Page 2 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Two

Chloe

“ C hloe?” Dominic’s fingers graze the back of my hand, sending sparks skittering up my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Great!” I chirp and half-tumble off the arm of the couch in my rush to put distance between us. When hurt flashes across his face, I hold up the mug as an excuse. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, what about me?” Grady whines when I pass. “If you’re already going that way…”

I huff but snatch up his mug, too. Grady still needs a cane to balance, so walking around with hot beverages is dangerous.

I push through the swinging door into the kitchen and find Holden in his element, light golden-brown curls falling across his forehead as he flips pancakes with practiced ease.

The room smells like heaven, with butter browning in pans, maple syrup warming in a small pot, fresh coffee, and underneath it all, the sweet vanilla cake scent belonging to Holden himself.

His head lifts as I enter, hazel eyes tracking my movement with a watchfulness that’s become familiar these past two weeks. It’s the look of someone afraid I might disappear if he blinks too long.

“Morning,” I say, moving toward the coffee pot.

Holden’s hands remain steady, pouring batter into perfect circles, but his attention follows me. A stack of pancakes already towers on a plate beside him, golden-brown and fluffy. Next to them sits a bowl of fresh strawberries, bananas, and blueberries.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, voice casual.

I reach for the coffee pot, and Holden’s attention zeroes in on my movement. He’s been like this since my final encounter with Louie, always keeping track of where I am and what I’m doing. At night, he’s the last Alpha to say goodnight and the first to check on me in the morning.

“Better,” I tell him, which isn’t a total lie.

I only woke up once last night with my heart pounding and the sensation of phantom hands grabbing my ankles. But it was an improvement over the three or four times it had been happening. I hadn’t slept with any of the Alphas since that night for fear of waking them up with my nightmares.

Holden’s shoulders relax, and the freckles scattered across his cheeks stand out as his focus returns to his pancakes. He’s the shortest of my Alphas, but still taller than me. Where Blake is built like a mountain and Dominic like a swimmer, Holden has a solid, sturdy quality to him.

Dependable.

The kind of person who nurtures and cares.

And he’s been caring for me—for all of us—with a fierceness that sometimes takes my breath away. He didn’t take it well when he learned I had planned to sacrifice myself for the pack. The others had been angry, worried, and protective, but my heart still aches when I remember Holden’s devastation.

I tried to explain how I thought I was protecting them, that I believed Louie would leave them alone if he had me. But Holden hadn’t been able to comprehend it. They were my Alphas, and he took my choice to face danger alone rather than let them help me as a sign I didn’t trust them.

Since then, I’ve found him sleeping on the couch in the living room upstairs in the family quarters more than once, curled under a blanket, his face peaceful but his body positioned between my bedroom door and the stairs.

Always guarding, always watching. It’s both touching and heartbreaking.

I never meant to hurt him. I just wanted to protect him.

I leave the mugs of coffee on the countertop and move to his side as he flips another perfect pancake. The spatula appears small in his hand, which bears tiny scars from cuts and burns.

I lean into him, rubbing my cheek on his hard bicep. “These smell amazing.”

“Almost ready,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “Bacon is warming in the oven, and I made extra for Quinn because she’s going through a growth spurt, according to Blake.”

His thoughtfulness touches me. “Dominic needs to eat with his meds.”

“Already have his plate planned. I made his favorite. Blueberry pancakes.” Holden gestures with the spatula toward a separate stack. “And I made those chocolate-chip mouse ones for Quinn, and the plain ones are for you because you like to add more butter.”

My heart swells at his attention to detail, and the way he catalogs our preferences, accommodating them without being asked. “Such a good Alpha, caring for everyone.”

A flush spreads across his freckled cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing. It’s everything.

On my tiptoes, I kiss Holden’s cheek, collect the coffee, and leave, feeling Holden’s eyes following me.

The kitchen door swings shut behind me, and I navigate around Quinn, who’s now sprawled on the floor with more paper and crayons, drawing a purple horse with wings.

I deliver Grady’s coffee first, then head over to Dominic with his. He still scrolls on his tablet, his dark eyebrows drawn together, and pain tightens the corners of his mouth.

“Here you go,” I say, offering the mug. “Holden says breakfast is almost ready, and he made your favorite blueberry pancakes.”

“I can’t say I dislike being spoiled.” The tension in Dominic’s face softens as he reaches for the coffee.

Our fingers brush in the exchange, and that buzz of awareness races through my body like electricity again, heating me.

His pupils dilate, his nostrils flaring as he catches the change in my scent. Alphas can detect arousal in Omegas, just as I can pick up on their interest in the subtle shift of their scents. Dominic’s citrus-and-musk pheromones grow richer.

“Thanks,” he says, voice lower than before. Hope lights his face, and he tilts his head in a subtle, unmistakable invitation.

My cheeks warm. It would be so easy to lean in, to brush my lips over his, to let the spark between us turn into desire. More and more, it’s getting harder to remember why I keep resisting the pull between us.

“Uncle Blake, I need glitter,” Quinn yells, bringing me upright at the reminder we’re not alone.

“No glitter before breakfast,” Blake rumbles.

With an apologetic shrug, I step back.

Understanding fills Dominic’s face, along with disappointment. His fingers curl around the mug, knuckles whitening as if restraining himself from reaching for me.

As I turn away, a flash of movement outside the window catches my eye. I move closer to the glass, peering out into the yard.

Nathaniel stands on the path outside, throwing a ball for Sprinkles. His blond hair gleams in the morning sunlight, swept back from his forehead in neat waves .

Even this early in the morning, he appears put-together dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, this one a deep blue that compliments his brown eyes.

Nathaniel throws the ball again, and the black Newfoundland bounds after the ball with surprising grace for such a large dog.

“Breakfast is ready!” Holden calls out from the kitchen.

When Nathaniel doesn’t turn toward the house, I slip outside to fetch him.

As I step onto the porch, the crisp morning air wraps around me, carrying hints of pine and dew-soaked grass.

Sprinkles returns with the tennis ball, dropping it at Nathaniel’s feet and looking up expectantly with his tail wagging. Nathaniel bends to scratch behind the dog’s ears, murmuring praise, and the massive Newfoundland’s tail sweeps back and forth.

Then Sprinkles’s head turns, his nose lifting as he catches my scent. Our eyes lock, his deep, soulful, black ones and my wary, pink ones. My fingers tighten on the porch railing.

In an instant, the dog abandons Nathaniel and comes bounding toward me, all hundred-plus pounds of him moving with alarming speed. It’s no wonder I mistook him for a bear the first time we met. My heart rockets into my throat, my pulse spiking as childhood fear takes hold.

I freeze in place, memories flashing of snarling teeth, hot breath, and pain tearing through my leg as I tried to escape.

“Sprinkles, sit!” Nathaniel’s authoritative voice cracks like a whip.

Sprinkles skids to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, his massive backside dropping to the ground. He pants up at me, pink tongue lolling. While he doesn’t resemble the vicious dog from my childhood at all, his size still scares me.

“Good boy.” Nathaniel approaches and pats Sprinkles’s head before looking up at me. “He won’t move until I tell him it’s okay. Are you all right?”

I realize I’m gripping the railing hard enough for my knuckles to turn white, and I force my fingers to relax, embarrassed by my reaction. “I’m fine. Just still getting used to him.”

Nathaniel studies me, seeing more than I want him to. “He wants to say hello. Would you like to pet him? He’ll stay sitting.”

My instinct is to refuse, to retreat inside where it’s safe. But that’s the old Chloe, the one who ran from everything that frightened her.

The new Chloe, the one who’s trying to be brave, to be worthy of these Alphas, takes a shallow breath and summons bravery. “Okay.”

Nathaniel’s expression warms with approval. “Come down when you’re ready. He won’t move.”

I descend the porch steps one at a time, heartbeat drumming in my ears.

Sprinkles watches me approach, his tail now sweeping the grass in slow, hopeful arcs.

Up close, he’s more intimidating. His head almost reaches my chest when he’s sitting, and his black fur appears thick enough to lose a hand in.

“He can smell your fear,” Nathaniel murmurs. “But he understands. He’s trained to be gentle with people who are nervous.”

I reach out a trembling hand but hesitate before I make contact. Sprinkles remains still, but he tracks my fingers. I touch the top of his head, his fur soft beneath my palm.

“There you go,” Nathaniel encourages. “He likes to be scratched behind the ears.”

I move my fingers to the spot he indicated, and Sprinkles lets out a contented huff that startles me. But I don’t pull away. His sun-warmed fur soothes the tension from my shoulders as I continue to pet him. He won’t hurt me. He’s just a big, gentle dog who wants attention .

“He’s softer than I expected,” I admit, growing bolder in my petting.