Page 75 of Knotting With A Stranger

I blink slowly, struggling to focus. My mind feels wrapped in cotton, thoughts sticky and disconnected. I clutch Hunter’s discarded Henley tighter to my chest, burying my nose in the fabric. The scent grounds me and provides comfort that eases the burning under my skin. I’ve been huddled in this laundry nest for hours to ease the ache, fully aware of what I’m doing, but it’s as though something in my mind clicked and I just needed to be surrounded by the Alphas scents. I couldn’t stop if I tried.

I remember the compulsion that drove me here—the overwhelming need to surround myself with the three Alphas’ scents and to create a safe space.

The air changes as they enter the room, becoming thick and heavy with their combined scents. Something deep within me stirs in response, and pain intensifies between my thighs. I press Hunter’s shirt more firmly against my face, inhaling deeply to steady myself.

James approaches first, slowly. He kneels beside my nest, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“How are you feeling, Lily?” he asks gently.

Hunter hovers behind him, his expression unreadable, but tension radiates from his rigid jaw. Archer circles to my other side, studying me, head tilted slightly.

I struggle to form words, my throat bone dry. “I feel... hot. Strange.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.

Their scents make my head spin.

“Why do you all smell so... yummy?” I whisper, unable to stop myself.

James exchanges a significant look with the others before turning back to me. “Hey, baker girl, we think you might be starting to go into heat.”

I stare at him, the words not making sense at first. Then I laugh.

“Don’t be crazy. I don’t react to Alphas... everyone knows that. I’m on suppressants. I have them on me and have been taking them. I’m regular as clockwork. This isn’t?—”

“I’m going to dispute that theory,” Archer interrupts, gesturing to the elaborate nest I’ve constructed. “People who don’t react to Alphas don’t typically barricade themselves in laundry rooms with stolen clothes.”

Something hungry and primal wraps around me, and I shiver despite the fever raging through me. I glance down, knowing I’ve wrapped their clothes around me like armor and pressing another shirt between my thighs for relief. It’s the only way to stop the ache.

But is that heat?

“So, you think it’s really happening because...” I gasp, hugging Hunter’s shirt tighter. “I’m stuck here with you three during a blizzard, and if I’m going into heat...” I can’t finish the thought, the implications too overwhelming.

Hunter steps forward, crouching low in front of me, near James. “We’ll look after you.”

His words carry a weight beyond simple care-taking. The promise in them makes me shiver despite my fever, my body responding with a rush of heat between my legs.

“I brought the couch cushions in here,” I blurt out, gesturing to the far corner of the laundry room. “And the ottoman from the living room. I don’t know why. I just... needed them.”

James nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “You were building a proper nest. It’s instinct.”

“I’m not nesting,” I insist, even as I smooth the edge of a sheet I’ve carefully arranged. “I just needed... something.”

I watch through half-lidded eyes as they arrange their offerings around me—plates of food, bottles of water, more blankets and pillows. My focus keeps slipping, drawn repeatedly to the movement of their hands, the flex of muscles under clothing, and the fullness of their lips as they speak.

Archer gestures to my arrangement. “You’ve done well, but I can build you a better one. Something more comfortable, more secure.”

I shake my head adamantly, a surge of possessiveness washing over me. “No, this is fine. I’m just fine here.” I run my hand over the carefully constructed layers. “I’m not nesting. You’re nesting.”

As soon as the childish retort leaves my lips, I catch myself. What am I saying? I lift Hunter’s shirt to my nose again, inhaling deeply. The deep, masculine scent sends a wave of calm through me, momentarily dampening the fire under my skin.

“God, I’m losing my mind,” I mutter. “It’s like I’m hallucinating. And I have this pain deep in my stomach.” My hands press against my abdomen, where a deep, hollow ache has been building for hours. “It’s not like cramps; it’s like... emptiness.” I look up at them, vulnerability washing over me as I admit, “These scents are what keep me calm.” I gesture to the clothes surrounding me.

“Alpha smells,” James nods knowingly. “Your Omega side is responding.”

Sure, biologically, I’m an Omega, but I’ve never experienced the stereotypical reactions, the overwhelming responses to Alpha pheromones that are supposed to define the dynamic.

Until now.

The change is instant, like a storm breaking over me — wild and all-consuming. My skin prickles, heat blooming beneath my collar. My breath falters, heart racing too fast for my chest to contain. It's not just instinct; it’s them. Their scent of strength, of something untamed, coils around me like smoke, weakening me.

---