Page 141 of Knotted By my Pack

We just breathe. Let it hang between us. She’s ours. We’re hers. We’ll figure out the rest later.

But later is coming fast.

The town meeting is less than twenty-four hours away, and while her heat had us tangled in sweat and skin and pheromones, the world outside has only gotten more volatile. My father won’t stop. Not until someone makes him.

“We can’t let Lockwood run the show,” Elias says. He’s pulled back into strategy mode faster than I expected, but that’s Elias. Direct. Relentless. “Not after what you told us. The bribe. The cover-up. If he controls the narrative tomorrow, we lose everything.”

I nod. “We need a counter. Not just a response. A candidate.”

Noah puts his plate down, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one in that room is gonna trust an outsider.”

Elias looks at him. “You’re not an outsider. You’ve lived here your whole life. You own a local business. People trust you.”

“They know you,” I add. “You’re not tied to the Vances. You’ve never played into Lockwood’s games. You’re the only one who can go head-to-head with him and not come off like a plant.”

Noah snorts, but it doesn’t hide how uneasy he is. “You seriously want me to run for mayor?”

“Assistant mayor,” I correct. “You’re the only one who could win,” I add simply.

He leans back, arms crossed, muscles drawn tight under his shirt. “I want to work. Not pass zoning ordinances.”

“You also don’t want Lockwood smiling in your face while selling half the harbor to Vance’s goons,” Elias mutters.

That gets Noah’s attention. His jaw ticks.

Cora sits up then, slow and dazed, but focused. “We don’t have time to dance around this. If I endorse Noah during the meeting, we can shift the conversation.

We make it about progress. About rebuilding. About leadership that actually gives a damn.”

Elias lets out a low whistle. “You sure?”

She nods. “They’re coming to hear about the bakery. Let’s give them something to take home.”

The plan sets itself. We’ll show up united. We’ll let Lockwood dig his own grave. We’ll use the truth as leverage.

Then she’ll stand and say what needs to be said. Clear. Firm. Alpha-level calm, even though she’s an Omega. She’ll do it with all three of us behind her.

The meeting starts early,just past ten. The town hall is packed. Locals crammed into the old auditorium, folding chairs squeaking under shifting weight, coffee being passed around, whispers flying.

Cora walks in first. Every head turns. She’s still pale, recovering, but she wears confidence like it’s stitched into her skin.

Tight black jeans, boots, a crisp navy blouse. Hair swept back. She looks like she belongs in front of a crowd.

I follow behind her. Noah and Elias take either side, flanking her. There’s a quiet ripple through the room as we move toward the front.

The council members see us coming. Lockwood does too.

He stands from the podium, tapping the mic. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here on such short notice. We called this session to address the recent act of vandalism at Whisked.”

Polite nods. Murmurs of concern.

“But,” Lockwood continues, “there’s been a new development. The individuals responsible have been caught. Local law enforcement apprehended the group late last night. They’re here, in custody.”

He motions toward the side door. A deputy brings in four young men in handcuffs. Betas. One is barely twenty, twitchy and pale. Another stares straight ahead, chewing his lip. They’re all bruised. Tired. Scared.

What the hell?

Lockwood adjusts his tie. “As it turns out, this was not a random act of protest. These individuals were paid. Hired by an outside party to send a message.”