Page 17 of Knot Only His

I’m an alpha. Carver is an alpha too. We’ll never work. He more or less admitted it to his brother.

Because of that, I can’t get caught up in this argument. I have to get out of here before everything implodes.

Glancing around the room, I quickly gather my clothes and start getting dressed, wincing as I pull on my jeans. My body is still sore from last night, a painful reminder of my first knot.

You’re an alpha, Harlow. What the hell were you thinking? Omegas would never ache this much the day after.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the front door slam, and I know the guys have left for hockey practice.

Letting out a shaky breath, I open my door and peek out, making sure the coast is clear before hurrying to the front door.

A few minutes later, my cell chimes with a text.

Holly: I’m outside your building. Be quick.

I sink into my airline seat, grateful for Holly’s first-class upgrade.

My muscles ache, but this is different than usual. It’s not like the lingering pain from my accident. This ache is deeper, more primal, and it feels like my core is still pulsing as it remembers his knot.

No omega would ache like this afterward.

Opening my purse, I pull out my signature perfume. The one my mother buys me each Christmas and birthday.

I spray a cloud in front of me and inhale deeply.

Carver’s words echo in my head:“You smell like coconut and pineapple with a hint of vanilla and rum.”

That’s what he must have caught the smell of. It’s just my perfume mixing with my natural alpha pheromones.

The flight attendant passes by, and I catch a whiff of something...different. Like fresh bread and butter. I furrow my brow, knowing I’ve never noticed scents this strongly before. Must be the altitude playing tricks on my nose.

Then a twinge shoots through my lower back, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Mom’s going to kill me when she finds out I’ve been skipping physical therapy again. But those sports massages work just as well, and they are so much cheaper. Besides, what doctor would understand an alpha’s healing process?

My phone buzzes with a text from Holly.

My friend Freya will pick you up at LAX. She owns a bakery in downtown LA. She has a spare room, and she’s hardly ever home. Too busy at work. You’ll love her.

I close my eyes, trying to focus on my fresh start in LA, but Carver’s face keeps appearing in my mind. The way he looked at me, like he knew something about me I didn’t.

And the intensity in his eyes when he insisted I was...

No. I push the thought away. I know who I am. I’ve always known.

Another wave of unfamiliar scents hits me as a group of passengers walk past my seat. My stomach churns, and I grip the armrest until my knuckles turn white.

Maybe I’m coming down with something. Or maybe it’s just stress from everything that’s happened.

I grab a blanket, pulling it over my head. All I need is sleep and I’ll feel back to normal again very soon.

Five hours later, I step into the arrivals area at LAX. I smile as I walk toward a tallish woman with copper hair, holding a sign with my name.

“Freya.” I glance at my name on a piece of card in her hand.

She grins. “Harlow? I’m Freya.”

I hold out my hand. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

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