Page 27 of Knotting With A Stranger

The cabin comes into view through the snowstorm, and something primal shifts in my chest. My territory should be my sanctuary, but bringing her inside feels like inviting a storm more dangerous than the one howling outside. Because with every trusting look she gives me has me wanting to prove her right—wants to claim, protect, possess—and there's no shelter from that kind of hunger.

7

LILY

The wind nearly knocks me off my feet as Hunter guides me from his truck toward what has to be the most gorgeous cabin I’ve ever seen. Through the curtain of whirling snow, it rises like something out of a dream—three stories of rich wooden beams and windows, somehow both rustic and elegant. Stone chimneys pierce the white sky, smoke curling from their tops only to be whipped away by the storm.

I’m clutching my bag close when my foot slips out from under me on the snow-covered path, my stomach lurching up to my throat.

“Careful,” Hunter snatches my elbow, steadying my balance. His touch sends warmth shooting through me. “Steps are icy.”

Thor bounds ahead of us, his dark fur collecting snowflakes as he leads the way to the wraparound porch. The property around us is cleared for maybe fifty yards before the forest closes in, though right now, everything blends into a world of white. In better weather, this place would most likely be breathtaking. Right now, I’m just grateful it exists.

“This is yours?” I manage through chattering teeth. Though, the wordcabindoesn’t do it justice. This is the kind of place that should be featured in luxury magazines, all-natural materials and perfect proportions. “Are you secretly a movie star in hiding?”

His laugh is rich and deep, barely audible over the howling wind. “Inherited it from my grandfather.” Something flares across his face—pain, maybe, or memory. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

The door opens to a great room that steals what little breath I have left. Soaring ceilings with exposed beams draw my eye up, up, up to a chandelier that looks like it’s made from naturally shed antlers. A massive stone fireplace dominates the center of the room, flames already crackling merrily behind its iron screen. Two deep leather sofas flank a coffee table that looks like it was carved from a single massive tree trunk, while oversized armchairs and what appear to be the world’s most inviting bean bags are scattered around the hearth.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, dropping my bag by my feet as Hunter shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on a hook. I fumble with my snow-covered boots to get them off. My fingers are so numb I can barely manage the laces.

“Here.” Hunter kneels in front of me, and my breath catches at the sheer... maleness of him, crouched at my feet like some dark fairytale prince. Those capable hands work the frozen knots of my boots quickly, and I have to remind myself that staring is rude. But honestly, how am I supposed to look away when he’s right here, brow furrowed in concentration, strong fingers moving with such care? My hands physically ache to run through that thick dark hair, then trace the sharp line of his jaw.

When he stands, towering over me, I nearly whimper. The shirt stretches across a chest that belongs on a model, and those shoulders... God, those shoulders. I’m pretty sure I couldspend hours counting the ways his muscles move under the fabric. Then his scent hits me—pine and woodsmoke mingled with crisp mountain mint—and my Omega instincts surge so violently, I have to grip the wall in the living room to stay upright. It’s not just a scent; it’s a primal call that makes every nerve ending spark to life, my body recognizing something my mind can barely process. The urge to lean in, to submit, is so overwhelming, I have to bite my lip to hold back a whine.

“Let me take your coat,” he says in a low and rich tone that makes my toes curl like he has no idea what impact he has on me. I still can’t believe an Alpha can affect me like this.

Control.You have no idea who this stranger really is!

I force myself to look away first, but not before I catch the slight tremble in his hands—like he’s fighting just as hard to maintain control. An Alpha struggling to keep his composure... because of me. The thought sends another wave of heat through my body, and I silently curse my Omega biology for making everything so impossibly intense.

I manage to slip my boots off without falling over—a miracle, given how my knees have apparently turned to jelly—and he helps me out of my coat. His fingers brush my shoulders, and I swear the temperature in the cabin spikes ten degrees.

I’m not usually the type to swoon, but if there was ever a moment to start, watching this mountain of a man handle me like I’m made of glass while looking like he could bench press a truck... yeah, this would be it.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

His ice-blue eyes meet mine for a moment that stretches like honey. Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly look away.

He hangs my coat on a hook on the wall near the door, and with my bag in hand, I gravitate toward the fire, where Thor has already sprawled out. The malamute’s tail thumps againstthe rug-covered floorboards as I approach, and he shifts to make room for me.

I twist around to find Hunter’s gaze lingers on me. Everything about him radiates Alpha, from his broad chest to the jagged mark along his jaw—like lightning caught in skin, disappearing beneath his collar and making me wonder just how far that scar traces down. But what catches me most is how he doesn’t try to hide it, doesn’t angle his face to shadow it. He wears it like he wears everything else—with a quiet, unshakeable confidence that makes my heart stumble.

“Thank you again,” I say, flexing my frozen fingers toward the flames. “For finding me, rescuing me. I don’t know what I would have done out there.”

“You’re safe now. That’s what matters.” His deep tone holds a note of finality that sends a shiver down my spine. “Let me check the landline. Cell service is spotty up here, even in good weather.”

He disappears down a hallway with Thor on his heels, leaving me. The great room feels simultaneously cozy and vast, with windows that reveal the storm that has turned the world white, and something about the isolation makes my skin prickle. I grab my phone from my bag — still no service. Just great… Hannah is going to freak out with worry when I don’t return home in this storm. I send her a message just in case reception returns, and it can be delivered, telling her what happened and whereabouts I am… should anything happen.

I exhale loudly, reminding myself to calm down. The guy rescues people for a living… Surely, he won’t hurt me, right?

I distract myself by studying the room more closely. Everything speaks of money, but not the showy kind. This is old wealth, lived-in luxury. Family photos line one wall — mostly of Hunter with an older man who must be his father or grandfather, often in climbing gear or rescue situations. In one,they’re rappelling down a sheer cliff face together. In another, they’re teaching what looks like a much younger Thor to walk in deep snow.

“Line’s dead,” Hunter announces, returning. “Storm must have taken down some poles. Cell service is out, too.”

“Great.” I try to smile, trying not to freak out about being alone with a stranger in his cabin. Then again, he has done nothing but help me so far. “Hope I’m not being a burden...”

“Not at all.” Something flares in his eyes. There and gone so fast, I almost miss it. “Gives us something to do, being stuck indoors.”

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