Page 88 of Knot Gonna Lie

Elara’s scent sharpened—anger, protective and fierce. Her hands skimmed over his chest with the same thoroughness Seth used, though her purpose was different. Not treatment. Reclaiming. Reasserting that every inch of him belonged to her.

“These should’ve been treated immediately,” she muttered, eyes flashing. “Seth—supplies.”

Seth gathered antiseptic and salve without pause. I watched her hands ghost over Luca’s bruises, erasing violation with her own touch. This wasn’t a medical examination—this was reclaiming. Asserting ownership over her pack through touch and scent, erasing any trace of violation with her own careful attention.

“Elara,” Luca said gently, amusement softening his voice. “I’m fine. Seth already—”

“Seth treated you as a patient.” Her tone cut sharp. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she accepted the supplies from our medic. “I’m treating you as my alpha. My responsibility. My pack member who was hurt protecting me.”

The words struck deep. Not medicine. Possession. She needed to touch us, scent us, satisfy herself that we were whole and healing and hers.

“Jaxom.” Her attention turned to me, emerald eyes dark with the same possessive need. “You too. Shirt off.”

I obeyed without thought, baring ribs mottled by impact. Her touch followed each bruise, each scrape, cataloguing, claiming, soothing. My body recognized it instantly—an omega securing her pack, making sure nothing threatened what was hers.

“Seth.” She didn’t look away from the bruise she was tracing across my shoulder, but her voice carried unmistakable command. “Your turn.”

“I wasn’t seriously injured—”

“Seth.” The edge in her tone brooked no argument. “All of my pack. Now.”

Seth’s shirt joined ours on the medical bay floor, revealing the lean muscle of a man who’d spent more time with medical texts than combat training. His injuries were lighter—a few scrapes, one developing bruise across his collarbone where he’d been shoved—but Elara examined him with the same possessive care.

“Perfect,” she whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. “All of you. Healing. Whole. Mine.”

Heat pooled in me at the words. This wasn’t about necessity. It was a declaration.

Our omega asserting her claim, ensuring her pack bore no marks except the ones she’d placed there herself.

Her fingers returned to my hand, tracing the crescents she’d left. “This will scar beautifully.”

“That’s what Seth told me.” My voice came rough. “I want to carry your mark forever.”

Something shifted in her expression—surprise melting into fierce satisfaction that made my stomach clench with want. She leaned closer, vanilla-lavender wrapping around me, and pressed her lips to the healing bite.

The kiss was gentle, barely more than breath against skin, but it sent lightning racing through my entire body. Claiming. Soothing. Promising.

“My beta,” she murmured against my skin. “My steady, careful, perfect beta.”

Perfect. She called me perfect.

Breath stalled. Years spent in shadows, convinced I’d never be enough, and she had chosen me. Claimed me. Made me hers with teeth and touch and whispered promises.

“The healing salve,” Seth said softly, offering her the tube. “For all the marks. Theirs—and yours.”

She accepted it with a smile that promised things I didn’t dare imagine, then set about tending each of us again. Her hands steady, deliberate. Cool gel soothed heated skin as she worked, but her touch burned hotter than any injury.

When she reached her own cut—mirror to mine—I caught her wrist.

“Let me.” The plea broke out, raw. “Please.”

Her eyes softened. She placed the tube in my palm.

I cleaned her wound with the same reverence she’d shown ours, every touch deliberate, every moment treasured.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For taking care of me.”

“Always.” The promise came easily, absolute. “As if I could do anything else.”