Page 65 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
The thought lands like a stone in my stomach. I push the quilt away and sit up, gulping the close air. My pulse hammers in my ears, and there’s a dampness between my thighs that I don’t want to acknowledge. I haven’t been in heat for months—not since before—
I clamp down on that memory before it can fully form. My throat tastes bitter. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards cool beneath my feet, and glance around. Theo’s sprawled on a couch, arm over his eyes. Dane’s in the chair by the door, head tipped back, mouth just barely parted. Jamie’s stretched out on his bunk, blanket tangled around his legs. They look peaceful, unguarded, and the last thing I want is to wake them.
I push to my feet, every step careful, deliberate. My body feels like it’s buzzing under the skin, too aware of every creak, every whisper of air. The heat is climbing, stealing the edges of my thoughts, so I move faster, making for the door. The latch clicks softly and I slip outside.
Cool night air rushes over me, sharp and clean. I lean against the porch railing and close my eyes, breathing it in. The forest smells of wet leaves, pine sap, and the faint sweetness of some night-blooming flower I can’t name. It’s better out here—less suffocating—but the heat inside me doesn’t vanish. It just… waits.
I wrap my arms around myself, fingers gripping tight. My heart is a fist pounding against my ribs. I’m not ready for this. Not here.
The heat licks at my spine, curling low and insistent. I press my palms to my face, cool skin against fevered cheeks, and will it to pass. Just for tonight. Just long enough to keep the walls up.
Behind me, the safehouse glows faintly through the window, shapes moving in the dimness—one of the brothers shifting in sleep. They don’t know I’m out here. And I’ll keep it that way, at least until I figure out what to do.
The night is quiet, the stars sharp against the black. I breathe until my lungs ache, trying to focus on the cold air and the sound of the forest instead of the warmth gathering like a storm inside me.
Chapter forty-four
Dane
The creak of a floorboard wakes me. At first, I think it’s just the old house settling, but when I open my eyes, the bed in the far corner is empty. The quilt she’d been under is crumpled, one corner hanging off the side like it had been pushed away in a hurry.
I ease up from the chair by the front door, my muscles stiff from sleeping in it, and scan the room. Theo’s still on the couch, though his head has turned toward her empty bed. His eyes flick open, catching mine instantly.
“She’s not there,” he murmurs, voice low enough not to wake Jamie.
Jamie’s already half-awake anyway, blinking and frowning when he follows our gaze. “She go to the bathroom?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Back door latch clicked a few minutes ago.” My voice stays calm, but my gut’s already knotting.
Theo swings his legs down, bare feet landing softly. “Then she’s outside?” There’s something in his tone—concern, but alsoa sharper note, the kind that comes when instinct has already connected the dots.
Jamie exhales slowly. “You smelled it too.”
I nod once. “Yeah.” The change in her scent is subtle, not the full bloom of heat, but enough to put every nerve on alert. It’s tangled with something else—stress, maybe fear. She’s running warm, and not just from the blanket.
Theo’s jaw tightens. “If we all go out there…”
“It’ll be too much,” I finish for him. The last thing she needs is three alphas crowding her when she’s already unsettled. “I’ll go. Stay downwind.”
Jamie scrubs a hand over his face, worry sharpening the lines of his mouth. “You sure you can handle it?”
I give him a flat look. “Not my first time, Jamie.”
“Yeah, but it’sher,” he says, and it’s not teasing, not even a little.
That lands heavier than I like, but I push past it. “I’ll make sure she’s safe. That’s all.”
Theo leans back into the couch, but he doesn’t relax. “If anything changes, you call.”
“Always.”
I slip out the door quietly, letting it close behind me with only a faint click. The night air hits like a blessing—cool, damp with the smell of pine and wet earth. I follow the curve of the house and she’s easy to find, sitting by the porch’s railing with her arms wrapped tight around herself. Moonlight paints her hair in silver streaks, catching in the loose strands that the breeze toys with. I stop, close enough to see her clearly but far enough that my scent won’t roll over her.
Every cell in my body is telling me to go to her. My instincts roar for me to step forward, close the gap, wrap her up in my arms and anchor her until the tension leaves her shoulders. Theurge is almost physical, a restless ache that makes my fingers curl against my thighs.
I know she’s too warm already, her body fighting itself. I can feel it from here, the subtle pulse of heat threaded through her scent—mixed with something sharper. Not fear exactly, but unease. A private battle she’s fighting under the surface.
I shift my weight, bracing one hand against the porch post, forcing myself to stay put. She doesn’t need an alpha right now—she needs space. Space to breathe, to get her bearings, to decide what she wants without feeling boxed in.
