CHAPTER 9: DRESSING TO KILL

EMBER’S POV

The first thing I notice when I wake up is how sore I am.

The second is Knox's scent everywhere—on the sheets, on my skin, in the bite mark at the base of my throat that throbs with every breath.

I bury my face in the pillow and groan. My whole body aches in a good way, but it's still an ache. My inner thighs are sticky and tender, and I'm pretty sure if I tried to walk right now, I'd collapse like a newborn deer.

Worth it, though.

For the first time in years, I don't have to jump up and perform the perfect omega wife routine. Don't have to smile through the pain or pretend I'm not exhausted. Don't have to make breakfast in matching lingerie while Gale ignores me to text his side pieces.

I could lie here forever.

Then I hear voices outside the bedroom door and my brief moment of peace shatters.

The clock reads 7:04 AM. Who the hell is here this early?

I slide out of bed, wincing when approximately every muscle in my body protests, and spot Knox's shirt draped over a chair. I pull it on. It falls past my knees and smells like him—pine and winter and expensive cologne that probably costs more than my car payment.

I creep to the door and press my ear against it like the nosy person I apparently am now.

"—already causing a scene in the lobby," a deep male voice says. "Screaming about his kidnapped wife. Threatening legal action. Half the Summit attendees heard him, and there are reporters everywhere."

Oh god. Gale.

Of course he's here. Of course he couldn't just let me leave quietly. He probably practiced his victim speech in the mirror.

"Charming. He always did have a flair for the dramatic." Knox sounds utterly unimpressed. "This'll be easier than I thought."

"He's checked into the corner suite. Summit security is ready to throw him out if he makes one more threat." The other man pauses. "You need to get ahead of this before it spirals. The press is already asking questions."

"Fine. Set up a press conference for one PM." Knox's voice hardens. "And get a stylist team here within the hour. She needs a complete wardrobe by noon."

Wait, what? A press conference?

"You're really doing this?" The other man sounds skeptical. "Going public with her?"

"Gale wanted to make a scene. We'll give him one he'll never forget." Knox pauses. "And Nathaniel? Make sure she looks like a fucking queen."

My stomach does a complicated gymnastics routine. A press conference. Cameras. The entire werewolf world watching me stand next to Knox while Gale has a meltdown.

This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm totally not going to vomit.

"Just..." Nathaniel hesitates. "Be careful with this one, Knox. She's already been through enough."

Something warm flickers in my chest at the concern in this stranger's voice.

"This is different, and I'm not Gale," Knox says coldly. "Now go. We don't have much time."

I hear footsteps and jump back from the door just as it swings open.

Knox stops short when he sees me standing there in his shirt, hair probably looking like a bird's nest, definitely looking like I've been thoroughly railed. Which, fair. I have been.

His expression shifts from business mode to something that makes my knees weak. His eyes travel down my bare legs slowly, possessively, and I feel it everywhere.

"Morning, sunshine," he says, voice dropping low. "Eavesdropping?"

"Your conversation was very loud," I lie. "Hard not to overhear."

His lips quirk. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that Gale's having a tantrum in the lobby and you want to parade me in front of cameras." I cross my arms. "Which is insane, by the way. Completely insane."

"Probably." He steps into the room and closes the door. "But we're doing it anyway."

"Knox, I can't stand in front of reporters. I'll freeze. Or say something stupid. Or trip and fall on my face, which honestly seems the most likely—"

"Ember." He crosses to me and cups my face in his hands. "All you have to do is stand there and look beautiful. I'll handle everything else."

"That's easy for you to say. You're the Lycan King. People expect you to be confident and terrifying. I'm just..." I gesture vaguely at myself. "Me. The boring omega who couldn't even keep her husband interested."

Knox's eyes flash. "First, you're not boring. Second, Gale's a fucking idiot. And third, by the time we're done today, everyone will know exactly what he lost."

I want to argue, but he's looking at me like I'm something valuable instead of something disposable, and it makes my throat tight.

"What if I mess this up?" I whisper.

"You won't." His thumb brushes my cheek. "Trust me."

I shouldn't. I barely know him. But somehow I do.

"Okay," I say. "But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."

His smile is wicked. "Deal."

Then he's kissing me, deep and demanding, walking me backward until my legs hit the mattress and I fall onto it. He follows me down, settling his weight over me, and suddenly I forget why I was worried.

"Knox, the stylists are coming—"

"Not for an hour." His mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing the mark from last night that makes me shiver. "Which gives me plenty of time to remind you exactly who you belong to."

He pushes the shirt up and spreads my thighs, settling between them with a look that promises trouble. When his mouth finds me, I gasp and arch off the bed.

"God, you're going to kill me," I breathe.

"What a way to go," he murmurs against me, and I would laugh if I could still form coherent thoughts.

He takes his time, building the pleasure slowly until I'm trembling and begging and completely falling apart. When I come, it's with his name on my lips and stars behind my eyelids.

Then he's inside me, moving with deep, measured strokes that make me feel every inch of him. He keeps one hand on my face, thumb brushing my cheek, eyes locked on mine like he's memorizing this moment.

"You scared?" he asks, voice rough.

"Terrified," I admit.

"Good. Use it." He rolls his hips and I moan. "Walk in there terrified and beautiful and make them all forget Gale exists. Can you do that?"

"Yes," I gasp.

"Say it like you mean it, Ember."

"Yes!" I cry out as he hits that perfect spot. "I can do that."

I shatter around him, and moments later he follows with a groan that I feel in my bones.

We lie tangled together afterward, both catching our breath. Ten orgasms in less than twelve hours. I've lost count of what's normal anymore.

Knox rolls out of bed and grabs his phone from the nightstand. "I'm ordering breakfast. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be." He's already scrolling through something. "Room service. Now."

So bossy.

Ten minutes later, there's a knock and Knox answers the door in nothing but sweatpants. A server wheels in a cart loaded with enough food to feed a small army—pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, pastries, coffee.

Knox dismisses the server and gestures to the spread. "Eat."

I sit at the table and stare at the food. My stomach is doing backflips thinking about the press conference, but I manage to grab a piece of bacon.

Knox sits across from me, pouring coffee. "You're quiet."

"I'm processing." I bite into the bacon. "This time yesterday I was married and trying to save a relationship with lingerie. Now I'm about to go on camera as the Lycan King's girlfriend. It's a lot."

"Regrets?" His tone is casual but his eyes are sharp.

"About leaving Gale? Not even a little." I steal a strawberry from his plate. "About agreeing to this whole fake girlfriend thing? Ask me after the press conference."

His lips quirk. "Fair enough."

"What about you?" I ask, emboldened by the morning sex endorphins still flooding my system. "Any regrets about dragging a random omega into your escape plan against your ex?"

"You're not random." He takes a sip of coffee. "And I don't do regrets."

"Of course you don't." I manage half a pancake, some fruit. "Too alpha for regrets."

"Too smart for them," he corrects. "Regret is just guilt without a plan to fix it."

I'm trying to think of a response to that when there's a sharp knock at exactly nine AM.

Knox opens the door and five people sweep in like a tactical team—rolling racks of clothes, makeup cases, styling tools, enough accessories to open a boutique.

Leading them is a tall beta woman with platinum blonde hair cut in a severe bob, wearing all black and the most intimidating expression I've ever seen.

Her eyes are sharp, assessing, and when she looks at me sitting there in Knox's oversized shirt with sex hair and hickeys on my neck, something predatory flashes across her face.

"This is Simone," Knox says. "She's going to make you look devastating."

Simone circles me slowly, like a shark evaluating prey. She lifts a strand of my hair, studies my face from different angles, then steps back with a slow, wicked smile.

"Oh, honey," she says, her voice pure confidence. "By the time I'm done with you, that ex-girlfriend of his is going to wish you were dead."

My eyes widen.

Simone's smile turns sharper. "And trust me—that's exactly the energy we want."