Page 67 of Knot a Bad Idea
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“You’re fine,” I say, then hurry over to Donovan, who now has blood running down his hand and is watching my every move.
What thehell?
He lookslivid.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, grabbing a cloth napkin from a table and pressing it over the open wound. “Shit, and there’s glass in here, Donovan. What are you doing?”
But Donovan snatches my hand with his clean one and leads me past the ballroom and out a pair of doors I hadn’t seen before.
We end up in a garden illuminated by tiny lights that line a stone path. It reminds me a bit of the place where Liam and I shared our first kiss.
But that time, Donovan wasn’t dripping blood on the ground.
“Let me go,” I snap, and Donovan drops his hand and turns to me, wholly ignoring his injury.
“Are you having a nice time?” he snaps, and I look at him, my mouth hanging open. “Making business transactions with Connor instead of spending time with your pack?”
I blink. “Are youjealous?”
The audacity this man has to tell him I’m not good for him, then act likethis.
“If you wanted to expand your business, all you had to do was ask me,” he says lowly, fire in his eyes. “You don’t need to go to anyone else for that, much less another Alpha.”
He smells like salt, citrus, and everything I love about the ocean, but there’s also a spiciness to his scent.
The aroma of his possession and fury.
“Connor isnice,” I snap, and Donovan growls. “Are you familiar with that word? Nice? And apparently thought he was your friend.”
“Not anymore,” he quips.
I bark out a humorless laugh. “You’re impossible, Donovan. He approached me. He has a coffee company, we were talking?—”
“I don’t care what he has. If you want something, you ask it fromme.”
Blood drips obscenely on the ground, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice he cut his hand open.
“I’m not your Omega,” I hiss, quiet enough that it’s barely above a whisper. “Or have you forgotten?”
He narrows his eyes. “You’remine, for all intents and purposes.”
“I’m not yours.” I sound petulant and angry.
I hope the asshole bleeds to death.
But then he takes my hand again and pulls us deeper into the garden, his ocean scent swirling around me and making my headspin until we’re under a gazebo lit by string lights. A manmade pond is next to it with the gentle sound of water bubbling.
It’s beautiful out here. Donovan’s scent mixes with lilacs and roses, and in any other setting, I would find this romantic.
“You’re mine until that contract ends,” he says lowly, and I crane my neck up to get a good look at him.
“When’s the last time you slept?” I demand, disturbed by the dark circles under his icy eyes.
He looks…off.
Like he’s sick.