Page 101 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

He turns me toward the house, his grip firm but not painful. Mymind spins with questions I don’t dare ask. With implications I’m not sure I want to understand.

And there, in the doorway, is Finn.

The sight of him steals my breath all over again. He looks…destroyed. Hope and fear war in his expression, along with something else—something raw and vulnerable that makes my chest ache. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying, and fresh guilt crashes over me.

I did this. I caused this pain.

“Hailey,” he breathes, and my name on his lips is both benediction and curse. “You came back.”

“I—” The words stick in my throat. How do I explain? How do I tell him that running away was easy, but leaving him to face the consequences alone was impossible? That he’s the first person who’s ever made me feel like I might be worth something, and I couldn’t bear to prove him wrong?

But before I can find the words, Ren is moving us forward, his presence an immovable force at my back. “Inside,” he says, and there’s no arguing with that tone. “Both of you.”

Finn steps back to let us pass, and I catch his scent—warm and sweet and home. My body responds instantly, that strange heat flaring under my skin again. Our eyes meet for just a moment, and I see my own confusion reflected there.

What is happening to me? To us?

But Ren’s grip remains steady, guiding me into the house where consequences wait. I straighten my spine as much as I can, though my legs shake with exhaustion and fear. I came back to face this. To be brave.

For Finn.

Even if Ren’s words echo in my head like a warning. Like a prophecy. Like a secret I’m not sure I’m ready to understand.

Chapter 29

Hailey

Ren guides me into the house, his grip still firm on my arm. Every step sends jolts of pain through my feet, but I force myself not to limp. The foyer feels different now—darker, heavier with unspoken things. He leads me toward the TV room, and I catch glimpses of the life I disrupted—the blanket Finn shared with me now lying on the floor, the movie we’d been watching now paused on the screen.

Just inside the room, Ren pauses. His jaw ticks—the first crack I’ve seen in his controlled expression. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“No.” Finn’s voice is barely a whisper, rough like he’s been crying. When I turn to look at him, he won’t meet my eyes. “Look at her, Ren. She’s covered in dirt and blood. She needs a bath first.”

Something shifts in Ren’s face when he looks at his omega—those arctic eyes soften around the edges, his expression warming like ice touched by sunlight. But when his gaze returns to me, it’s like a switch flips. The warmth vanishes, replaced by that unreadable mask.

“She needs medical attention,” Ren says, but there’s less conviction in his tone.

“Ren.” Finn’s voice carries an edge of exasperation despite itsweakness. “I don’t want to argue. Just…let me do this. Let me take her up and run a bath. Please?”

The last word comes out small, almost broken, and I watch Ren’s resolve crumble. He gives a sharp nod, releasing my arm. “Fine. But be careful with her feet on the stairs.”

Finn approaches slowly, like I might bolt again. When he reaches for my hand, I have to fight not to flinch—not from fear of him, but from shame at what I’ve done. His fingers are warm against mine, gentle as he tugs me toward the staircase.

We climb in silence. Slowly, going at my pace rather than his. But even the gentle pressure of each step makes me want to whimper. Finn must sense my pain because he slows down to a crawl, pausing on each step and not moving until I make my way up.

The nest feels different too. The afternoon light that had seemed so warm this morning now casts long shadows across the floor. Finn leads me straight to the bathroom, flicking on lights that seem too harsh after the forest’s filtered sunlight.

“Sit,” he says softly, gesturing to the closed toilet lid. While I obey, he moves to the massive tub, turning handles with the familiarity that comes with knowing the place. Steam begins to rise as water thunders against porcelain.

He doesn’t look at me as he opens cabinet doors, pulling out various bottles and jars. The silence stretches between us, thick with words neither of us seems ready to say. I watch his hands as he measures different substances into the filling tub—pale pink crystals that dissolve in spirals, something that smells like lavender and eucalyptus, another jar that turns the water slightly cloudy.

“Healing salts,” he explains, but his voice is almost devoid of any telling emotion. I’ve hurt him. “And some herbs for…for the pain.”

“You have a lot of those,” I whisper, not sure what else to say. It’s not really a question, but he answers anyway.

His shoulders tense slightly. “They’re for when I’m in heat.” He measures out another spoonful, movements precise but slightlyjerky. “An omega like me isn’t…quite made for an alpha’s knot. Not properly.”

He murmurs something else, so quiet I almost miss it, something that sounds like, “No wonder it all went wrong. Can’t even be a proper omega.” The words make me sit up straighter, shocked, but before I can respond, he’s already upping the water pressure, drowning out any chance of further conversation.

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