Knot All is Whole (Lunarcrest City Omegaverse #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

I slam my car door and scream at the top of my lungs.

The hot air presses upon me like a living creature, and I soak it in, letting it chase away the chill that rattles my bones.

I scream again.

A woman passing by in the parking lot looks at me through the window like I’ve lost my damn mind, and maybe I have.

Maybe I never had a mind to begin with.

I must not have, because I did it again.

After everything I went through, after all of the struggles, I did it again.

I met a guy—an Alpha. He was cute, sweet, and kind, and then he told me he had a pack.

A pack without an Omega.

So I bowed out. I removed myself from the situation.

The scar on my chest aches, and I rub it absentmindedly. It’s flattened a little over the years, but there is still some puckering that will never go away.

I wear my stupidity on my chest every day.

I thought I had learned my lesson, so I broke up with that Alpha. I knew better than to get involved with an Omegaless pack.

Except he kept calling.

And calling.

And calling.

And I caved. I let my loneliness win and I fucking answered.

I answered.

Why did I do that?

My brother, Icarus, would say I seek unavailable love because I know I’m not ready for a serious relationship. He’d probably try to cite some obscure study as a source, and then I’d tune him out.

But I guess he’s right, because I answered the call, and then I went back out with him, because I’m an idiot, and I thought maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

Why would I think they would be?

I brought him as a date to my nephew’s birthday party, and he scent matched with an Omega at the Goddamn party!

Over cake and candles, he met his forever, and I was left with frosting and egg on my face.

Icarus has been calling and apologizing profusely, saying he had no idea it would happen, and, of course, logically, I know he didn’t. How was he to know that his one single Omega friend would find his Alpha in my date? It would make no sense to be mad at my brother for that.

I’m not mad at him.

But I am mad at him.

He’s got this perfect pack and beautiful family, and I bring someone I liked to meet him, and then one of his friends ends up being my date’s scent match?

Lady Luck must only be into dudes or something because she never gives me her kiss.

I’m not mad at my brother, not really, but he is under the impression we’re fighting.

Probably because I won’t answer his calls, and the last time I did, I screamed at him to leave me alone and go back to his perfect fucking life with his perfect fucking pack and his perfect fucking job, and fuck, he is perfect.

Perfect.

I’ve spent my whole life living in the shadow of Dr. Icarus Knight, and I love my brother so much, but it is exhausting.

I’m sure he’d say the same thing about me.

I haven’t always been the most reliable person, and he’s had to bail me out of shitty situations more times than I can count.

It’s only recently that I’ve gotten my act together, I know that.

So we’re not not fighting.

I need one more scream.

One more chance to let out this anger, and then I’ll get out of the car.

I made several spa appointments to take my mind off everything, but there is a wait between my massage and pedicure. It appears the massage did not relax me like I thought it would, because I’m screaming in my shitty car.

Again.

In my defense, the wound of losing another Alpha is still fresh. It makes my scar ache with phantom pain, and my stomach turn. It was only three days ago.

One.

Two.

Three.

Three days ago, I was violently shoved back into the body of the girl who cried outside the apartment of the pack that threw her out.

The girl I want so desperately to leave behind, but can’t, because I see her every time I look in the mirror. No matter how much I grow, how much I change, I am still the twenty-two-year-old girl with a gash in her chest, lying on an emergency room bed, waiting for a pack that will never come.

I gave myself those three days to wallow, and now I’m out in the world, putting on a good face, and pampering myself so I can feel like a new person. Like the Athena who got dumped for an Omega a second time no longer exists.

The clock on my phone says I’ve got fifteen minutes until my appointment, but I’m done waiting out here. Maybe they have some wine I can drink before my appointment. The fancy places do that, right?

Wine sounds good right about now.

I climb out of the car and lock it, shoving my keys in my slightly too small purse. I should get a bigger one, but I like having a cross-body bag since they’re harder to steal, and a bigger one wouldn’t fit against my hip the way I want it to.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. I lean my shoulder against my car, tilting my head back to admire its beauty.

This isn’t the end. The sun may be setting, but it will rise again.

I’ve been through worse than this. I can handle this, and if I can’t, then I can take a lot of meds, drink my weight in wine, and numb the pain.

I’m staring at the sunset, trying to get out of my spiral of self-pity, when an arm bands around my throat, and a cloth is shoved over my face.

As I try to maintain consciousness, all I can think about is the time Icarus told me that mixing bleach and rubbing alcohol can form chloroform, and I need to be careful and ensure I never use them together while cleaning.

At least my purse isn’t going anywhere.

My body aches, and there’s a piece of cotton with tape over it hastily applied to the crook of my arm. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls, and my head is pounding as if I just got off a bender. The ground beneath me is cold, and I’m wearing a medical gown.

What the fuck happened to me?

How did I get here?

The last thing I remember is screaming into the void of my car.

“Hey, what’s your name?” a melodic voice whispers.

When I look up, I see a pretty Black woman with dark pink lips and natural hair that’s kept short against her head.

She’s dirty, wearing a hospital gown like mine, but so beautiful my heart almost stops.

I gape at her, unable to accept that someone so lovely is in a place like this.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asks again.

“Athena,” I whisper, scooting closer to her. Well, as close as I can get since, apparently, we’re both in cages. “Where are we?”

She adjusts her long legs, which are cramped in the small space, and as she watches me, she reclines against its side. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I got here over a week ago. You’ve been out for a few hours.”

Acid rises in my throat. “What did they do to me?” I whisper. I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, by the time you got here, you were in that gown and knocked out, so I guess they took you to the lab and took some blood from you. They take a lot of blood.” She has a slight lisp, and it’s charming. If we were at a bar, I’d be buying her drinks and flirting awkwardly.

But this is not a bar unless it’s in hell, like my standards for men apparently are.

“Why do they want my blood?”

She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “Why do men want anything? Control, power, sex. I’m sure it’s one of those three. It always is.” Her eyes drift closed. “We’re nothing but a science experiment to them.”

Fear coils in my belly, and I pull my knees to my chest. I don’t want to be here. I’m not supposed to be here. I was going to get a pedicure.

My toenails are a mess; the purple polish is chipped. I need them to use that cheese grater thing on the bottom of my feet to smooth them out. My feet may as well be horse hooves right now for how hard my heels are.

I need my pedicure. I was supposed to get a pedicure.

This has to be a dream. A bad dream.

I look at the beautiful woman, and I know this isn’t a dream. She’s too real, her dark eyes too expressive and kind in the face of this nightmare of a situation, to be a figment of my imagination.

“I never got your name.”

“You never asked.” She groans and lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s Ethel. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Before I can say anything in response, the metallic sound of a door creaking open and banging into the wall has me slamming my hands over my face to stifle a scream. Two people enter the room, dressed in scrubs that resemble those of legitimate doctors, wearing masks that reveal only their eyes.

They stop in front of our cages, looking between Ethel and me. “Omega subject twenty-four, Beta subject thirteen,” the one on the left says. His voice is rich, and I can hear the influence of his privileged upbringing in his tone. I don’t know how I know he’s a smarmy rich boy, but I do.

“B-thirteen’s results have come back favorable to begin phase two. O-twenty-four remains stable after several extractions. Meiosis is present in all samples.”

“Good,” says the other man. He sounds young, with a casual, lackadaisical tone that would be more at home at a bowling alley than whatever hell factory we’re in. “I’m impressed with the work you two are doing here. Begin phase two for B-thirteen.”

He strides out, leaving us alone with the first man. I hear the rustling of papers and instruments as he moves to the table’s edge. The man returns with a syringe. “Alright, Omega,” he says not unkindly, approaching Ethel. “You know the routine.”

She doesn’t flinch, fight, or struggle as he slides the syringe into the side of her neck and presses down the plunger.

“What the fuck!” I scream, throwing myself against the side of the cage. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

He looks at me with narrow eyes. “She’s fine, Beta. She is no good to me injured. Calm yourself.”

The man opens Ethel’s cage and pulls out her half-conscious form, cradling her gently to his chest and carrying her out of the room.