Seen Knot Heard (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Chloe

A steady throb pulses through my skull as consciousness returns, my senses dulled by the thick fog of sedatives.

I pry open my heavy eyelids, and confusion swirls through my muddled mind.

Fluffy pillows cradle my aching head and silky sheets caress my bare legs. My hands clench around the plush, down comforter as I struggle to sit up, my muscles weak and uncoordinated.

My head spins with grogginess, and when I lift my hand to my forehead, I almost knock myself in the face with a bright pink cast.

Confused, I struggle to remember how I broke my arm. When that fails, I take in the opulent furnishings of polished wood and rich velvet surrounding me, bathed in warm light from the lamp on the nightstand.

None of it looks familiar, and wisps of memory dance out of reach.

Dominic’s terrified expression.

Terror as I fell.

Pain.

Then lights, the sound of a chopper, and a paramedic telling me I was injured.

How did I get from the hospital to this strange, luxurious bedroom?

“Hello?” My voice comes out raspy, my throat dry from disuse. “Is anyone there?”

Only silence greets me.

Balance unsteady, I slide my legs over the side of the bed, pausing as the room spins. I need to find someone who can give me answers. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I stumble toward the door, grasping the handle for support.

It doesn’t budge.

Locked.

My heart rate spikes as I jiggle it. “Hey! Let me out!”

Muffled footsteps approach, and I step back as the door swings open. A large woman—an Alpha—steps into the room in a crisp uniform.

She regards me with indifference. “Ms. Richardson, what may I get for you?”

“Where am I?” I take in the luxurious room again in confusion. “Is this still the hospital?”

“No, you’re in your room at Pack Santaro.” She grips my arm and half-carries me back to bed. “You were in an accident, and your Alpha brought you home to recover.”

“My Alpha…” The rest of my memory comes flooding back.

My mother and Louie, coming to collect me. Being sedated when I fought them taking me away.

I struggle against her hold. “No, I can’t stay here.”

“You’re not permitted to leave the penthouse.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“No, you can’t keep me here!” Panic threatens to choke me. “I need to go. My friends will be worried.”

“Sorry, but those are my orders.” She appears almost bored by my distress as she shoves me back under the covers. “If you require anything, use the call button. Excuse me.”

Turning on her heel, she strides away, closing the door behind her, and the lock clicks with finality.

Heart hammering, I sink into the pillows as the truth crashes over me in sickening waves.

I’m a prisoner.

A numb sensation envelops my body as I search my pockets with trembling fingers, praying I’ll find my phone. But these aren’t my clothes. I don’t own a pair of silky pajama shorts or a skimpy tank top.

While I was unconscious, someone had removed everything personal of mine and redressed me.

At the thought of hands on me against my will, my stomach threatens to rebel. I lean over the side of the bed, grabbing the tiny trash can tucked in next to the nightstand. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, but I manage not to throw up.

Why didn’t Holden and Dominic stay with me at the hospital? They would never leave me trapped like this. Unless…

Blake’s niece. Oh, God. What if something happened to her? The image of her sweet face flashes through my mind. She had vanished from her mom’s home a few hours before my accident.

Are they all still searching for her, not realizing I’m gone?

The room tilts as I lurch to my feet. I brace myself against the wall, staggering across the room to hammer my fist on the door. “Please! Let me out!”

The door opens, and the same woman regards me with annoyance. “Ms. Richardson, I told you?—”

“Where’s Louie?” My voice shakes. “I need to speak to him right now!”

Her expression shutters. “I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Santaro’s business.”

The scent of almonds and anise lingers in the air coming from the rest of the penthouse, and my stomach turns at how his pheromones saturate this place. “When will he return?”

“He’ll be along soon. I suggest you make yourself presentable.” She grabs the door and closes it with a resounding thud, the lock clicking shut.

Frozen where I stand, disbelief wars with a sinking realization. I’m trapped here, at the mercy of a man whose very essence is poison.

My thoughts fly to Blake, Holden, and Dominic. Surely they’ll realize I’m gone and come looking for me. They wouldn’t abandon me here…would they?

A sickening thought creeps in unbidden. How will they know where to search?

I sink to the plush carpet, hugging my knees as hot tears spill down my cheeks. The emptiness where the shamrock pendant should have been hanging around my neck sends a bitter reminder that, after years of dodging this fate, luck has finally deserted me.

A hollow ache opens in my heart. Were the tender moments we exchanged, the whispered promises, nothing more than beautiful lies? Pretty words to placate a na?ve, lonely Omega?

I rub at my chest, trying to ease the pain.

Did I ever matter to them? Or was I only a pleasant distraction? A shiny toy for the Alphas to play with until they grew bored and tossed me aside? My vacation at Misty Pines always came with an expiration date, didn’t it? Had our time just run its course?

I shake my head, pink hair falling forward to screen my face.

I refuse to believe that the connection we shared, the bone-deep longing that drew us together, was all a cruel illusion. With each passing minute, doubt claws at my mind, trying to rewrite my memories with the reminder that I’m nothing.

The man who raised me, who I called father, had tossed me aside without a second thought. Why wouldn’t these men I’ve known for less than two weeks not do the same?

The pounding in my temples worsens, and an echoing throb of pain comes from within my cast. Everything hurts from the inside out, and for a moment, I long to return to the blissful nothingness of medicated sleep.

Fear of what could happen while I’m unconscious dispels the desire, though, and I cradle my injured arm against my chest. I need to stay aware from now on.

A soft knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling fears. “Ms. Richardson? I have your breakfast.”

I drag myself up on unsteady legs, swiping at my damp cheeks. Is this my chance? Can I reason with the servant and convince them to let me go?

When the door opens again, yet another impassive face greets me.

The maid avoids looking at me, her arms laden with food that curdles my stomach.

“Please,” I rasp out, a tremor in my voice. “I need to leave. You have to help me.”

Her gaze flickers to me, then away. “Sorry, Miss. We have our orders.”

“From Louie?” Desperation sharpens my tone. “I don’t belong to him. He’s holding me here against my will.”

She ducks her head, setting the silver tray on the nightstand, and I flinch at the clatter. “Enjoy your breakfast, Miss.”

She retreats, the door snicking shut again.

Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I curl into myself on the too-soft bed, the sobs I’ve been fighting to contain breaking free.

I am utterly, truly alone.

An hour later, the door swings open again, and Louie stalks inside, his dark-blond hair slicked back and blue eyes glinting. His pheromones fill the air, cloying and sickly sweet, making my stomach clench.

“Chloe.” He draws out my name, voice sticky as cough syrup. “I’m so glad you’re awake. You had me worried, darling.”

Heart pounding, I scramble backward on the mattress to put my back against the wall. “What do you want with me?”

Louie tsks , moving closer with predatory grace. “You’re safe here, Chloe. That’s all that matters.”

His gaze rakes over me, lingering on the curve of my hips, and the swell of my breasts beneath the thin silk. “Did my staff not alert you of my visit? Or should I take your current state of dress as an invitation?”

My skin crawls under his scrutiny. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

Darkness fills his low chuckle. “It’s been a few years since our last encounter, so I understand your hesitance. What would you call this in one of your stories? An enemies-to-lovers romance?”

Ice slithers down my spine. He’s read my books. Devoured them, based on how he looks at me now—like he wants to consume me, too.

I draw the blanket over myself. “We’ll never be lovers.”

“Protest all you want.” His nostrils flare as he breathes me in. “It won’t be long before you’re begging for an Alpha’s touch.”

“I’ll never beg for your touch,” I spit out.

“Once your Heat kicks in, the Omega in you will crawl through broken glass to be with me.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “But you already know that, don’t you? You have such a gift, Chloe. An ability to capture emotions, to understand need in a way most can’t. And you’ll need me, just like you did the first time I found you.”

He closes the distance until the warmth of his body presses in on me, the poison that seeps from his pores invading my lungs.

He reaches out to touch my knee. “You were so beautiful in your fragility, nearly expiring from starving yourself, but when I stepped into the room, you reached out to me. I’ll never forget how you chose me over death.”

I tremble as I smack his hand away. “You’re sick. I was a child back then.”

“Which is why I let you run the first time.” His tongue sweeps out over his bottom lip. “An oversight, perhaps. You would have been easier to mold back then, but I wanted a woman by my side. And you’ve bloomed far beyond my expectations.”

Bile surges up my throat, his desire a living, breathing thing swelling between us.

“You’re mine now, Chloe.” He reaches out to brush a knuckle down my cheek, and I jerk away, my head knocking against the wall. “Your mind, your body…all of you belongs to me.”

A dark, triumphant hunger fills his face, and a chilling certainty settles over me. Louie’s possessiveness is a blackness with no end. He’ll do anything, destroy anyone, to keep me in his grasp.

His hand falls away, and he turns to the untouched food on the nightstand. “You should eat. You’ll need your strength for when your Heat comes.”

Disgust shoots through me, and I don’t respond.

He slides off the mattress and strides toward the door. “Dress more appropriately for dinner, unless you want me to take your silky pajamas as an invitation to your bed tonight.”

He pauses at the door and accepts a bag from the guard.

Turning back to me, he sets it by my hip. “A gift, to show I’m not an unreasonable monster.”

But he is, no matter how he tries to disguise it. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone again, and desperation claws at me. I have to escape. Have to contact someone, anyone. Holden. Blake. The police.

Crawling away from the safety of soft pillows and quilts, I search the room. In the closet, I find dozens of high-end outfits in my size, with a dresser full of lacy undergarments. In the bathroom, I discover oils and lotions to pamper myself with.

No phone, though.

Frustration burns, hot and bitter. Of course, he wouldn’t leave me with a way to reach out for help.

I stumble to the window, desperate for a glimpse of the outside world. The city lights twinkle, a glittering tapestry of life and energy. People walk below me, so far away they look like ants.

There will be no yelling for help from this lofty tower.

As I turn back to the room, the bag he left catches my attention. Its large, slender shape draws me toward it, curious to discover what kind of peace offering he thought would win me over.

I open it to find a new laptop inside, nicer than the one I’ve used since college.

Heart in my throat, I struggle to rip it open with one hand and press the power button. I rock back and forth with impatience as I wait through the loading process. As soon as the dashboard opens, I tap on the Wi-Fi symbol in the upper right corner, where my hope dies when a request for a password pops up.

I try Louie’s name, then mine, too, along with my date of birth, the date we first met, and anything else that comes to mind.

The password continues to elude me.

Defeated, I slump back against the bed, despair a leaden weight pressing me down. Then the icon for the word-processing app catches my attention.

I can’t call for help. Can’t reach anyone. But I can write out the truth of what’s happening to me and leave some record behind.

The harsh glow of the laptop screen illuminates my face as the blank document sends jitters through me. No matter how many times I do this, it’s always the same. My hands tremble as they hover over the keys, unsure of where to start.

Closing my eyes, I summon the strength to pour my heart onto the page.

As I type, the familiar click-clack of my fingers dancing over the keyboard offer comfort in this nightmare.

With each word, a piece of my pain, my loneliness, my fear flows out of me in a cathartic rush, along with my aching need to be free of this beautiful prison and the man who caged me.

Slowly, the sentences form into characters, a story taking shape, my own twisted reality bleeding into fiction.

The scene unfolds, vivid flashes of memory overtaking me. Holden’s shy smile, the way his face lit up when we shared a tray of Rice Krispie Treats, still warm from the microwave.

Blake’s warmth as he showed me the constellations built into the ceiling of the media room, the weight of his big body on top of mine as his knot swelled within me.

The hope on Dominic’s face as he asked me to start over, to give us a chance despite all the hurt caused by our youth. Even Nathaniel, gruff and protective of his chosen family, the pack I yearn to join, warming toward me.

The softness in their voices as they assured me I would never be alone again.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, determined to lose myself in make-believe, if only for a little while.

Louie may hold me captive, but in my imagination, I can plot a hundred outcomes that lead to my escape, that reunite me with the Alphas of Misty Pines and the happily ever after of my dreams.

In the end, this is still my story to write. I’ll be damned if I let Louie pen the ending.