Page 52 of Knot My Type

Fen starts to pull away, but I catch his wrist. "Thank you," I say. "For understanding. For not making me explain everything."

"You don't have to explain anything to us," he says. "We're just glad you're staying."

After he leaves, I eat the soup—it's delicious, warm and comforting—and scroll back through what I've written. It reads like a love letter to these three incredible men who've given me back my life. A love letter I'm finally brave enough to deliver.

I close the laptop and get ready for bed, my body humming with exhaustion and anticipation. Tomorrow, I'll tell Kael andRhys what I've decided. Tomorrow, we'll start figuring out what comes next.

But tonight, for the first time in months, I fall asleep feeling like I'm exactly where I belong.

FEN

Iwake at 3:17 AM with every instinct screaming that something's wrong.

Not wrong—different. The air in the cabin tastes different, carries a charge that makes my skin prickle and my beta senses go haywire. I lie still for a moment, cataloging what I'm feeling. My heart rate has kicked up without cause, there's a restless energy thrumming through my muscles, and underneath it all is a pull I can't quite identify.

Then the scent hits me properly, and I understand.

Eliana.

Her scent, which normally carries that soft sweetness of omega contentment mixed with the sharp edge of healing trauma, has changed. Deepened. Become something rich and intoxicating that makes my mouth water and my hands shake.

She's going into heat.

I'm out of bed and padding down the hallway before conscious thought kicks in. The wooden floors are cold under my bare feet, but I barely notice. Every step closer to her room makes the scent stronger, more complex. It's not just arousal—though that's definitely there, thick and honeyed and impossible to ignore. There's something else layered underneathit, something that speaks directly to the pack bonds we've been building.

She's not just going into heat. She's going into heat here, with us, in the place she's decided is home. Her body is responding to safety, to belonging, to the deep-seated omega instinct that says pack means protection during vulnerability.

I pause outside her door, my hand raised to knock. Through the wood, I can hear restless movement—the rustle of sheets, a soft whimper that goes straight to my hindbrain. Every beta instinct I have is firing at once: comfort, protect, provide, soothe.

But there are protocols. Rules. Even in a non-traditional pack like ours, you don't just burst into an omega's space during heat without explicit consent.

My internal struggle lasts about thirty seconds before another whimper from inside her room makes the decision for me. I knock softly.

"Eliana? Are you okay?"

A long pause, then her voice, thick and shaky: "Fen? Something's wrong."

"I'm going to come in, okay?"

"Please."

I turn the handle and slip inside, and the full force of her scent hits me like a physical blow. The room is warm—too warm—and heavy with pheromones that make every nerve ending come alive. She's sitting up in bed, her dark hair mussed from tossing and turning, that oversized sleep shirt clinging to curves made more pronounced by the flush spreading down her neck and chest.

Her eyes are wide when they meet mine, pupils dilated with arousal and confusion. "I don't understand what's happening to me."

I move carefully into the room, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening despite every instinct screaming at me togo to her. "You're going into heat, sweetheart. It's okay. It's natural."

"But I haven't since—" She shakes her head, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. "I thought maybe the trauma had broken something in me. It's been almost a year."

A year. Christ. No wonder her body is responding so strongly now. It's been building up, waiting for her to feel safe enough to let go. And she's chosen here, chosen us, as the place to finally allow herself this vulnerability.

"Your body was protecting itself," I tell her, settling carefully on the edge of her bed. Close enough to offer comfort, far enough to give her space. "Trauma can suppress heat cycles. But you're healing now, and you feel safe. This is good, Eliana. This is your body trusting again."

She looks up at me, and the naked need in her eyes makes my breath catch. "It hurts, Fen. Everything feels too tight, too hot. I can't—I need—"

"I know." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "I need to wake Kael and Rhys. You're going to need all of us for this."

"No, don't—what if they don't want—what if I'm too much trouble—"

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