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

This is everything I was afraid of.

And all the things I wanted, back when I let myself think I could have pack life.

The simple fact is—I can’t control myself. I can’t turn down what Emma’s offering. Even if it’s the only taste I’ll ever get.

God knows what my scent is like at this moment. I assume the tension gripping my chest isn’t quite burning the woody aroma to ash, though, because the little omega draped over my shoulder doesn’t seem the least bit distressed.

Only delicious as hell.

She giggles sweetly while I stomp around the back of the house, leaving gooey cinnamon perfume in our wake. I flex my arm around her thighs, appreciating how thick and curved they feel.

Mate, my Alpha chuffs, full of gruff pride.

Mate, I think back, fitting the word around all the things I just told her and the way she reacted like she was tailor-made for me.

Sent like a hand-picked present. Some magical mixture of compassion and submission and strength.

I ignore the optimistic thoughts. Because there’s a hell of a long way to go before I have any business throwing my hat into the ring. And three other alphas are jockeying for position.

But, hell—the solid weight of her is as perfect as her scent. It reassures some primal part of me, knowing that she isn’t frail or underfed.

Still, it’s cold here. She could use some feeding up.

When we step into the house, my eyes fly to the kitchen. I shove back the desire to set her in my lap and force her to eat breakfast.

Last night, at dinner, I very nearly did just that. Then she ate two bowls of chili along with a small stack of cornbread biscuits, and my Alpha practically swooned.

I noticed the way she covered herself up after riding Micah through her heat-spike, though. We might love how she looks and feels, but she seems self-conscious.

That will be my first priority when I have her naked.

If I don’t scare her off before we get that far.

Gunnar and Zane won’t be any help. They’re both passed out. Micah is the only one sitting up, rubbing at his hazel eyes.

The second he sees us and scents Emma, he lumbers to his feet and shoots me an accusatory look that connects with the self-doubt sloshing in my gut. For a second, I question if any of this is good for Emma⁠—

—then she leans around my hip and gives him an upside-down grin. “Hi, Hazels!”

All traces of concern fall off Micah’s features. He chuckles as he strides over. “Good morning, sweet girl. Did you go outside and bag a bear?” He smirks at me. “Or did Knox bag you?”

“No one’s bagged anyone,” I grumble, setting Emma on her feet.

“Yet,” she adds, smiling widely again.

Micah grins right back. “Hmm. Well, if you’re going upstairs for some one-on-one time, I can run interference when these jackasses wake up.”

Emma touches his chest and glances up at me, letting me choose if I want her alone or if I would feel better having someone there for backup.

Her open, submissive expression sparks some deep, burning instinct that smolders under my center. It’s been a long time since I intentionally accessed that place, but the impulses come effortlessly.

I know what’s best for her and ache to provide it. There’s a deep-seated pleasure in that.

“My little miss needs a bath,” I decide out loud, squeezing her nape as I guide her toward the stairs and toss a look back at Micah. “You’re going to watch.”

There are layers to being a natural-born alpha.

On one level, I know what Emma needs to get off. I also know what she needs to be safe.

There are selfish impulses—the obsessive urge to hoard her to myself and fight off the alpha at my back. The growl that snaps out of my lungs when I sense Gunnar’s scent twined with hers in my bathroom.

But then there are others, too.

I want to test Micah to some degree. Weigh how trustworthy he would be as a packmate and—more importantly—what he has to offer this omega.

Because she’s at the center of every last instinct raging through me.

Protecting her. Pleasuring her. Making sure she’s clean and fed and happy.

Emma makes that last one too easy. She’s already beaming at me like I hung the moon in the sky, and I haven’t done one damn thing to deserve it.

Yet.

I sling Emma back over my shoulder, relishing her giggly squeal as I charge past my bedroom. Micah casts me a questioning look, but I curl my free hand, indicating he should follow us.

It’s been years since I walked all the way down this hall. The local team of no-nonsense grandmothers I pay to come and clean all the empty parts of the house have kept the floors dust-free and the walls de-cobwebbed, but other than that, I’m not sure anyone else has ever set foot in here.

I tried to, once, but it tied my stomach into a tangle. I also tried to convince my architect to omit it altogether, but the alpha woman refused, claiming not having a proper Omega Suite in a house of this size would kill any future property value. The investor in me couldn’t argue, so I wound up with a sealed-off suite and two carved wooden doors I never even let myself look at.

Neither of them comment as we shove in, but I find myself sweeping the room, remembering things I’d purposefully forgotten. Like how this portion of the upstairs is built into the mountain, with a deck stretching from the wall of window sliders. Or how it faces the distant blue-misted peaks, where golden sunrise spills into the sky at this time of day.

Emma cranes her neck to look around and I feel a beat of anxious pride. She clearly likes the room, but I’m wary of letting her get attached to it. Or me.

If it would be better for her to move on without either, that’s what she’s going to do.

But we won’t know until we try. And the way she reacted to my story brought me closer to hope than I have been in years.

Micah catches on quickly, cutting across the wide wood floor to the open bathroom door. He goes right for the tub, pausing to check it for dust before he turns on the tap.

It’s a bare-ass room, though, and he notices. Tossing me a slightly exasperated look, he asks, “Towels?”

“Hall closet,” I rough out, gently setting Emma on her feet. I realize then that she’s wearing Zane’s boots, probably because she didn’t want to come up here to find her own before following me earlier.

I’m about to ask Micah to go grab her a clean set of clothes when I hear his footsteps head for the bedroom.

Huh.

He’s doing it himself.

Emma doesn’t notice my surprise; she’s too preoccupied with her own. Turning in a slow circle, her wide green eyes drink in the rustic design—light-wood walls, an enormous trough-style sink with four faucets, and an enclosed shower-slash-sauna.

With a teasing smile, she accuses, “You’ve been holding out on us!”

I palm the back of my neck, grumbling. Truth is, I’d forgotten this bathroom is basically something straight out of a posh ski resort; otherwise, I would have suggested she use it when she got here.

The light in her eyes makes her next taunt even sweeter. “Do you also have a home theater hidden somewhere?”

She clocks the way my features freeze up, her lashes fluttering wide. “You do!” she laughs, bouncing in place. “Ooh, can we watch Home Alone? No, wait, The Grinch?”

I remember Gunnar’s lament the first night he spent with us. And, hell, I can’t say no to Emma’s beaming, hope-filled face, either.

I grip handfuls of her borrowed sweatshirt and shove it out of my way, finding the warm, bare skin of her sides as I step closer and stare down my nose. “If you’re a good girl for me, you can have just about anything you want, little miss.”

She nips her lower lip, shy and gorgeous as all hell. “I’ll be good.”

When she hesitates, my fingers tug gently on her curls. Big eyes fly to mine, absorbing the thick beat of potency my Alpha projects.

“Say it.”

It’s not normal to want this, I’m sure. Zane will probably laugh his ass off when he hears what I’m asking the sweet little omega to call me. But I can’t help myself. When she said it earlier, my blood roared. Deep down, it feels right in a way I can’t quite describe.

I just know what she needs. And my Alpha knows that being what she needs is the most important thing now.

“D-daddy,” she stutters, adorably uncertain. I huff a grunt, bending to scent-mark her forehead in reassurance. My fingers return to stroking her curved sides.

“That’s okay,” I husk, staring into her as I inject sincerity into every word. “I’m here, and I’m listening to you. Try it again, honey. Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

I feel more than see her chest shudder as cinnamon sweetness creeps into the air. My cock and scent both rise up to meet her arousal while she breathes, “You are, Daddy.”

“That’s right,” I praise, skimming my palms to her ribs. “Daddy will take care of his baby girl.”

Her skin feels so soft against my calloused fingers. I trace one down the line of her spine while the other draws a curve under her breast. I feel the weight of those big, natural tits pressed into the top of my abdomen. My dick kicks against my jeans, throbbing at her belly.

With my eyes on hers, I slip her sweatshirt off. In my periphery, I clock her gorgeous, pink-tipped peaks bouncing into view, but there’s something more important going on here. Some door inside her soul that I’m unlocking, just by offering her my complete, undivided attention.

“I’m here,” I say again, lower, “I’m listening. Tell me what you want, honey.”

She quivers against me. Somewhere in the attached bedroom, I hear Micah rejoin us. He doesn’t interrupt, though, even when Emma can’t manage to form words.

Turns out, I don’t need them.

This is what she wants. To be the center of our attention. Our absolute focus.

Done.