Knot the One They Want (Claimverse Book 1)

God, does this man ever shut up about his stock portfolio?

It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to let my eyes visibly glaze over as dinner passes in the most mindnumbingly boring small talk I’ve ever suffered through. And that’s including an instructor at finishing school who loved going off on tangents about her moonlighting gig as a golf caddy.

I sneak a glance at my watch under the table. How has it only been twenty minutes? This dinner feels endless already.

I force another bright smile as Mr. Sinclair pauses for breath, nodding along like I’m just fascinated by the riveting tale of his latest hedge fund ventures. ‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ I gush, batting my lashes. ‘You must be incredibly savvy to navigate the market like that.’

He puffs up at the praise, chest practically swelling with alpha pride. I have to bite my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes. They’re all so predictable. Just stroke their egos and they’ll eat out of your hand.

But as he launches into yet another long-winded explanation, I feel my smile becoming more strained, the exhaustion I’ve been fighting threatening to show through my carefully crafted mask. I’m just so tired. It’s getting harder and harder to be the sparkly, vivacious Evie that everyone expects. Especially with the way Damien’s gaze keeps flickering to me all throughout the evening, cold and assessing, like he’s just waiting for me to slip up.

I can’t, though. I can’t give him the satisfaction of being right about me, of thinking I’m not cut out for this role. I straighten in my chair, willing energy into my voice as I chime in with another inane comment. The investor chuckles, clearly charmed, and some of the tension leaves Damien’s shoulders.

Good. Crisis averted for now.

I just need to get through this dinner, keep the conversation flowing so Damien can work his business magic. Prove to him, and myself, that I can do this.

But as the minutes tick by, my head starts to feel fuzzy, my limbs heavy with fatigue. When was the last time I ate an actual meal or got more than a couple hours of sleep? The dining room suddenly feels stifling, the alpha’s booming voice grating against my nerves that are stretched taut to snapping.

Breathe, Evie. You’re fine. You’ve done this a thousand times.

I inhale slowly through my nose, imagining I’m breathing in serenity and poise, my fraying composure knitting back together. I can’t fall apart, not here, not in front of Damien and his impressively banal business associate.

I paste on my most dazzling smile yet as a server sets dessert in front of me, a fancy concoction drizzled in chocolate. The servants were having a hard time earlier with the glaze, so I just handled it myself.

The investor makes an approving noise, his eyes lingering on me in a way that makes my skin crawl. I avert my gaze, focusing on delicately lifting a forkful of the rich confection to my lips. Just a little longer and then I can retreat to the privacy of my room and let the suffocating mask drop.

Under the table, I curl my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. The sharp sting helps center me, reminds me that this is just another role to play, another act to put on. The perfect, poised omega hostess, hanging on the big, important alpha’s every word.

Never mind that inside I feel like I’m splintering apart piece by piece, the cracks in my facade widening with every fake smile and forced giggle. I’ll hold it together through sheer force of will if I have to.

I catch Damien watching me again out of the corner of my eye, his expression unreadable. Daring me to let him down.

I lift my chin and take another bite of the cloying dessert. I won’t. I’ll show him, show everyone, just how perfect an omega I can be.

Even if it means erasing the real Evie, piece by broken piece.

As the investor takes another bite of dessert, he lets out an appreciative moan. ‘My compliments to the chef. This is exquisite.’ He turns to me with a smile that’s just a touch too familiar. ‘And might I say, you are quite the talented omega. Beautiful and skilled in the kitchen. The alphas of this pack are lucky indeed.’

I duck my head, feigning a pleased flush even as irritation prickles under my skin. Guess there’s a silver lining to the fever, after all.

Damien cuts in smoothly. ‘Yes, we are fortunate to have such an excellent staff. The chefs outdid themselves tonight.’

My head jerks up, hurt lancing through me at the dismissal. He can’t even let me have this small moment, this one acknowledgment of my efforts?

Lori, bless her, pipes up from her spot against the wall. ‘Actually, Mr. Blackwood, Miss Evie made the dessert herself. She was in the kitchen all afternoon.’

I risk a tiny smile at Lori in thanks, even as I feel Damien’s glare boring into the side of my head. He sips his wine, the line of his shoulders rigid with barely suppressed fury.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur, forced pleasantries and strained smiles. I push the food around my plate, stomach twisting with nerves and exhaustion.

Finally, after an eternity, the investor sits back, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. ‘I must say, Damien, I had my doubts about placing my faith in such a young alpha, especially not knowing which direction the company will go in once you take over from your father.’

But the investor just chuckles, shaking his head. ‘I’m happy to say those fears were clearly unfounded. It’s clear that you’re a family man with a good head on your shoulders if you managed to land yourself such a perfect omega.’ He winks at me.

I avert my gaze again, murmuring a humble thanks even as bile rises in my throat. Damien’s jaw clenches, but he inclines his head graciously. ‘Your confidence in me and in the future of Blackwood Enterprises is greatly appreciated.’

Lake catches my eye as Damien rises to see the investor out, giving me a small, reassuring smile. It does little to soothe the maelstrom brewing in my gut. The unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

I played my part. I was the perfect, charming omega, complimenting the alpha and fading into the background. And yet it still wasn’t enough. The dessert, my efforts, dismissed like they were nothing. Like I’m nothing beyond a pretty ornament on Damien’s arm.

No… that would mean he actually had to touch me.

Humiliation burns hot and prickling across my skin, warring with the bone-deep fatigue settling over me. I need to get out of here, need to breathe air not choked with alpha posturing and disdain.

Mechanically, I push to my feet, pasting on one more bright smile for the staff as I praise them for their efforts tonight before I excuse myself. My heels click too loudly against the wood floors as I stride down the hall.

The hall seems to stretch on forever, the walls wavering and tilting at odd angles as I stumble toward my room. I blink hard, trying to clear the haze from my vision, but it only makes the vertigo worse. My skin feels too tight, like it might split at the seams, and a cold sweat beads at my hairline.

Just a little further. Just get to your room and you can rest.

I fumble with the doorknob, my fingers clumsy and trembling. It takes three tries before I manage to twist it open and practically fall inside, catching myself on the edge of the vanity.

Alone. I’m alone and I can finally stop pretending. The smile slides off my face like oil, my shoulders slumping as if a puppeteer has cut my strings. In the mirror, my reflection stares back, eyes glassy and cheeks fever-bright against pallid skin.

God, I look awful.

I need to check the bandages, see if the antibiotics are doing anything to combat the infection. My fingers shake as I peel back the gauze, the pain sharpening to a searing burn that steals my breath. I grit my teeth and look down.

My stomach lurches. The wounds are angry red and weeping, the skin around them puffy and inflamed. Worse, dark tendrils snake out from the punctures, mapping the veins beneath my skin.

It’s spreading.

Oh god, what do I do?

Lori was right. I need help, need a doctor or healer or something. This is beyond my ability to handle on my own, the festering wounds and climbing fever a terrifying harbinger of worse to come.

But the thought of crawling to Damien, of admitting weakness and watching the disgust and disappointment shutter his eyes… I can’t. The humiliation would be unbearable. He’s already looking for any excuse to cast me aside. I can’t give him more ammunition.

I’ll deal with it myself. I have to.

Maybe I can call a car and slip out without them noticing. It’s not like they pay me any mind when there’s not company, anyway. My omega duty for the night is done. That should buy me some time. Maybe even until morning.

The room dips and spins as I push off the vanity, black spots swarming my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through my nose as I fumble for the door to the en suite. Just some cool water on my face and another dose of meds and I’ll be fine to go.

I manage two shuffling steps before the floor seems to tilt under me. I stagger, hand flailing for purchase and finding only air. My hip cracks against the hard lip of the bathtub as I go down, pain exploding through my fever-addled brain.

I lay stunned on the tile, lungs laboring for breath that won’t come. The ceiling whirls dizzyingly above me, shadows bleeding into the edges of my sight. Distantly, I hear a whimper, a thin thread of sound. It takes me a moment to realize it came from my own throat.

Help. I need help.

But the cry dies on my lips, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth. Even if I could call out, who would come? The staff are all busy cleaning up. The pack is scattered.

And Damien…

A sob hitches in my chest, tears burning my eyes. Damien would probably step right over my crumpled body, lip curled in revulsion. He’s made it crystal clear what he thinks of me.

A weak, useless omega.

A burden.

A mistake.

The cold of the tile seeps into my bones as I lay there, strength leaching out of my limbs. Shivers wrack me, my skin clammy with sweat. I need to move, need to get up, but my body refuses to cooperate.

So tired. I’m so tired.

Black mist creeps along the edges of my consciousness, insidious tendrils pulling me down into its smothering embrace. I try to resist, but it’s like fighting against a riptide, the undertow of exhaustion dragging me down deeper and deeper. As my eyes flutter closed, one last crystalline thought pierces the descending fog.

I’m going to die alone on a bathroom floor.