Page 35 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

"There’s nothing wrong with her," he mutters, frowning at his chart like it's lying to him. "Her vitals are steady. There is no sign of trauma. She’s… perfectly healthy."

"For a dead girl," Blaze blurts.

I choke on a laugh at his bluntness but quickly swallow it.

Sure, I’m perfectly healthy now, but only a few hours ago, I bled out in Viper’s arms.

Even though I stand before my Pack, alive and breathing, they are still reeling from the shock of my death. They’re certainly not ready to laugh about it yet. Okay, maybe Blaze is, but he's always going to be a special case.

My mates are gathered in the small medic tent, crammed into every available space like a wall of restless energy.

Knox stands at attention behind me, his arms crossed in full Prime Alpha mode. Shade hovers close enough that his body heat presses at my shoulder, ready to yank me to him at the slightest excuse. Blaze paces back and forth in front of the entrance, his breathing ragged and hitching every time the medic touches me. And Viper… even slouched against a post, half-drained from surviving a bout of Blood Lust that should have been his demise, his gaze burns into the medic like he’ll tear his hands off if they linger too long.

I should speak up and tell them it's okay, that the Beta is just doing his job, but I know it won’t matter. They have a right to be possessive and worried. 'Cause, you know, I'm a dead girl walking.

Last time I told them not to worry about my safety, I went and got myself killed. So I think my credibility in assessing threat levels is ruined for all eternity.

"You done?" Knox clips at the medic, who is holding my wrist, checking my pulse for the fourth time as though he expects me to drop dead again at any moment. Who knows, maybe I will. It's not like any of us know why my heart is beating when by all the laws of nature it shouldn't.

The medic looks up in alarm at Knox's hard tone and swallows hard. "Uh, yes?"

"Then stop touching our Omega," Knox growls.

The medic squeaks, going pale as parchment, before escaping into the corner of the tent.

"It's fine," I try to interject and reassure, but Knox only growls louder.

Shade rips off the blood pressure band before he gently pulls me off the examination table. His grip trembles.

"Let's go."

Knox swoops in and scoops me into his arms, moving out into the early dawn chill. I curl my fingers into his shirt and inhale his ink and spice scent deeply.

Knox doesn’t slow until the medic tent is far behind us. His grip is tight, his chest heaving against my cheek as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his arms and vanish.

"Knox," I murmur, brushing my fingers against his collarbone. "You don’t have to carry me. I can walk on my own. My legs aren't shaking anymore."

"Not happening." His arms lock tighter. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

The others close in around us as we move through the camp. Blaze strides at Knox’s side, every inch of him vibrating with barely leashed intensity. His eyes dare anyone to look too long at me. A pair of soldiers glance our way, and he bares his teeth in a silent snarl that sends them scurrying.

Shade lingers at my other side, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps, steady and silent. He doesn’t have to say anything because his presence cages me as surely as Knox’s arms.

Viper trails behind, slower, weaker, but I can feel his fixated attention on me even when I can’t see him. The golden strands of our bond are taut, like he’s grasping and holding me tight from a distance.

Around us, camp life stirs. Voices rise from the mess hall, boots crunch over frost, and laughter drifts through the camp like it belongs to another world. I died, I came back, and still the sun rises.

"Almost there," Shade murmurs, his hand brushing the small of my back.

We slip into the Pack’s tent, the canvas flap falling shut behind us, muffling the outside world. The silence inside is suffocating, charged with everything we haven’t said. Because what can I say?

I'm sorry I got myself killed?

Sorry I manipulated your fear of my leaving and desire to see me happy to put myself into a dangerous situation because of my own selfish grasp for independence?

It feels so weak and empty. My mistakes were fatal, and the only reason I have the opportunity to apologize is because of a weird twist of fate.

Knox sets me down on my feet reluctantly, his hands lingering on my waist as if testing that I’m solid.