Page 108 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

“There are towels in the cabinet to your left,” he calls back softly. “And I’ve left some clothes outside the door.”

I find the towels easily enough—thick, soft things that smell faintly of lavender. As I dry off, I notice other little details about the bathroom I’d missed before. The careful organization of the various bottles and jars. The way everything seems arranged for easy reach from the massive tub. Finn had said he used them during his heats…

Warmth floods my cheeks at the thought, and I quickly wrap the towel around myself. “I’m going to get the clothes now.”

“I’ll turn around,” Finn responds immediately. I hear him shift, and something about his voice sounds…different. Softer. More controlled.

Cracking the door open just enough to reach through, my fingers find soft fabric. I pull it inside quickly, letting the door click shut again. The clothes are simple—a pair of worn sweatpants and a T-shirt that’s been washed so many times the design is barely visible. Both clearly belong to Finn. Both carry his scent.

I pause, swallowing hard before my arms seem to move of their own accord and bring the fabrics to my nose. I inhale, closing my eyes. He didn’t bring new clothes this time. Almost as if he wanted me wearing his scent. Hope I’m not ready to look at too closely rises in my chest.

My hands tremble as I pull the clothes on. The pants are too long, pooling around my feet, and the shirt hangs loose on myframe. But they’re comfortable. Safe. Like being wrapped in Finn’s embrace without actually touching him.

The thought makes that heat flare again, low in my belly. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore the way Finn’s scent seems to seep into my pores, making everything feel more…more.

“I’m dressed,” I call out softly, gathering my courage. Because I can’t hide in here forever, no matter how tempting it might be. I have to face him eventually. Have to face what happened between us.

Have to face the fact that even now, even after running away and coming back, all I want is to feel his hands in my hair again. To taste his lips. To…

I cut that thought off sharply, squeezing my eyes shut. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get control of these reactions?

The doorknob feels cool under my palm as I finally turn it, stepping out to face whatever comes next. Whatever consequences await for actions I still don’t fully understand.

But I know one thing with absolute certainty—running away didn’t help. Didn’t make these feelings go away. If anything, they’re stronger now. More insistent.

Like my body knows something my mind hasn’t quite figured out yet.

Finn is standing by the window when I emerge, his back to me. The late afternoon light catches his profile. His beauty strikes me again, but there’s something different about his posture. A tension I don’t remember being there before. His shoulders are too straight, his hands clasped too tightly behind his back.

“The herbs helped,” I offer quietly, hovering near the bathroom door. “My feet don’t hurt as much now.”

He nods but doesn’t turn around. “Good. That’s…good.”

The distance in his voice makes my chest ache. This isn’t the same Finn who’d held me this morning, who’d kissed me with suchtender desperation just hours ago. This Finn feels…contained. Like he’s holding himself back.

“You should sit,” he says after a moment, finally turning to face me. His expression doesn’t give me any clues, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my anxiety rise. Something raw and wounded that he’s trying to hide. “Let me check your feet.”

I move to the edge of the nest, perching carefully. The nest itself—theirnest—feels different now. The blankets and pillows that had seemed so welcoming this morning now feel like evidence of everything I’ve disrupted. Everything I might have broken.

Finn kneels in front of me. When he takes my foot in his hands, his touch is gentle but professional. Nothing like the way he’d touched my hair in the bath.

“The cuts aren’t too bad. The older ones have scabbed over quite nicely, too,” he murmurs, examining my soles. “But they’ll need cleaning and bandaging. Stone has some antibiotic ointment that should—” He cuts himself off, throat working. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Before I can respond, he’s already standing, moving toward the door with that same careful control. But I catch it—the slight tremor in his hands, quickly hidden in his pockets.

“Finn,” I whisper, and he stops but doesn’t turn around. “I’m sorry. For running. For making you worry. For…” For kissing you. For wanting more. For ruining everything.

“Hailey.” His voice is rough. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for any of it.”

“But—”

“Please.” The word comes out strained. “Just…let me get the first aid kit. We can talk after.”

But something tells me we won’t. That this new, withdrawn Finn isn’t going to let us discuss what happened. What’s still happening between us.

He disappears down the hall, his footsteps nearly silent. I watch the empty doorway, heart in my throat as I wring my hands. It’s notjust that he’s being more careful with me—it’s like he’s being more careful with himself. Like he’s built walls between us in the short time I was in the bath.

When he returns, first aid kit in hand, his movements are still measured. Still precise. But there’s an attentiveness to them that wasn’t there before—like he’s hyperaware of every point where we might touch, every breath we share.

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