Page 35 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chloe

“ A ll right, enough of the heavy stuff. Grady will be back with Quinn soon.” Dominic claps his hands once and stands. “Let’s get this picnic night set up.”

“Coffee table first,” Blake grunts, rolling me off his lap to grab one end.

I land half-sprawled on Holden’s lap and smile up at him. “Hello.”

He brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Hello.”

“Don’t scratch the floor. Again,” Nathaniel warns, brushing past them toward the linen closet.

“Don’t think you two get to just sit there being adorable,” Blake says with a wink as he and Dominic move the coffee table to the corner under the windows. “Start putting cushions on the floor. ”

Holden and I roll to our feet and start pulling the cushions off the couch, arranging them to form a giant square bed on the floor. We set the backrest cushions along the lower frame of the couch to give us padding for leaning back.

Nathaniel drops his armful of blankets. “Spread those out while I get more pillows.”

His footsteps fade down the hallway, punctuated by the whisper of opening doors and the rustle of linens being gathered.

“Nothing with buttons!” Blake calls after him. “No one wants button face.”

“You’re a button face,” Dominic says, laughing as he dodges when Blake takes a swipe at him.

As Blake bends to grab one of the blankets, his flannel shirt rides to expose the groove of his spine, and I catch my bottom lip between my teeth as I admire the view.

Holden nudges me with his elbow. “Less gawking, more blanket spreading.”

My cheeks heat, and I catch Blake’s smirk as he straightens. I pull my hood back up, mumbling to myself as I get to work.

“We’re back!” Quinn’s excited shout precedes her through the door, followed by the thunderous clatter of Sprinkles’ paws on the hardwood floor.

My heart lurches as the massive black Newfoundland bounds into the room, his thick fur gleaming as he surveys our construction project.

Quinn appears next, her arms wrapped around a wicker basket that dwarfs her small frame, the cow onesie’s udder bouncing underneath with each step. Grady follows close behind, balancing a stack of plates and a thermos that releases a sweet steam.

“We made the best picnic ever,” Quinn announces, setting the basket down with care.

She lifts the checkered cloth to reveal an array of treats. An assortment of Holden’s muffins, packages of crackers, sliced apples that glisten with juice, and an entire bag of marshmallows.

“Don’t w-worry, we have sandwiches, too.” Grady lifts his arm, where a cloth bag hangs from his elbow. “It’s not all sugar.”

Sprinkles pads closer to our nest, his massive head tilting as he studies the arrangement. I hold still, determined to become comfortable around the gentle giant. He circles twice and settles on the hardwood just outside our bed of blankets, his chin resting on the edge of a cushion.

The sight of him guarding our space sends unexpected warmth through me. He really is a good dog.

Nathaniel returns with an armload of pillows in every size and texture.

There are down-filled throw pillows, firm bed pillows, and even the decorative ones from Dominic’s office that carry a faint scent of leather.

He arranges them with mathematical precision so, no matter where someone sits, there will be a pillow to grab.

“Movie?” Blake asks, already reaching for the remote.

Quinn yanks a DVD out of her basket and waves it in the air. “Grady and I picked the best one!”

Dominic holds out a hand. “Let’s see what we’re starting with.”

“It’s got a princess!” Quinn points at the cover, where a bright cartoon princess spins across a meadow. “Sprinkles likes princesses, right, Sprinkles?”

The dog’s tail thumps once on the floor.

As Dominic and Blake get the movie ready, the rest of us settle onto the cushions, and Grady passes out plates and water bottles, saving the thermos of hot chocolate for later, to be drunk with the marshmallows.

I study the space we’ve created. Blankets draped across the cushions offer a soft place to cuddle up. Pillows form gentle rises and dips across the cushions.

It’s a nest. Not the kind Omegas build during Heat, but the kind of shelter a pack pulls together when danger presses in.

Nathaniel slides in behind me, his chest becoming my backrest, his legs bracketing mine.

His leather and clove scent mingles with Holden’s vanilla as my baker loads a cranberry and orange muffin onto my plate.

Blake presses play before he positions himself to my right, one arm reaching across to rest on Nathaniel’s knee, completing our protective circle.

Dominic settles at the bottom of our makeshift bed, his long frame taking up considerable real estate as his legs slide beneath mine. Quinn wiggles onto Blake’s lap, the bag of marshmallows clutched in one small hand.

Grady hesitates at the edge of our nest, uncertainty flickering across his features. He glances between the available spaces, calculating where he can fit without disrupting the pack dynamics.

“Get in here,” Blake rumbles, shifting to make room. “Before the good snacks disappear.”

Relief smooths Grady’s expression as he settles cross-legged near my feet, close enough for the heat of his body to warm my toes. His fingers brush my ankle as he reaches for a muffin, the contact light, seeking a connection without intruding on our pack’s bond.

The opening credits roll as we eat, and Quinn giggles at a scene on the screen while Sprinkles’s breathing shifts into a deep, content rhythm. The thermos goes around, filling our mugs with chocolate, and Quinn begrudgingly gives each of us one jumbo marshmallow.

Nathaniel’s thumb traces small circles on my hip where his hand rests. Holden ensures my plate never runs out of food. Blake radiates warmth to my right while Dominic’s citrus scent weaves through the air, marking our space as ours.

This is what pack means. Not just the bonds we declare or the paperwork we file, but this wordless coming together to build a refuge out of furniture, fabric, and the fierce determination to keep each other safe.

Rain patters on the roof in a rhythm that pulls me from sleep. The television’s save screen glows in the darkness, a quiet signal that the third movie of the night ended long ago.

My body rests in a cocoon of warmth and weight, pack scents layering around me like invisible blankets. Nathaniel curves along my spine, his chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of sleep, one arm draped protectively over my body to rest on Blake’s waist on my other side.

I raise my head to find Dominic half curled around Quinn, who rests in a space formed by his and Blake’s bodies. The cow onesie’s hood covers her face, leaving only a tuft of brown hair visible.

Poor Grady has somehow managed to fall asleep on the bare couch frame, his tall frame folded into impossible angles across the wooden structure.

His blond hair falls over his face, and his sweater has ridden up to expose a strip of pale skin above his belt.

One arm dangles toward the floor while the other pillows his head, and soft snores escape his parted lips.

The sight would be comical if not for the slight furrow between his brows, his tension refusing to ease even in sleep.

Beta physiology doesn’t respond to pack bonds the same way Alpha and Omega bodies do.

He sleeps on the periphery because that’s where his genetics tell him he belongs, even when his heart craves a closer connection.

Sprinkles remains at his post beside our nest, lying on his side, his breathing deep and even. One ear twitches at the rain’s increasing tempo, but his eyes remain closed .

But Holden isn’t here.

The realization cuts through my drowsy contentment. I remember falling asleep holding his hand, but now his spot lies empty, cool air filling the void his body left behind.

I shift, testing the weight of Nathaniel’s arm. His hold on Blake tightens for a moment, then loosens when I stay still. The movement sends a whisper through the pile of blankets, but no one stirs. Years of shared space have taught them to sleep through minor disturbances.

So where is Holden?

The question builds pressure in my chest, and anxiety creeps in. He wouldn’t leave the nest without reason. But the longer I wait, the clearer it becomes he didn’t slip out to use the bathroom.

I extract myself with infinite patience, sliding my body toward the edge of the cushions so as to not disturb the sleepers around me.

Cold seeps through the hardwood into my bare feet as I step clear of blankets and cushions. Sprinkles’s ear flicks toward me, one dark eye-opening to track my movement. His tail gives a single thump before he settles back into watchful rest.

The Homestead’s halls stretch dark and quiet beyond the family room, illuminated only by blue nightlights.

I pad toward Holden’s room first, the frog onesie’s fabric whispering with each step. His door stands ajar, revealing a slice of moonlight cutting across his empty bed. The covers remain undisturbed, with all of his pillows missing.

I find the bathroom empty, too, towels hanging in perfect alignment, toothbrush dry in its holder. I check the other rooms in case he wandered into one of them in his sleep.

But Goldilocks won’t be found so easily, it would seem.

My search leads me down the main staircase, feet silent on the hardwood treads. The ground floor lies shrouded in deeper darkness, the moonlight not reaching far past the covered porch.

Pale light spills from beneath the two-way kitchen door, and a soft shuffle reaches my ears.

I approach with the caution of someone who’s learned how sudden appearances can trigger defensive responses.

With a light touch, the kitchen door swings inward on well-oiled hinges.