Hypnotize

HYPNOTIZE KNOT THEIR OMEGA ELENA LAWSON Copyright © 2023 by Thorn House Publishing Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Edited by: Jennifer Jones @ Bookends Editing CONTENTS Chapter 1 J U L I E T Chapter 2 J U L I E T Chapter 3 J U L I E T Chapter 4 H U C K Chapter 5 J U L I E T Chapter 6 D E A N Chapter 7 J U L I E T Chapter 8 E V E R E T T Chapter 9 H U C K Chapter 10 D E A N Chapter 11 J U L I E T Chapter 12 H U C K Chapter 13 D E A N Chapter 14 J U L I E T Chapter 15 E V E R E T T Chapter 16 J U L I E T Chapter 17 E V E R E T T Chapter 18 E V E R E T T Chapter 19 J U L I E T Chapter 20 D E A N Chapter 21 E V E R E T T Chapter 22 H U C K Chapter 23 J U L I E T Chapter 24 D E A N Chapter 25 J U L I E T Chapter 26 E V E R E T T Chapter 27 H U C K Chapter 28 J U L I E T Chapter 29 D E A N Chapter 30 H U C K Chapter 31 J U L I E T Chapter 32 J U L I E T Chapter 33 D E A N Chapter 34 J U L I E T Chapter 35 J U L I E T Chapter 36 J U L I E T Chapter 37 E V E R E T T Chapter 38 J U L I E T Chapter 39 D E A N Chapter 40 E V E R E T T Chapter 41 H U C K Chapter 42 J U L I E T Epilogue SELECTION: Also by E. J. Lawson CAPTIVATE: Also by E. J. Lawson ONE — J U L I E T Waiting for your destiny in the back seat of a rented Buick is absolute torture. Though there are three of us in the polished black sedan, the drive to the airport is eerily silent. Dad is driving, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Papa stares out the window from the passenger side, but his nervous energy fills the entire vehicle. From the rearview mirror, I see Dad’s lips are pressed together in a thin line, his forehead creased with worry. Every once in a while, he attempts to fill the quiet with small talk about the weather or the flight, but it only seems to make the tension stronger until the air in the Buick is thick as soup. Difficult to breathe. “We’re proud of you,” Dad says, the same four words he’s been repeating to me on a loop since we got the news. “The Williams Pack is one of the most influential in the United States.” “I know,” I say on a long sigh, but I put on a smile when he catches my eye in the mirror to put him back at ease. For generations, the Williams Pack has been an influential force in politics and the oil business. From the original members of the pack to the modern-day heirs, each one has made their mark on history. And every time I think about it, I nearly have a panic attack. Why did they choose me? I don’t want to tell Dad that every time he brings up the Williamses’ influence in the world, my heart races faster than it did when they dropped me off at the Omega Academy four years ago. That too was a foreign and intimidating place at first, but ultimately it became something close to a home. I hope that happens with my new pack, too. Finally, we see a sign for the little airport where Victor Williams has arranged for a private jet to pick me up. Papa, Dad and I flew into Anchorage, but we had to take a car from there to this smaller airport that will take me to the Williamses’ property, an expansive area in the middle of the mountains—the middle of nowhere. From the pictures I’ve seen, it looks beautiful, but definitely isolated. Desolate. I still don’t know how I feel about that. The thought of being in the middle of a new state, one currently covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice, with a pack of complete strangers, is making me want to make a break for it. Papa nervously runs his hands through his thinning hair. Despite being follicly challenged, he has an air of dignified maturity that has been hard-won during his fifty-five years on this earth. Losing your bonded Omega and newborn son during childbirth will do that. Despite the devastating loss, his strong features are softened by a kind gleam in his eye and a gentle smile on his lips, his unconditional love for me reflected in his expression. Dad, on the other hand, is the absolute opposite of Papa. He has an air of mischievousness and a devil-may-care attitude that has resulted in good-natured pranks on both me and Papa. His still-dark hair is a mess of curls, something I didn’t inherit at all. I have stick-straight blonde hair, just like my late mother. The memory of her sends a pang of grief through me and I swallow it down, pressing my palms together between my thighs as I watch the snowy landscape drift by out the window. “Are you ready for this?” Papa asks me