Page 71 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Stop. Think. Focus.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. And there it is—sweet vanilla and honey, now sharpened with the unmistakable notes of omega heat. The scent hits me like it has claws, digging into me and sending blood rushing south despite my best efforts to control it.

Following her trail, I move faster, calling her name. The scent grows stronger with each step, until it’s almost overwhelming, clouding my thoughts with nothing but need.

“Hailey!” I shout again, pushing through a tangle of underbrush.

And then I see her.

Huddled at the base of a massive tree, arms wrapped around her knees, shivering despite the sweat that glistens on her skin. Even in the dim forest light, I can see how flushed she is, her pupils dilated. Lost in the throes of her heat. Alone. Vulnerable.

“Hailey,” I say softly, approaching cautiously, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “It’s me. It’s Ren.”

She looks up, her expression unreadable in the shadows. Fear? Confusion? Or just the disorientation of the heat?

I reach for her, my hand outstretched, and she flinches violently, scrambling away from me, her eyes wide with terror.

“No!” she cries, her voice raw with panic. “Stay away from me!"

She lashes out, her nails raking across my arm, drawing blood. I recoil, surprised by the force of her attack. “Hailey, it’s me! It’s Ren!”

She shrinks back against the tree, her body trembling, her scent thick with fear and the heady aroma of her heat. “Don’ttouch me!” she screams, her voice laced with a desperation that tears at my gut.

I freeze, my hand hovering in the air. I can see the raw panic in her eyes, the way she’s looking at me like I’m a threat, like I’m the one who hurt her. And the realization hits me like a punch to the gut. She doesn’t recognize me. The mask, the body armor, the blood…I look like one of them.

“Hailey,” I say again, my voice softer now, more soothing. I remove the mask, letting her see my face, my own fear and desperation mirroring hers. “Look at me. It’s me. It’s Ren.”

Slow, hesitant recognition dawns in her eyes, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the darkness.

“Ren?” she whispers, voice barely audible. The fear in her eyes begins receding, replaced by something else—disbelief, hope, and a flicker of…longing?

“Ren,” she says more steadily now.

I nod, crouching down, not wanting to startle her. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat. Disbelief wars with hope in her expression, and for a heartbeat, I’m afraid she’ll bolt, that she won’t trust me, not after all I’ve done, all I didn’t do. That she’ll?—

With a sob that shatters the forest silence, she throws herself against me. Her arms lock around my neck like she’s clinging to a cliff’s edge, her body trembling so violently I can feel her heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

“I thought you were dead.” The words tear out of her, ragged and wet against my collarbone. “Widow told those alphas—Caldwell made me think—” A hiccupping gasp cuts her off. Then, like a dam breaking: “I’m so sorry?—”

Her chest hitches, a shudder so deep I feel it in my own lungs.

“—so sorry?—”

Another tremor, harder this time. Her fingers twist into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish.

“—I’m sorry?—”

She’s spiraling. Apologies spilling out between breaths that come too fast, too shallow. Shock setting in.

I tighten my grip—one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing firmly between her shoulder blades. “Breathe,” I murmur into her hair, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “Just breathe, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

Her forehead knocks against my sternum. “But I?—”

“No.” My palm rubs slow circles over her spine. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” A broken noise escapes her. I can taste her relief in the air—honey and salt and something painfully vulnerable. “Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.”

I hold her tight, my arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. The feel of her against me, small and warm andalive, sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated joy through me, a feeling more potent than any drug, any victory. She thought I was dead. And the knowledge that she cares, that my being alive matters to her, makes me feel more alive than I have in years.

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