Page 4 of Knot My Type

She sighs as her eyes scan the special menu above. It is then that I realize I have been rude; I haven’t even offered to buy her a coffee.

“Do you want a coffee or something?”

She tuts. “Nah. I’m trying to decide what to get. I know! What about going to the mountains and writing some mystery up there? You can go there for inspiration.”

“The last place I should go is the mountains,” I say suddenly. “A place where things happen that never get documented, because everything that happens there is bad.”

Rebecca leans back slowly, curiosity painting her features. “So, naturally, that’s where you’re going?”

“I go a cabin, where there’s a snowstorm, and a pack rescues me and we live happily ever after. It’s so cliche. I know!” I sip my coffee, now cold and lifeless.

Maybe it is time to throw it in her face. She did offer for me to do it before! I sigh at the idea of it. Throwing the coffee will not make me feel better, besides she’s not the reason I lost my contract. I am.

“Maybe I’ll find my muse up there and a bit more. I hear that in Millbrook they’re looking for an omega. I could put in a word for you?”

Or maybe I’ll disappear just as I’ve tried to for years, swept away by shadows of despair.

“You’re serious,” she states. “It sounds drastic. If you head to Millbrook, then you don’t have to worry about paying for accommodation and…”

“A pack?” I question, wondering if Rebecca thinks that my loneliness is more of problem than my writing block.

She doesn’t, because I get distracted as my gaze drifts back to the window, glancing at the frost that etches the glass.

Hope—or maybe just the scent of something long buried within.

A familiar scent washes over the café, cutting through my suppressants like a knife through butter, and all at once, my heart races. AnAlpha.The rich, woody musk hits my senses with such intensity that I have to grip my coffee cup to steady myself. My suppressants, usually reliable, seem utterly useless against the raw power of his presence.

My breath catches as I glance toward the door, and he walks in. Tall, broad, with a thick beard that suggests both ruggedness and strength. His jacket is unzipped, snow dusting his broad shoulders as his eyes sweep the room—casual yet purposeful. He moves through the space with a predator's grace, a quiet confidence that radiates danger and allure. His scent grows stronger with each step, pine and leather and something distinctlyhimthat puts my omega radar on high alert despite years of chemical suppression.

And then—her.

An omega tucked against his side, her sweet floral scent perfectly complementing his darker notes, belonging completely in a way that makes my heart ache. Her natural fragrance blooms uninhibited, confident in her claim and his protection. Because in the moment he looks down at her, something in his body eases, his alpha pheromones gentling around her like a protective embrace, and they fit together, seamlessly. A bonded pair.

I press my hand to my chest, feeling my suppressants war against the instinctive response his presence triggers. Themedication that's kept my scent muted for years suddenly feels like a prison.

"I think they're just passing through," Rebecca murmurs, her gaze following mine, though I notice her beta nose doesn't pick up the full symphony of pheromones that's currently overwhelming my senses.

“Of course they are. No alpha-omega pair lives in Spring Hopes. It’s too tame. Too boring. Too safe for them.”

But they exist here, if only for a fleeting moment, and that sight undoes me in a way I can’t fully grasp yet.

In that moment, I remember what it was like—to belong, to be scented and claimed and held through storms. To have someone know you from the inside out, without the need for words.

I remember the warmth of a bond that felt electric under my skin, the comfort of waking up tangled in limbs, knowing I was finally home.

And then blood, screams, and smoke curling through the air as my world crumbled—fear rushing me in waves. The betrayal of a beta I’d trusted with my life, pulling our pack apart from within.

As they shift past me, the feeling of warmth and belonging fades, leaving a sharp ache in my chest—the kind that settles in deep, almost unbearable.

Maybe I’m not meant to write another romance. Perhaps I’m not meant to write anything at all. But something is calling to me—something primal, urging me to seek beyond the confines of my fears and the mundane.

The mountains.

That’s where an unmated omega shouldn’t go, especially one who hasn’t let herself feel in years. Then again, maybe that’s a good reason to go—to confront my lingering doubts, to reclaim the pieces of myself I thought were lost forever.

Not for a book. Not even for a story.

Maybe for something I didn’t even realize I was still missing.

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