Page 44 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chloe

T he chair in my new writing office swallows me whole, just the way I like, so why won’t the words come?

After the job site incident, it had taken a couple of days for the rattle in my brain to pass, but this morning was supposed to be different. I had set my alarm for six, grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen, and came here ready to write.

But now I’m staring at my writing document, and my mind refuses to come up with the scene.

My characters lie tangled in the sheets of their castle bedroom, and instead of untangling them, I’m refreshing my inbox for the third time in an hour, willing the blinking dot beside Jennifer’s name to disappear on its own.

It doesn’t .

The subject line burns into my retinas.

RE: Legal and Marketing Timeline.

With a sigh, I click it open. Maybe it’s a simple question. Maybe the world hasn’t ended.

Chloe,

Hope you’re well. Legal and Marketing have additional concerns regarding the Sinclair inheritance litigation and resultant complications for your current contract. Please review the attached for further details.

Best,

Jennifer

Below the signature line is an attached PDF. No emojis, no smiley face, not even a digital signature.

I double-click it, and for five full seconds, my brain can’t process what the dense, all-caps legalese on page one means.

As I scroll, the words resolve into short, devastating sentences .

Author advance suspended, effective immediately, pending clarification of unresolved familial claims.

We regret to inform you the next installment of your advance will be withheld. Payment will resume once you provide written certification confirming no other claimants exist to the Sinclair estate and all related disputes have been resolved.

Should you be unable to provide this certification within ninety days, the publisher reserves the right to terminate current and future projects, including but not limited to the Aurora Storm series, with cause.

I scroll down, because of course there’s more .

Our internal review has revealed that you are currently residing with an unrecognized pack, which may place you in direct conflict with your familial pack.

This situation poses a potential reputational risk to the publisher due to likely legal or public relations complications.

If you wish to contest this finding, you may submit a formal petition for reconsideration once all related legal matters have been resolved.

My vision whites out. I read the paragraph again, hoping the words will change and become less final.

They do not.

Unrecognized pack? I was able to register my courtship with them, which means they’re in the system. What does that even mean ?

My stomach twists into knots.

This isn’t about the money. This is the polite corporate version of being silenced. Go away until you can behave yourself, Chloe. Disappear. Wait until your story isn’t messy enough to ruin their bottom line.

And if they decide to, they can take everything I’ve built as Aurora Storm.

I shut the laptop, catching a section of my sleeve in the hinge. I yank it free, nails scraping across the metal.

On the desk, my phone sits silent. I’ve worked with Jennifer for five years, and she couldn’t even be bothered to call me.

I should get up and go downstairs to find Grady. After his last phone call to them, this email should have gone through him.

I grip the edges of the desk with both hands, holding so tight my knuckles fade to white. My breath shudders in and out as I focus on the twinkle lights crisscrossing over the ceiling.

This was supposed to be my safe place.

I hold the desk until my fingers ache, hoping the pain will crowd out the rest. But it doesn’t.

Why are the Sinclairs doing this to me? They were fine with ignoring my existence up until now. If they hadn’t called me into their law office, we could have spent the rest of our lives pretending I’d never been a Sinclair to begin with.

A tap comes from the door, and I flinch. I hadn’t turned the sign to warn people away from interrupting me, but I don’t think I have the stomach to go down and eat breakfast with the pack right now.

“Chloe?” The door creaks open and Blake pokes his head in. “Hey, Holden sent me up?—”

He catches sight of my face, and whatever else he planned to say is forgotten as he crosses the room in two strides. The scent of smoked applewood and cider sweeps ahead of him, his pheromones reaching out to comfort me as he crouches next to my chair.

He studies my face, then wraps one hand around mine and tries to uncurl my fingers from the desk. My hand resists. He doesn’t force it, only strokes the back of my knuckles with a thumb, rubbing small, soothing circles.

He shifts his grip, places his other hand on the opposite wrist, and slowly peels both hands free. They ache when released, and the air on my palms stings.

He sets them in my lap and turns the entire chair so I have no choice but to face him. “Chloe. What happened? ”

My throat works, and a ragged inhale fills my lungs with smoke and cider. I take another, deeper breath. “They suspended my contract. They’re holding my money. And they might drop the series. They said…”

I can’t finish the sentence. Not the way legal wrote it, so matter-of-fact. So cold.

He doesn’t react with anger or indignation. Instead, he rises and leans closer, hands sliding from my lap to cradle both sides of my head. He cups my cheeks, his beard brushing my skin, and the cider scent grows stronger.

I want to disappear into it. Into him.

“I didn’t even want to keep writing this series.” The words tumble out, growing faster to fill his silence. “I was only continuing it because they wanted me to. The publisher. The fans. Grady.”

“Forget all of them.” His hands tighten. “What do you actually want?”

The question stuns me. I expected to be told to fight, to push for what’s mine. I didn’t expect permission to let it all go.

I remember my original plan when I arrived on the island.

“Smut,” I whisper, my bottom lip trembling. “Weird, funny, unapologetic smut. Not princesses, not dragons, not traumatized girls learning how to save themselves with swords.”

My face goes hot, the skin under his hands blooming red. “Just messy, bright, slightly deranged stories about people falling for monsters.”

He barks out a laugh that rumbles through my bones. “You said you’d never touch another tentacle after the Sprinkles Incident.”

The laugh tears through the shame and the static, and suddenly my body is moving again, jerking with a full-bodied shudder of amusement and horror at the same time. Tears prick my eyes, but not from sadness.

“You’re a monster ,” I gasp past my giggles, and he pulls me out of the chair with both arms, tucking me hard into his chest.

My face mashes into the crook of his neck, beard scraping my hairline, his pulse thudding steady beneath my cheek.

He holds me until the laughter melts into real crying, and I shake with both at once.

“I’m sorry this happened, sweetheart.” His lips brush my temple. “But maybe it’s the push you need to stop doing what other people want and focus on what makes you happy? ”

I let out a wet hiccup. “What if tentacles make me happy?”

“Then that’s what you should write.” Blake’s hands move up to my ribcage, and his lips slip across the center of my forehead, the sensation crackling through the rest of me.

Before I can protest, he straightens and scoops me from the chair, the movement effortless.

He carries me out of the office and down the hall to his bedroom, where he lowers me onto the mattress.

The bedding holds his scent, the quilt saturated with his pheromones. I scoot higher toward the pillows, pressing my face into the soft down. He moves to his nightstand, rummages, and comes up holding a purple silicone object, its surface textured with undulating ridges and ripples.

Startled, I sit up. “Is that?—”

“For inspiration.” As he strokes the ridges spiraling down the length of the tentacle, it undulates obscenely. “Since you’re planning on branching out.”

My face flames with embarrassment. “I’ve never actually used it.”

“We’ll have fun exploring together.” He sets the toy at the foot of the bed and returns to me.

He unfastens each button on my cardigan and peels it away.

Dropping it to the floor, his hands return to my collarbones.

He runs his thumbs over the neckline of my tank, teasing the skin beneath before he lifts it free.

Cool air brushes my bare skin, raising goose bumps across my chest and pebbling my nipples.

His hands skate over my torso, pausing at the soft give of my belly, the tender dip of my hip, and the downy skin of my inner arm.

He maintains eye contact the whole time. Then he leans in to kiss me, his whiskers tickling my chin and cheek as I open to the wet stroke of his tongue.

When his hands reach for my waistband, I lift my ass off the bed to make it easier for him to roll my leggings down, leaving me in only my underwear.

Blake pulls back to trace his finger along my thigh, following a vein from knee to groin.

He bends, beard scraping the inside of my knee, and kisses a path upward, spreading my legs wider as he goes.

The sensation lights a direct line to my center, and my legs try to squeeze shut in reaction, but his large hands on my thighs keep me open.

I forget how to breathe.

He works up my body, lips brushing my hip, my belly, and the under-curve of my breast. Stripping off his shirt, he climbs onto the bed, settling between my spread legs, and mouths the cotton of my underwear, his nose rubbing my clit through the dampening fabric.

I whimper, back arching, giving myself over to the pleasure he offers.

He pulls the fabric aside, mouth closing over me, tongue circling, teeth scraping just enough to leave me writhing. I reach for his hair, pulling the band out to free his chestnut waves and take hold as the world blurs at the edges.