Page 127 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

A bee buzzes past my ear, startling me from my thoughts. I watch it land on a nearby flower, its fuzzy body dusted with pollen. The world suddenly seems very large and very small at the same time.

“Look,” Finn says softly, drawing my attention back. He’s holding out a tiny sprout, its leaves unfurling toward the sun. “See how it’s already reaching for the light? Plants always know which way to grow.”

I stare at the delicate green thing in his palm, something catching in my throat. Because I understand what he’s reallysaying. What he’s been trying to tell me all morning with his gentle instructions and endless chatter.

That even after being kept in darkness, things can still grow toward the light.

The morning stretches on, warming into midday as we work. My knees are covered in dirt, hands stained with earth, but I don’t mind. There’s something soothing about the repetitive motions—dig, plant, water. Dig, plant, water. Finn’s voice provides a constant backdrop, explaining each step, each plant’s purpose.

“These will be good for tea,” he says, carefully settling another seedling into its new home. “And these—” he holds up something with purple leaves, “—are perfect for headaches. Though honestly, sometimes I think Stone’s the bigger headache.”

“I heard that,” Stone rumbles from where he’s hauling cedar mulch around the beds we’ve finished.

“You were meant to.” Finn’s smile is bright, but there’s a slight tremor in his hands as he pats soil around the seedling. His cheeks are still flushed, and not just from the sun.

I notice these things now—the way Finn’s breath hitches when Stone moves too close, how his usual fluid movements become slightly jerky. The way Stone finds excuses to brush past him, to reach around him for tools, each casual touch making Finn’s scent spike with something warm and sweet that makes my own pulse quicken.

“We should put in the trellis next,” Stone suggests, and his voice has gone deeper, rougher. “For the climbing roses.”

Finn swallows hard. “Right. Yes. The trellis. Good idea.” His usual chatter falters slightly. “Hailey, would you like to see how to—um—how to…”

He trails off as Stone approaches with the wooden lattice, muscles in his bare chest taut and visible. The alpha’s scent wraps around us both—pine and musk that are so heady a lump rises in my throat.

“Here,” Stone says softly, positioning one end of the trellis. “Like this?”

“A little to the left,” Finn manages, moving to help him. “It needs to catch the afternoon sun, so the roses will—oh.”

They’ve ended up very close, both gripping the trellis, bodies aligned like puzzle pieces about to click together. Finn’s breath hitches audibly. Stone goes still.

“Finn,” Stone breathes, and the way he says it makes something hot curl in my belly. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.” But Finn’s voice comes out breathy, unsteady. “Just…I need a moment. Maybe we should take a break?—”

“Look at me.”

The alpha command in Stone’s voice makes me shiver, but it’s not directed at me. Finn’s head tilts up slowly; he can’t help himself. They’re so close now, barely inches apart, the trellis forgotten between them.

“Stone,” Finn whispers, “we shouldn’t?—”

“Why not?” Stone’s free hand comes up to brush Finn’s cheek, thumbing away a smudge of dirt. “Because it’s been so long?”

“Because I can’t think straight when you’re this close.” The confession seems to burst from Finn. “Because you’re not wearing a shirt and you smell like summer and I—I’m trying to be good, to be normal, to show Hailey that everything’s okay, but you’re making it really hard to?—”

Stone’s thumb traces Finn’s bottom lip, silencing him. The gesture is so intimate it makes my breath stop in my chest. Heat floods through me as I watch them, unable to look away. Their scents mingle in the air—pine and sage and want—making me dizzy.

“You don’t have to be good,” Stone murmurs, leaning closer still. “You don’t have to fight this.”

“Stone,” Finn breathes again, and this time it sounds like surrender.

The kiss, when it happens, steals the air from my lungs. Stone’shand slides into Finn’s hair, tilting his head back as their mouths meet. Finn makes a small, broken sound that shoots straight through me, his fingers curling against Stone’s bare chest.

It’s nothing like the kisses me and Finn shared. Stone grabs him rough, aching, and Finn responds just as hungrily. There’s nothing gentle about it—all need and raw want. The way they crash together makes me realize just how careful, how restrained Finn has been with me. These are two forces of nature colliding, and I can’t look away.

The trellis clatters to the ground as Stone backs Finn against the garden wall, never breaking the kiss. His huge hands span Finn’s waist, pulling him against him and Finn whimpers into his mouth. The sound Stone makes—half growl, half groan—sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.

I should look away. Should give them privacy. But I can’t seem to move, can’t seem to breathe. Every nerve in my body feels electrified, aware in a way I’ve never experienced before. Their scents fill the air, thick with desire, and something inside me responds—something primal and hungry that makes me press my thighs together.

Stone breaks the kiss to trail his lips down Finn’s throat, and Finn’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closed in bliss. “Alpha,” he gasps.

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