Page 51 of Knot Their Safe Haven

"It wasn't the knot she craved, though her body sang for it. It wasn't even the claiming bite, though her neck ached for his teeth. What she needed, what her soul cried out for in the darkness, was simpler and infinitely more complex.

She needed to matter.

To be the sun that someone orbited around, not a planet forever circling someone else's light. To be the first thought at dawn and the last at dusk. To be worth the fight, worth the fall, worth the complete destruction of everything that came before.

'Choose me,' she whispered against his throat. 'Not eventually. Not maybe. Now. Choose me now, when it's hard, when it costs everything, when the whole world says you shouldn't.

'I choose you,' he replied, and meant it with every cell of his being. 'I chose you before I knew your name. I choose you now when everything burns. I'll choose you tomorrow when the ashes settle. Forever, little Omega. In every life, in every reality, I choose you.'"

I closed the book, something tight in my chest.

Maybe Alexia had a point about these novels.

Strip away the purple prose and impossible sex scenes, and there was truth underneath. The need to matter. To be chosen. To be worth someone's complete devotion, not their careful consideration.

That's what Velvet had been missing. Not the sex—though I was sure that was lacking too—but the choice.

The declaration.

The willingness to burn everything down just to keep her warm.

Movement on the bed drew my attention.

Velvet's fingers twitched, her breathing pattern changing. Coming up from the anesthesia, probably. The doctors had said an hour, and like everything else about her, she was ahead of schedule.

I leaned forward, watching her surface from unconsciousness like a swimmer rising from deep water. Hereyelids fluttered, opened slightly, then closed again. Testing. Checking if waking was worth it.

"Take your time," I murmured, not sure if she could hear me. "I've waited seventeen years. I can wait a few more minutes."

Her eyes opened properly this time, unfocused and confused. The drugs would make everything hazy, disconnected. But I saw the moment awareness crept in—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled into the sheets.

She tried to speak, but her throat was raw from the breathing tube.

I reached for the water cup, pressing the straw to her lips.

"Small sips. Your throat will be sore for a few days."

She drank carefully, those dark eyes tracking my movements with growing clarity.

When she'd had enough, she pulled back, licking her lips in a gesture that definitely wasn't meant to be seductive but absolutely was.

"You."

The word came out hoarse, barely voiced, but the weight of it filled the room.

"Me," I confirmed, setting the water aside.

"Real?"

"Real as the surgery that just saved you from paralysis.”

She blinked slowly, processing.

I could see the questions forming, the protests building, the fury at choices made without her consent.

But what came out was:

"The others?"