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Any of it—I wouldn’t do any of it if it meant he wouldn’t give me away.
His brows came down, and he nudged my chin with his finger, so I was forced to meet his eyes. “I brought you so you could pick.”
Pick?
Pick what? Who was gonna take me away?
But I didn’t want another Alpha. I couldn’t do this again. Knox didn’t know how different he was, treating me like he did. And when he had sex with me, he wanted me to feel good, and there was no pain?—
“Wasn’t sure if you’d want a bigger one. Sometimes people like them smaller, maybe one that would fit in Bunny.”
FitinBunny?
“I know he’s got that little pouch at the back.”
A strangled sound escaped my lips, and I flinched away, drawing Bunny tight into my arms.
This was sick.
Reallysick.
What was happening?
Knox’s palm brushed my cheek, and I felt his fist at the base of the chain at my neck, pulling it tight. “Doll,” he murmured, a very odd expression on his face. “I’m buying you a sketchbook.”
“You’re…”
What…?
I’d barely never cried in front of Alphas—Ace hated it, Dan got off on it—but right in the middle of the art shop, I burst into tears.
THIRTY
KNOX
Luckily, I’d never been one who cared what others thought of me.
If I were, it might have been a lot, standing in the middle of an art shop, attached by the wrist to a collared, chained Omega who’d just burst into animated and piercingly loud wails.
People were gaping at us, clearly too nervous to linger as they hurried by.
“Doll,” I growled. “I don’t really care how loud you cry. I’m not taking you out of this shop until you pick a sketchbook.”
She’d begun to hiccup, and I drew her into my arms, feeling her legs tangle around my waist in an instant, the little solid bump of Bunny between our abdomens as she sobbed into my neck.
Well.
Uh,fuck.
Not because we were drawing stares or because I was embarrassed, but because it was as if this sobbing Omega in myarms had reached into my chest and closed her tiny little fist around my bare fucking heart.
I had been planning on telling her that she could have as many sketchbooks as the shop had in stock, but I thought it might break her—again.
So instead, I settled for choosing the first one she managed to point a wobbling finger towards. I also selected a tin of pencils and an eraser before we left.
Unfortunately, there was no self-checkout, and Thistle was still sobbing in my arms, chain and all, when I bought the items. By the look the cashier gave me, I decided we should book it from the parking lot pretty quickly in case she called the cops on suspicion of… well, kind of exactly what it looked like, collar, chain and all.
When we returned, I took Thistle to the ballroom.
