Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)

For a moment, the alpha gapes at his cracked window. Then, ever-so-slowly, turns to glare at me.

His expression is terrifying. I duck on instinct, immediately burrowing into the blankets the way I would normally hide in my nest back home.

The home I no longer have.

Because I gave it up to bond to a pack who only wanted me for my money.

A pack who is probably looking for me right about now. Or… maybe not, since they didn’t like me to begin with.

In fact, this is sort of perfect for them, isn’t it? I disappear and they get all the money. They can find some other omega to build a bond through—perhaps even one they’ll all have real feelings for.

I burst into a fresh round of tears, cowering under the comforter. Beside me, I hear heavy footsteps and the harsh snap of the bedside drawer slamming shut.

Something pokes the blankets covering my shoulder. I crouch lower, whining. Hoping this is all some bad dream I’ll wake up from.

Another poke. “Omega,” the hard voice says. “Answer me.”

It isn’t a bark, though, so I ignore him. There’s a heavy sigh and that leather chair scrapes toward the bed. It creaks when he lowers himself into it.

The hand that previously poked me lands on my arm, stroking gently through the blankets. “Listen,” he says, still gruff. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You just shocked me. I’m⁠—”

He grits his teeth audibly. “Just come out.” He pauses, grunting like he’s in pain as he adds, “Please.”

I gasp around a sob. “I b-broke your window.”

Another sigh. “My dog broke my damn window. And right now, you’re breaking his heart with those whines of yours, little omega. Could you come out here before he bites my balls off for barking at you?”

I almost come out. The idea of the sweet puppy feeling upset nearly forces me. But I’m way too mortified and freaked out to do anything aside from sniffle.

I feel a soft pat on the bed beside me. “McKinley, up.”

The mattress jostles. One moment later, the unmistakable warmth of a canine companion settles along my side.

McKinley snuffles at the top of the blankets piled over me, burrowing his snout far enough in to sniff my hair. When his cold nose bumps my forehead, I peer up at his face.

Dang, he’s cute. A Bernese Mountain Dog. Fitting. And adorable. My trembling hand slips over the silky hair on top of his head.

“S-sorry, baby boy,” I whisper. “It’s n-not your f-fault.”

McKinley chuffs his agreement, gradually sticking more and more of his body into my cocoon, destroying it. Until the gap over my head slips down to expose my face. And I find a pair of intense, icy eyes staring at me.

His hat is in his lap, curled into his white-knuckled fist. Without it shielding some of his potency, I can’t hold his gaze for long. The dominance burning in the blue makes me skittish.

Instead, I fling my eyes over the rest of him, cataloging details. No guns. No knives. Just a pair of navy hiking pants, some major boots, and a flannel shirt. I peek back at his chiseled face to see if he’s still looking.

Yep.

The grooves around his mouth pull tight as his jaw flexes. He looks older than me—maybe early forties—with some sun damage on his skin and a short beard that matches the dark-brown hair swept back from his forehead.

If he didn’t look so utterly intimidating, I might think he looked sort of like the guy on the paper towel box.

When I finally work up my nerve, we stare at each other, neither of us speaking. My brain replays the sight of his fake pussy flying through the air. A completely inappropriate snort hitches out of me.

His thick brows lower. “Something funny?”

My terror has melted into hysteria, apparently, because I suddenly can’t stop giggling. I bite my lip, trying to stop the sound from bubbling out of my mouth.

This serious alpha isn’t laughing, though. “What, exactly, is so hilarious?”

Sniffling loudly, I use the heel of my shaking hand to wipe tears off my cheeks. “I just… I’ve never seen a fake vagina before,” I gasp. “I learned something new today.”

His ice-blue eyes trace my expression, narrowing like he’s calculating something. “I live alone,” he finally says, as if that explains everything.

Which, I guess it does.

It certainly explained all twelve sex toys in my nightstand at my former apartment, right?

I nod, doing my very best to compose myself. “I’m not laughing at you,” I assure him, swallowing another fit of giggles. “I think I’m”—chortle—“in shock.”

“Guess that makes sense. Car accident and whatnot.”

Car accident. Fleeing the scene of my wedding. Being homeless.

One of those things, for sure.

He gives me that heavy sigh again. As though no one has ever been as troubled as him. “What do you need, omega?”