Page 87 of Knot Happening Again

Then, Ophelia's voice breaks the silence, barely more than a whisper. "Leon?"

The sound of my name on her lips sends a current of electricity through me. Her voice is exactly as I remember—soft, melodious, with a slight huskiness that always drove me wild. But now it's laced with disbelief and a hint of fear.

I want to say something, anything, but my voice seems to have abandoned me. Just like I abandoned her all those yeas ago.

CHAPTER 25

OPHELIA

My bare feet sink into the plush carpet at the top of the stairs. The house is eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the passionate chaos of earlier. My skin still tingles from the alphas' touches, but now a different kind of energy thrums through me.

Curiosity, tinged with a hint of unease.

"Rhys?" I call out softly, my voice echoing in the empty hallway. No response.

I take a tentative step down, the polished wood cool beneath my feet. The silk robe I hastily threw on whispers against my skin, a gentle reminder of my vulnerable state. My heat may have momentarily receded, but I can feel it simmering just beneath the surface, ready to flare up at any moment.

As I descend, the familiar scents of the pack envelop me—Rhys's petrichor and sunlight, Mace's freshly baked cookies, Troy's bourbon and leather, Maddox's warm vanilla. But there's something else, a scent so achingly familiar it makes my heart stutter.

Cedar and citrus.

I freeze, my hand gripping the banister so tightly my knuckles turn white. It can't be. I must be imagining things, my heat-addled brain playing cruel tricks on me.

But then I see him.

Leon.

My Leon.

He's standing in the foyer, those light brown eyes I remember so vividly locked onto mine. For a moment, the world stops spinning. I blink rapidly, certain I must be hallucinating. But he's still there, looking as shocked as I feel.

A thousand memories flood my mind—stolen kisses, lazy summer afternoons by the lake, the night he marked me and changed my life forever. I remember the softness of his white hair between my fingers, the warmth of his tan skin against mine, the way his scent used to make me feel safe and loved.

Now, that same scent makes me want to run and hide.

Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. My legs feel weak, like they might give out at any moment. I grip the banister tighter, trying to steady myself, but it's not enough. The world tilts dangerously, and for a moment, I think I might actually faint.

Suddenly, strong arms wrap around me from behind. The scent of freshly baked cookies fills my nostrils. Mace. He must have thought I was going to fall. His large frame is solid and warm against my back, grounding me in the moment.

"Whoa there, little one," he murmurs, his deep voice rumbling through me. "I've got you."

I lean into him, grateful for his support. Over his shoulder, I can see the others now—Rhys, Troy, and Maddox. Their faces are etched with worry, confusion clear in their eyes. But I can't focus on them. All I can see is Leon.

He takes a step toward me, his hand outstretched as if to touch me. Panic surges through my body, hot and fierce. "No," Isay, my voice barely above a whisper. I press myself further into Mace's embrace, trying to put as much distance between Leon and me as possible.

The massive room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. I can't breathe. The walls seem to be closing in, the ornate wallpaper swirling in dizzying patterns. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, each beat a painful reminder of my vulnerability.

I need to get out. Now.

Without thinking, I push away from Mace, ignoring his startled grunt. I rush back up the stairs, my bare feet slapping against the wood. I can hear the others calling after me, their voices a jumble of concern and confusion, but I don't stop.

I burst into the nesting room, the door banging against the wall with the force of my entry. The scent of our earlier activities still lingers in the air—a heady mix of arousal and satisfaction that now turns my stomach.

I start rummaging through the discarded clothes on the floor, searching frantically for my own. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric. Tears blur my vision, making it hard to distinguish one item from another.

"I have to leave," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. My voice sounds strange to my own ears, high and panicky. "This was a mistake. I never should have come here."

I hear the others enter the room behind me, their footsteps hesitant. Their voices wash over me, a cacophony of concern and questions, but I can't make out individual words. It's like I'm underwater, everything muffled and distorted.

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