Page 11 of Knotty Nights
“Why don’t you wait inside while we say goodbye? Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, stepping into the cottage and letting the door click shut behind me.
I heard whispers on the other side but decided not to pry… even when I heard the wordsserial killerplain as day.
I shook my head, trying to brush off Rosie’s suspicious glare. I wasn’t here for her, after all.
My backpack and helmet landed next to the shoe rack as I studied the small space. The living room bled into the kitchen, divided only by a narrow island.
Knitted blankets in mossy green and dusty pinks were folded over the back of a couch that sagged slightly in the middle. A wicker basket tucked away in the corner overflowed with yarn. Two knitting needles poked out of the top.
In the corner, a wood-burning fireplace sat cold, and I wondered briefly if the temperature had dropped enough outside for me to start a fire. Probably not. The cottage was warm enough.
I treaded into the kitchen. Copper pots hung above the stove, dark from years of use. A pink ceramic mixing bowl sat drying by the sink.
The air was tinged with many sweet, delectable things, but nothing was as distinctive as Jazmine’s scent. I glanced at the door, impatient for the moment she’d return.
A loaf of bread sat on the windowsill to cool while several trays of baked goods lined the kitchen island.
I set the flowers down and took a deep breath, savoring the scent of sweet cookies and warm bread.
My first-hand knowledge of omegas was sub-par at best, but I had watched enough TV and read enough books to know that cooking in such large quantities was a pre-Heat ritual to nourish their bodies before expending large amounts of energy during a cycle.
Jazmine was more than prepared.
When she finally slipped back into the cottage and closed the door behind her, a sheepish flush covered her cheeks.
“Sorry about that,” she said, her fingers lingering on the ties of her robe. “Motherhood is a full-time job.”
“That’s all right.” My gaze dipped to the long, smooth column of her neck. God, she had beautiful skin—all dark and supple as though waiting for my teeth…
No. Stop.
This wasnotabout marking—far from it. I was only here to be a companion for her Heat.
Impersonal,I reminded myself.Detached. Professional.
I held out the roses to her.
“These are for you.”
Her smile revealed incisors that were charmingly crooked.
“Thank you, Arya,” she said, her fingers brushing mine as she brought the bouquet to her nose.
“Atlas,” I said tightly, knowing there was no point in hiding behind a false identity when her daughter already knew my real name. I bet Rosie was looking me up on social media already. “My real name is Atlas.”
Jazmine paused, staring up at me, her dark eyes soft.
“Atlas,” she said, the two syllables landing like hard punches to my middle. “It suits you.”
The way she said my name made my mind leap ahead to all the other ways I might hear it—whispered, gasped, dragged out in a shiver, maybe even screamed raggedly against my skin. Oh, this was bad…
“Before you judge me, I need you to know that I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, walking around me to retrieve a vase from the top of a cabinet.
“I would never judge you,” I said, tracing her every movement with my gaze.
“Wouldn’t you?”