Page 71 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
Her fingers clutch at the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her steady. “I didn’t want this,” she murmurs.
Something twists in my chest at the quiet truth in her voice. “I know,” I say softly. And I do.
Every instinct I have is a roar in my blood, telling me to promise her she’s safe, to make her believe it by sheer force of presence. But I hold my ground, keep my breathing slow. If I push, I’ll lose what little trust she’s letting me keep right now.
Footsteps return—Theo with a glass of water, Jamie leaning heavier on him now. They stop just inside the door, reading the air the same way I do.
Theo hands me the glass without a word. I kneel, placing it on the nightstand within her reach, my movements deliberate, unhurried.
She glances at it, then at me. Her lips part, like she wants to speak, but no sound comes.
Jamie’s voice breaks the quiet, low and certain. “We’ll keep you safe, Cam. All of us.”
She swallows hard, looking down again. But I catch the way her fingers ease their grip on the blanket. Just a little.
And for now, that’s enough.
Chapter fifty
Cam
Iwake with the taste of heat already on my tongue.
It’s not just warmth—it’s a heavy, curling heat that settles low in my belly, radiating outward until my skin feels too tight, too sensitive. Every inch of me aches like I’ve been stretched on some invisible rack. My body knows before my mind wants to admit it.
I’ve been here before. Not for a long time—not since I thought my heat meant trust and promises and a future that wasn’t mine to keep.
The blankets are twisted around my legs, trapping the warmth against me. My shirt clings to my back, damp. Even the air feels thick, sweet with the mingled scents of the alphas somewhere beyond my door. Dane’s calm earthiness. Theo’s sharper pine. Jamie’s warm leather-and-smoke. Each one threads through the air, soft but distinct, and my traitorous body responds, pulse kicking.
I shove the blankets off and sit up slowly, pressing my palms to my thighs until the room steadies. The safehouse is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes you aware of every tiny sound—thecreak of the wood when I shift my weight, the distant hum of the wind slipping past the eaves. Somewhere, I hear a chair scrape gently across the floor.
I try to breathe past the pulse in my throat. This isn’t just warmth anymore. This is the beginning.
Through the cracked door which allows the breeze in, I catch the faintest glimpse of movement—Theo crossing the room, passing something to Dane. Their voices are low, careful. Protective.
Part of me wants to cling to my stubborn refusal, to keep this locked away until it passes, until I’m safe from wanting. But my body doesn’t care about vows or betrayals. It remembers how it felt to be touched, even if that memory is tangled with lies.
I shift, my gaze drifting to the kitchen, where Jamie sits with his injured leg propped on a chair, Theo crouched beside him checking the bandage. Dane stands nearby, arms crossed, but his eyes keep flicking toward my door like a tether he can’t cut.
The longer I watch them, the more the heat changes. It’s still sharp at the edges, still painful—but it’s threaded with something else now. Something quieter. Curious.
My gaze lingers on each of them in turn. Dane, steady and grounded, always watching without pressing. Theo, sharp but gentle when it matters, the kind of man who’d build you shelter in a storm. Jamie, warm and quick with a smile, even injured, even now.
I curl my fingers tighter around my knees, closing my eyes against the wave of longing that follows.
When I open them again, the room hasn’t changed—but I have. The heat feels different now. Less like an enemy to fight, more like a tide I’ll eventually have to let pull me under.
The hinges of my door make the faintest sigh when I open it wider.
I tell myself I’m only stepping out because I need water, but my pulse stutters anyway when three sets of eyes immediately turn toward me.
Dane is the first to look away—too quickly, like he’s forcing himself to break the connection. He’s standing near the hearth, one arm resting on the mantel, the fire’s glow carving warm lines along his jaw. Theo is crouched beside Jamie, one broad hand steadying his friend’s injured leg as he adjusts the blanket. Jamie’s gaze lingers longest, not sharp, just… studying.
They’re quiet for a breath too long, and I realize the air in the room feels different—charged. I know what it is. They’ve caught it. The shift in my scent, softened but undeniable, curling through the space between us.
“Hey,” Jamie says finally, his voice light but warm. “You okay?”
I nod, my fingers worrying at the hem of my shirt. “Just thirsty.”
