home.

Because I am Evangeline Beaumont, and failure has never been an option. Not in my studies, not in my social standing, and certainly not in this, the most important role I will ever undertake.

The heart of the pack.

And I will be flawless. I will win over these alphas, even if it means smiling so hard my cheeks ache and my jaw cracks. Even if it means swallowing my pride and burying my true self so deep she suffocates.

I will do whatever it takes to belong. To finally, finally have a place to call my own.

The maid’s sudden appearance startles me out of my reverie, her stern face and crisp uniform a stark contrast to the warm welcome I had foolishly allowed myself to imagine.

‘Miss Beaumont?’ Her tone is clipped, impersonal. Just like the rest of this place. ‘If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.’

I force a smile, falling into step behind her as she leads me up the grand staircase. ‘Thank you so much. And please, call me Evie.’

She doesn’t respond, her shoulders stiff as she walks briskly down the hallway. I try not to let it bother me, focusing instead on the artwork lining the walls, the plush carpet beneath my feet. Opulent, but sterile. No personal touches, no warmth.

We stop in front of a set of double doors and the maid pushes them open, stepping aside to let me enter. I catch my breath, taking in the spacious room with its ornate furnishings and lavish en suite bathroom. It’s like something out of a magazine, all sumptuous fabrics and gleaming surfaces. There’s a big bay window with a little nook that would make the perfect reading nest, and I instinctively yearn to curl up in it.

The bed itself has four tall wooden posts, which would be ideal for hanging a canopy of fabrics from to make a more secure nest. And that’s the first thing I plan on doing. I may not be able to control the fact that my alphas want nothing to do with me, or that I’m stuck in an arranged mating with no way out, but this space? This is mine to do what I want with. An omega’s nest is the one place in all the world that’s guaranteed to make her feel safe and special and provided for. The one thing she can control.

But as I step further into the room, a sinking feeling takes root in my stomach. There are no nesting supplies. No soft blankets, no plush pillows, no cozy throws to line my nest. The bed is made up with crisp, white linens, hospital corners sharp enough to cut.

Disappointment rises in my throat, hot and bitter. Any alpha worth their salt would know to provide their omega with ample nesting materials, especially on the night of the mating ceremony. It’s a sacred tradition, a way for the omega to create a safe, comforting space to bond with her new mates.

The lack of supplies feels like a slap in the face, a glaring reminder of just how little the Blackwood alphas care about my needs.

I swallow hard, turning to the maid with a brittle smile. ‘Excuse me, could you please tell me where the nesting supplies are kept? I’d like to get my nest set up before the pack comes home.’

She blinks at me, her expression utterly indifferent. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Beaumont, but I don’t believe any supplies were prepared for you.’

I stare at her, my heart sinking. ‘None at all?’ Another gut punch. And I’m sure it was meant as one. Damien’s threat echoes loudly in my mind. You should have run when you had the chance, little omega.

I shake my head, refusing to let him take up any space in it. ‘But surely there must be some extra blankets or pillows somewhere in the house?’

The maid shrugs, already edging toward the door. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, miss. If you’d like, I can show you where we keep the linens, but I’m afraid you’ll have to gather them yourself.’

I bite back a sharp retort, my cheeks flushing with humiliation. Is this what my life will be like now? Constantly begging for scraps, treated like an unwanted burden by everyone in my new home?

‘Yes, please show me,’ I manage through gritted teeth, my composure hanging by a thread.

The maid leads me to a linen closet down the hall, pointing out the various sheets and towels with a bored expression. I thank her stiffly, waiting until she leaves before allowing my shoulders to slump.

Blinking back tears of frustration, I gather an armful of soft blankets and plush pillows, carrying them back to my room. It’s a poor substitute for a proper nest, hastily assembled and devoid of the loving care that should go into its creation.

But it’s all I have. And so, with a heavy heart and a determined set to my chin, I begin to build my nest. Piece by piece, layer by layer, I create a small oasis in the midst of this cold, unwelcoming house.

I step back from the nest once I’m finished, surveying my handiwork with a critical eye. It’s far from the lush, inviting oasis I had always pictured creating for my alphas, but given the meager supplies and cold reception, it’s the best I can manage.

The blankets are artfully draped, the pillows plumped and arranged just so. A small part of me hopes that maybe my efforts will be appreciated. That my alphas will see the care I’ve put into making a welcoming space for our mating and soften toward me, even a little.

I snort softly, shaking my head at my own naivety. I know better than to expect warmth from men who have made it abundantly clear how little they desire me. No, my nest is for me, a small comfort to cling to as I face the daunting prospect of binding myself to near-strangers.

A knock at the door startles me and I hurry to answer, hoping irrationally that it might be one of my alphas coming to deliver the nesting supplies on delay. Instead, I find my suitcase waiting in the hall, delivered with the same cold efficiency as everything else in this house. I lug it inside.

With a sigh, I shed my gown, carefully hanging it in the opulent closet. The silk whispers against my skin as I slip it off, a decadent caress so at odds with the hollow ache in my chest. I pad into the en suite, determined to wash away the travel grime and soak some of the tension from my muscles before the main event.

The bathroom is just as luxurious as the bedroom, all gleaming marble and shining chrome. I twist the tap, watching steam rise as the tub fills, tendrils curling in the air like ghostly fingers. Sinking into the scalding water, I let my eyes flutter closed, trying to empty my mind and just breathe.

It’s a futile effort. Thoughts swirl and churn behind my eyelids, fears and doubts bobbing to the surface no matter how hard I try to push them down.

The water has long since cooled by the time I finally drag myself from the tub, my skin pruned and my mind no more settled than when I first sank into its depths. I wrap myself in a plush towel, the softness a small comfort against the nervousness in my gut.

In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and pale. I look frightened. Vulnerable. Nothing like the poised, put-together omega I’m supposed to be. Swallowing hard, I reach for my silk robe, the material cool and slippery against my flushed skin.

I take my time getting ready, blowing out my hair until it falls in soft, golden waves around my shoulders. I touch up my makeup with a trembling hand, painting on a mask of serenity I don’t feel. Armor, to face the battle ahead.

The nest calls to me, a siren song of comfort and safety. I pad over on bare feet, sinking down into the plush blankets and breathing in the soft, clean scent of the linens. It’s not right, not complete without the mingled scents of my alphas, but it’s the best I can do.

I’ve just settled into the center of the nest when I hear it—the crunch of tires on gravel, the purr of a powerful engine. My breath catches in my throat. They’re here.

Time seems to stretch and warp, each second an eternity as I lie there, listening to the distant sounds of doors slamming, footsteps echoing through the cavernous house. I fight the urge to bolt, to hide, every instinct screaming at me to run from the predators stalking ever closer.

But here I am, the sacrificial lamb, trussed up and waiting for the slaughter. And so I remain, trembling and terrified, as the footsteps draw nearer, my alphas’ scents growing stronger with each passing heartbeat.

The door swings open and they’re there, four pairs of eyes raking over me with varying degrees of intensity. I meet their gazes, chin lifted in a show of defiance even as my fingers twist in the sheets beneath me.

Damien is the first to speak, his voice a low, displeased rumble. ‘You made a nest.’ It’s not a question, but an accusation, his eyes narrowing as they take in the carefully arranged blankets and pillows.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his stare. ‘Of course I did. It’s tradition.’ The words come out steady, belying the fear churning in my gut.

I can see the irritation flash across his face, the tightening of his jaw. But beneath it, just for a moment, there’s something else. Something hungry and hot, a flicker of desire quickly smothered.

Steeling myself, I lean back against the pillows, fighting the urge to cover myself as their gazes follow the movement. With shaking hands, I let my legs fall open, the silk robe parting around my thighs to reveal the vulnerable flesh beneath.

‘Welcome home, alphas.’ My voice wavers on the words, breathy and strained. An offering. A plea. Just like we were taught to present ourselves on our mating night in the advanced omega courses.

For a moment, the air crackles with tension, their eyes darkening with unmistakable want. Even Damien seems affected, his gaze lingering on the smooth expanse of my open thighs, the exposed hollow of my core as I keep myself spread for them, vulnerable and waiting. I hold my breath, waiting for them to pounce, to claim what is now rightfully theirs.

Cole swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his unfathomable eyes lock on what I’ve exposed. Beside him, his brother makes an audible sound, something between a sigh and a growl. Even the ever composed and dashing Asher’s eyes darken and he mouths something that looks suspiciously like, ‘Fucking hell…’

But then Damien’s expression hardens, that familiar coldness settling over his features like a mask. He turns away, and the others follow suit, their backs to me as they file out of the room without a word.

The door closes with a soft click, but it might as well be a gunshot for how it shatters me. I stare at the polished wood, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall.

Rejected. Humiliated. Unwanted.

I lay there for a few moments, open and dismayed, before the realization finally settles on me.

They’re… gone. And they’re not coming back. These four alphas who brought me here took one look at me presenting myself to them, more exposed and vulnerable than I’ve ever been with another person, and they just… walked away.

I curl in on myself, a wounded animal licking its wounds in the safety of its den. But there is no safety here, no comfort to be found in the nest I so carefully crafted. It mocks me now, a symbol of my own foolishness.

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction, even now that I’m on my own.

A low, keening sound escapes my throat, raw and primal. The sound echoes off the cold walls of my so-called nesting room, a testament to my pain and humiliation.

And then, like a match to gasoline, the despair ignites. Fury floods my veins, hot and vicious. How dare they? How fucking dare they?

I lunge to my feet, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it across the room with all my might. It hits the wall with a dull thud, wholly unsatisfying. I need more. I need to destroy something, to tear apart this mockery of a nest just as they’ve torn apart my dreams.

My hands shake as I rip at the blankets, finding a small flaw in the seam and shredding the soft fabric between my fingers. Feathers explode from a down pillow, floating around me like snow as I tear it to pieces. I’m dimly aware that I’m sobbing, ugly, heaving cries that wrack my entire body.

So much for holding the tears back. Not that the alphas are anywhere to be found. I’m pretty sure I heard the rumble of a car engine a few minutes back, anyway. They couldn’t even be bothered to spend our mating night in the same house.

‘Is this what you wanted?’ I scream at the empty room, my voice hoarse and broken. ‘To humiliate me? To break me?’

I grab a vase from the nightstand, some priceless antique no doubt, and hurl it at the mirror. The crash is deafening, shards of glass and porcelain raining down in a glittering cascade. My reflection fractures, a thousand broken Evies staring back at me with wild eyes and flushed cheeks.

Good. Let it break. Let it all break.

I tear through the room like a hurricane, leaving destruction in my wake. The carefully arranged nest is decimated, blankets strewn across the floor, pillows gutted and leaking stuffing. I upturn the mattress, sending it crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.

My knees give out and I collapse to the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of my possessions, my nest, my hopes. The adrenaline drains away, leaving me hollow and aching. I curl in on myself, pressing my forehead to the cool hardwood as sobs wrack my body.

How could I have been so naive? To think that I could win them over, that I could carve out a place for myself here? I was a fool, blinded by fairy tales and outdated notions of true mates and happily ever afters.

I have to leave. I have to get out of here.

But where would I go? Home?

The thought immediately brings a bitter laugh up my throat like bile.

Home, where Vivienne can sneer at me and say, “I knew it”?

Home, where Tristan can smirk and tell me he would have done the same damn thing if he were one of them?

Home, where my father can give me that all too familiar look of appointment before trudging back to his office to find the next poor soul he can foist me off on?

And this time, it’ll be as a rejected omega. One who’s already partially marked. Damaged.

As repugnant as I find the thought of staying here, at least the Blackwoods aren’t dangerous. That’s more than I can say for any pack who’d be willing to take me now. Being ignored and pushed aside is painful, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.

I guess in a sense, I really have been preparing for this my entire life.

Exhaustion settles over me like a heavy blanket. I’m too drained to even crawl back to what’s left of my nest. Instead, I lie there on the hard floor, surrounded by the debris of my shattered dreams.

My eyes flutter closed, the world fading to blessed darkness. Maybe when I wake up, this will all have been a terrible nightmare. Maybe I’ll open my eyes to find myself back in my childhood bedroom, safe and loved and wanted.

But as consciousness slips away, I know the truth. This is my reality now. This cold, loveless pack. This gilded cage.

This is my life. And I’ve never felt more alone.

More rejected.