Page 1 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter One

Chloe

S team clouds the bathroom mirror, and I wipe a circle clear with the side of my hand, revealing my flushed reflection. The hot shower helped relax my muscles, but nothing could touch the restlessness that had filled me over the last week.

Every time I stop working, the email from the Omega Registration Office flashes through my mind, sending me into a spiral of confusion with no answers.

Confirmation: Sinclair pack descendant.

The DNA results required for my courtship with the pack Alphas of Misty Pines threw my life on its head. I search my face. Wide pink eyes, rounded cheeks, and rosebud lips. I resemble my mother too much to pick out any defining Sinclair features.

Am I my father’s daughter, after all? Or did my mother have an affair with someone else in the pack? Why did she falsify my DNA?

The questions pound through me, and the only one who can answer them is my mother, who I cut off and took out a restraining order to prevent further contact.

As I pick up my towel to dry off, the healing scratches marking my arms and legs catch my attention.

Instead of angry red scabs, they’ve faded to pale pink lines.

I trace one with my fingertip, the raised flesh still tender.

Evidence of my flight through the woods, branches whipping across my skin as I ran for my life.

The memory crashes over me without warning, and I grip the edge of the counter for balance. Louie’s voice rings in my ears, calling my name, his sickly-sweet scent of almonds and anise filling my nostrils, the roughness of his hands on my body?—

I shudder, wrapping the towel around me as my heart pounds, the echo of terror still so fresh .

Then comes the other memory, the one that lives in my nightmares.

Louie staring unseeing at the treetops. Blood pooling beneath his head, seeping into the forest floor. The metallic scent of death mixing with his poisonous pheromones.

My stomach heaves, and I fall to my knees beside the toilet, retching up nothing but stomach acid.

I hadn’t killed him. But he had been planning to do such horrible things to me and my chosen pack. Blake, Nathaniel, Dominic, and Holden. My Alphas, though I still have trouble believing it sometimes. I’d given them up to save them from Louie, given up on the chance of a future with them.

“Stupid.” The word echoes into the porcelain bowl of the toilet, and I reach up a shaky hand to flush. “So stupid.”

I’d almost destroyed everything by running away, thinking my sacrifice would somehow protect them. But Louie had never planned to uphold his end of the bargain and leave them alone.

With a groan, I wobble to my feet, stumbling to the sink to brush my teeth again.

I hated Louie. He had lived as a threat to my freedom for years.

My own mother had sold me into courtship with him to pay the way for her extravagant lifestyle.

I should be celebrating that he’ll never bother me again, but his death left more questions in its wake.

Simon, my superfan, stalked me on the island in the name of protecting me. He had almost killed Grady, my best friend, and Dominic. And then he had vanished before I found out what he meant about my father. The King? Who was he referring to?

I thought he’d been talking crazy, but with the DNA results… What did he know? What was real and what was his crazy fantasy?

The bathroom grows chilly as the steam dissipates, and I trade my towel for my bathrobe before padding over to the vanity. Morning light filters through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the king-sized, canopied bed that’s too large for me to be sleeping in alone every night.

Because it’s not only for me—it’s for all of us, when the time comes for my Heat. The thought sends a flutter of anticipation mingled with nervousness through my stomach.

I reach for my brush, working it through my long pink hair, the color a signifier of my Omega status.

It’s hard to believe I once tried to hide it beneath a blond wig, tried to use blue contacts to hide my true colors so I could pass as a Beta.

So much has happened since I ended my book tour and stepped off the boat on Misty Pines for a two-week vacation to plan my next big series.

Back then, I never imagined this would become my home.

My fingers work, separating my hair into three sections to braid it. Over, under, over, under. The repetitive motion soothes my jangled nerves. With the ends secured, I stand and move to the walk-in closet, stuffed full of clothing Dominic bought, intermixed with items I brought from my apartment.

My fingers trail over the hangers, stopping at a section of soft fabrics. My onesies. I pull one out, a white-and-black cow-patterned outfit Grady gave me. The tag still hangs from the sleeve, the garment never worn.

I rub the soft fabric over my cheek. For so long, these outfits were my security blankets, my way of coping when my world burned down. I used to wear them almost every day to combat the anxiety of losing my home as a teenager. But since meeting the Misty Pines Alphas, I haven’t needed them.

I put the onesie back, moving to another section.

My hand closes around a thick, oversized sweater in a deep forest green.

I add a pair of black leggings and thick socks for the cool morning.

My fingers linger at my throat, where I used to wear my lucky shamrock necklace, and a pang goes through me. Yet another casualty of Louie.

I glance in the mirror one last time. The scratches on my arms are hidden now, but they’re still there. Healing like the rest of me.

A dab of strawberry lip gloss brings with it a bubble of happiness, and I head downstairs for breakfast.

The open ground level hums with morning chaos as I descend the stairs. Quinn’s high-pitched voice cuts through the background noise of coffee brewing and news playing on Dominic’s tablet.

The little girl balances on one foot while waving a piece of paper at her Uncle Blake. His long brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and stray strands escape to frame his bearded face as he tries to pour orange juice while appreciating his niece’s latest masterpiece at the same time.

“Look, Uncle Blake! It’s Sprinkles catching butterflies! See his tongue? It’s super long because he’s trying so hard!” Quinn twirls, her long brown hair fanning out around her, the skirt of her purple dress rising with the motion.

Blake lifts the pitcher of juice out of range, his tattooed forearm flexing. “That’s amazing, princess. You made his fur so fluffy.”

“And this butterfly has pink wings like Aunt Chloe’s hair!” Quinn spots me and gasps, abandoning Blake to race toward me. “Aunt Chloe! I drew Sprinkles catching butterflies, and this pink one is named after you because it’s pretty like you!”

I bend to examine the drawing, the paper covered in crayon scribbles with a massive black blob that must be Sprinkles based on the red tongue stretching toward a collection of colorful shapes fluttering above. The pink one does indeed stand out.

“That’s the best butterfly I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, breathing in her sweet scent. “You made it extra sparkly.”

“That’s because you’re sparkly inside,” Quinn says with complete confidence, stating an irrefutable fact.

Her statement catches me off guard, and warmth blooms in my chest.

“S-speech therapy. At eight in the morning. On a S-saturday.” Grady’s slurred words drag my attention to one of the small tables next to the fireplace.

My best friend sits hunched over a coffee mug, protecting it like it contains the last drops of caffeine in the world. He wears his golden-blond hair swept to the side in his usual style, but this morning it’s disheveled.

“That’s the only available appointment slot,” Dominic murmurs from where he lounges on the new settee that had appeared after Grady moved into the Homestead.

The small couch and matching chairs now create a cozy sitting area near the fireplace, offering another place to sit and relax.

Grady’s shoulders hunch. “I’d rather go b-back into the coma, thanks.”

I wince at his dark humor. Two weeks ago, Grady was in the hospital, where he’d been lying in a coma for a month following Simon’s attack.

My stomach twists with the memory of his pale face in the hospital bed, and my hands move to my hips. “That’s not funny, Grady Finch!”

“Uh-oh.” Dominic swipes to a new screen. “First and last name. You’re in trouble now.”

“I’m just s-saying it could have waited until an afternoon appointment was available,” Grady grumbles into his coffee. “B-being s-self-employed means getting to s-sleep in.”

Annoyance twists his handsome features. Coming out of a coma had only been the first step in his recovery. He still slurs and stumbles over his words, which frustrates my fussy friend who has always prided himself on his elocution.

Softening, my arms drop to my sides. “Once you’re established, you can work out a better schedule so you don’t miss your beauty sleep.”

“You’re t-too cheerful in the morning.” He glares over the rim of his mug. “While I s-sound like a deflating s-snake.”

“Aww, someone needs a hug.” I swoop forward to hug him around the shoulders. “Who’s a grumpy pus? Yes, you are.”

“Off, woman.” He bats me away. “I need at leas-st t-two more cups of coffee before I can d-deal with you.”

Laughing, I straighten and rub my nose, trying to dispel the artificial cedarwood and bourbon cologne he wears. I’ll take the itchy nose, though, to have him here and alive.

“Fine, go back to hunching over your coffee like a goblin.” As I turn away, Dominic draws my attention.

He sits with a stiffness to his posture that developed after the attack, and his black hair hangs loose instead of in his usual French braid, falling in waves over his shoulders. He holds the tablet at eye level instead of bending his head, watching the news with a slight furrow between his brows.

As he shifts position, a flash of pain crosses his face before he masks it, and my heart clenches.

It’s been almost two weeks since Simon threw him into a tree during the confrontation in the woods.

The image of Dominic’s body flying through the air is still vivid.

I can still hear the sickening thud as he hit the trunk.

See the way he crumpled to the ground. Feel the fear of not knowing if he was alive or dead.

Yet another thing that fills my nightmares.

I drift closer, drawn by concern and the need to confirm he’s still here, still healing.

His gray eyes flick up to meet mine, catching me staring.

I perch on the arm of the couch. “Your head still hurting?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t fine. He holds himself too carefully, and his warm complexion holds a slight pallor. Dominic hates appearing weak. The fact that he’s still struggling with the effects of his concussion two weeks later frustrates him.

“Hmm,” I respond, unconvinced. The citrus-and-musk pheromones emanating from him hold a sharp edge to them, but I don’t push it. Instead, I gesture toward his empty coffee mug. “You need a refill?”

He looks at it in surprise before turning back to me. For a moment, I think pride will make him insist on fetching it himself despite the pain. But then his expression softens.

“Yeah.” He holds the mug out to me. “Thanks.”

Our fingers brush as I take it, and a spark shoots up my arm—not from static in the dry air, but a connection that stirs my Omega instincts.

His pupils dilate in response.

“Black, right?” I ask, since it’s his second cup, and he only adds creamer to the first one of the day.

“Right.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, transforming his face, softening the hard edges and reminding me of the boy I grew up with.

The one I was meant to bond with.

Confirmation: Sinclair pack descendant.

The words flash across my mind again. If my mother hadn’t falsified my DNA when she registered me, where would Dominic and I be right now? Married? Would we have pups? Would I never have met Grady or written my first breakout series? Would he have ever met Blake, Holden, and Nathaniel?

Would the dream of Misty Pines have died before they ever conceived of it?

Would I give up everything I have now if it meant sparing my younger self from all that pain?