Page 63 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
And then Jamie’s free.
We collapse backward in a tangle, all three of us, the world still shaking in my ears. Jamie’s chest heaves against mine, his breath hot with dust, his heartbeat a frantic hammer under my cheek. Dane is beside us in an instant, pulling us up, dragging us out of the building, and I don’t let go of Jamie.
We tumble outside, covered in dust, and fall on the safety of grass and ferns.
For a moment, I just hold on to Jamie, trembling so hard I can barely get words out. “You’re okay,” I whisper, half to him, half to myself. “You’re okay.”
Theo’s laugh is wild and shaky beside us, the kind of sound that’s more relief than humor. Dane’s whole body sagging as if something invisible has been holding him upright this whole time.
Jamie sits up slowly, groaning, and I grab his face in both hands, brushing dust from his lashes. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re not hurt.”
He gives me a crooked grin, the stubborn kind that’s probably meant to make me feel better. “Takes more than a collapsing building to get rid of me.” His voice is rough but steady, and that does more for my pounding heart than any reassurance could.
Theo’s already scanning him from head to toe, muttering under his breath about checking for bruised ribs and concussions. Dane drops to one knee beside us, one large hand braced on Jamie’s shoulder. “Next time you want to play hero, maybe give us a little warning first.”
Jamie smirks, then winces, clutching at his side. “Noted.”
The four of us just stay there, pressed shoulder to shoulder, breathing each other in. I can feel Jamie’s warmth through my clothes, Theo’s steady presence at my back, Dane’s grounding hand on my arm.
It hits me — the way the adrenaline melts into exhaustion, how my body shakes even though the danger has passed. How my chest feels too tight and too full all at once.
I lean into the alphas around me. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again, Jamie.”
His answering whisper is rough but sure. “I’ll try.”
When we finally stand, it’s together. No one is letting go until we absolutely have to.
The wreckage looms behind us, dangerous and still settling, but we’re alive. All of us.
And right now, that’s everything.
Chapter forty-one
Dane
The forest swallows us whole.
The path winds tight between moss-dark trunks and tangles of roots, our boots squelching through damp patches where last night’s rain still lingers. Every breath tastes of green and loam, rich as oversteeped tea. Somewhere overhead, a jay screeches, sharp and metallic, but otherwise the woods press in quiet around us.
Jamie’s gait is uneven, but he keeps moving, Theo steadying him from one side, Cam from the other. She’s a constant, protective shadow, her hand occasionally brushing his elbow. I bring up the rear, scanning for hazards and listening for any shift in the rhythm of our group.
That’s when it catches me again—her scent. Different now, warmer, with a spiced sweetness like cinnamon bark left in a sun-warmed jar. It doesn’t match the surroundings. My brain files it under stress response; her body’s been through a lot today. But it sticks in my awareness the way a song hook does—impossible to ignore.
***
Thanks to Theo’s obsessive review of the plans, he leads us to a newer structure, probably a guest house built more recently, and probably not about to collapse like the centuries’ old mansion. The boat is too far for Jamie right now, and we need a safe, dry place to patch him up.
What we hope will be our safehouse appears around a bend, squat and weathered, almost blending into the slope of the hill it leans against. Its cedar siding has gone silver-gray with age, and the tin roof bears rust freckles like old blood. One shutter clings stubbornly to a hinge, rattling faintly in the breeze.
Up close, the cedar scent hits first—dry, resinous, almost medicinal. When I push open the door, cool, still air drifts out, laced with the faint tang of old smoke from the stone fireplace.
The main room is a single space—wooden bunks stacked along the back wall, a scarred pine table in the center, shelves to one side holding a few mismatched mugs and a lantern without fuel. Dust softens every corner, but the structure feels solid underfoot. No ominous groans, no bowing beams.
Theo steps past me, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe as if greeting it. “Better than I expected,” he murmurs, already angling toward the side room to check the flooring. We check the bathroom (quaint enough for a guest house), and the only other room—a bedroom with a double bed.
Jamie lowers himself onto the nearest bunk with a groan. “Hell, I might just stay here.”
Cam perches beside him, knees brushing his. A loose strand of her hair curls against her cheek, catching the dim light. That cinnamon note rises faintly again, warm and sweet, and I make myself focus on unlatching the nearest shutter instead.
