Page 103 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

“Stupid,” I whisper to myself. “So fucking stupid.”

But which part? The kiss? The fact that I can’t bring myself to regret it? Or the way my heart had nearly stopped when I realized she was gone—when I’d heard her feet pounding down the hall and known, known with terrible certainty that she was running because of me?

The argument from earlier echoes in my head:

“Did you think about us at all while you had your tongue down her throat?”

“Like you care! Like any of you have cared what I do for months!”

The words had exploded out of me, carrying months of frustration and loneliness. They’d looked so shocked—my strong, beautiful alphas who’ve been slowly pulling away from me. Who treat me like I’m made of glass ever since…

Ever since the accident.

The scars across my torso suddenly feel stiff and like they’re not a part of me. Just something implanted. Something alien that makes me less whole.

A sob catches in my throat, and I swallow it back. No. I can’t think about that now. Can’t think about the way things used to be.

But then Hailey had looked at me like…like I was something precious. The waytheyused to look at me, before everything went wrong.

“What is wrong with me?” I breathe, letting my head fall back against the door. The bathroom light spills under the crack, carrying the scent of healing herbs and—underneath—something else. Something that makes my skin prickle and my heart race.

I shouldn’t be able to smell her like this. Shouldn’t be drawn to her scent the way I am. She’s anomega, like me. It doesn’t make any sense.

Nothing about this makes sense.

Not the way she kisses—god, that kiss. Not the way she makes me feel good and worried and protective all at once. Not the way she came back, even though she must have been terrified.

The sound of splashing water again, and I imagine her sinking deeper into the tub. Letting the herbs do their work on her battered body. She’d run until her feet bled rather than face what happened. But then she’d come back.

Forme.

The thought makes something warm unfurl in my chest, even as guilt claws at my throat. My alphas are downstairs, probably trying to figure out what to do with this mess I’ve created. With their broken omega who kisses strange girls and starts fights and ruins the one good thing they had.

But when I close my eyes, all I can see is Hailey emerging from those trees. The way the sunlight caught her hair, turning it to fire. The determination in her stride, even though every step must have hurt. The way she’d dropped to her knees without hesitation, offering herself up for punishment to protectme.

Me. Like I’m worth protecting.

Another splash from the bathroom, and my fingers itch to go back in. To keep touching her hair, her skin, to make sure she’s really here. Because even though it’s tearing me apart, I know this is where she should be. Right here. In this house.

This is all hers.

It was never meant to be mine.

God, what am I going to do?

A soft knock breaks through my spiraling thoughts. I scramble to my feet, hands brushing quickly over my eyes to wipe away the wetness that has escaped as I head to the bedroom door. I open it just enough to see Ren standing there, his expression the usual unreadable mask.

“Come downstairs,” he whispers, voice pitched low enough that it won’t carry through the bathroom door. “We need to talk.”

I glance back toward the bathroom. “I can’t just leave her?—”

“She’ll be fine.” His tone is clipped, but there’s something underneath it. Something tense. “It’s not like she’s going to jump through one of the windows.”

We both stiffen, the implications hitting us simultaneously. Her desperate flight earlier. The way she’d run without thought for her own safety. The fact that we’re on the second floor, but that might not matter to someone desperate enough…

Before I can move, Ren is already striding into the nest room. It’s the first time he’s entered since my last heat, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me. My heart cracks a little more as I watch him check each window, making sure they’re securely latched.

I can see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hands linger on each latch a moment longer than necessary. Like he’s fighting some instinct I don’t quite understand.

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