Page 74 of Knot Their Safe Haven

"Kind of Blue" at volume just loud enough to feel but soft enough to speak over. The cottage's main room has been cleared, furniture pushed aside to create this impromptu dance floor where firelight competes with dying daylight for dominance.

He spins me out, the dress flaring like spilled wine, then draws me back against his chest. The movement is practiced, confident— am I surprised he knows how to dance like a truegentleman? Men like Alessandro probably learned waltz before walking.

"Where did you learn?" I ask against his shoulder, breathing him in because I can't help myself.

"Swiss boarding school. They were very concerned we'd embarrass ourselves at galas." His hand traces patterns on my back through silk. "You?"

"YouTube. Last week."

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine. "Liar."

"Fine. Foster home number three. Mrs. Chen thought every girl should know how to dance properly, even the angry ones who bit."

"You bit?"

"Constantly. Like a feral cat."

"And now?"

"Still bite. Just choose my targets more carefully,” I say with a wink.

It’s odd to be open with him about my past. Most didn’t know about me.

The real me, under the mask of Rebel Queen, the Omega Savior, or whatever titles I’ve gathered over the years.

I’ve never really gotten to speak about my youth or even childhood. It feels odd, but also gives me a sense of calm I can’t quite describe.

His fingers tighten on my waist, and I feel his pulse jump where my hand rests against his neck. The sexual tension between us is a living thing, electric and demanding, made worse by our matched scents creating a feedback loop of want.

When was the last time I danced like this?

The question drifts through wine-hazed thoughts as we sway. Knox never danced—said it was pointless movement that could be better spent training. Malcolm would have,probably,butonly in darkness where no one could witness. Adyani sent videos of herself dancing in Dubai clubs, gorgeous and free, but never with me. Guess we never really got the chance.

None of them gave me the experience like this, in fading light with jazz as witness, no agenda beyond the movement itself.

"You're thinking too loud," Alessandro murmurs against my hair.

"Processing."

"What needs processing? We're dancing. Very simple. One foot, then the other."

"This is my first."

He pulls back enough to see my face.

"First what?"

"First dance. With an Alpha. As a...whatever this is."

"Date. It's called a date."

I have to fight myself to not smirk like a giddy girl.

"Right. That."

"You've never been on a date?"

"I've been on plenty of dates. With myself. Wine and I have a very committed relationship."