Page 17 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

I shake my head. The movement makes the blindfold shift, reminding me of my vulnerability. Of how I can’t see what he’s doing, where he is, if he’s reaching for me…

And oh no…I just denied his request. I brace for him to strike. Squeeze my eyes shut behind the blindfold, waiting for it.

Instead, something else happens.

The alpha’s scent shifts, taking on a sharp note of…distress? That can’t be right. Alphas don’t get distressed over omegas. They command. They control. They?—

Gentle fingers brush my cheek, near the blindfold’s edge. I jerk back, hitting the wooden frame of the bed behind me. Pain lances through my shoulders, drawing another whimper.

“Shh.” The sound is soft, almost pained. “I just want to?—”

The blindfold falls away.

Light stabs my eyes. I drop my head instantly, letting my hair fall forward like a shield. But not before I catch a glimpse—broad shoulders, firm jaw, rich chestnut hair, and eyes that seem to glow amber. He’skneelingbefore me, which seems wrong somehow. Alphas don’t kneel to omegas.

From beneath my lashes, I steal fractured glances at my surroundings. Wooden walls. The bed I fell from. Simple furniture. The jacket that had covered me lies in a heap of dark fabric on the floor. It’s the same cabin I’d found. Through the window, I can see it’s not the absolute darkness of night as I expected, but that the rays of morning are already streaking across the bits of sky visible through the trees. Panic makes me breathe harder. How long had I been asleep?

“Look at me.” His voice is gentle, but I flinch anyway. He makes a sound—something between a growl and a sigh. “Please.”

The ‘please’ startles me more than any alpha command could have. Is this…is this some kind of trick? A test? As an omega, I’m supposed to follow every order given to me by my master…m-my alpha. Even when that command goes against everything I’ve been taught for the last six years? Alphas command. Omegas obey. Eye contact is forbidden unless explicitly ordered. Hesitation equals punishment.

But how can I not hesitate now? I’m unsure what to do, while also not wanting to stoke this alpha’s wrath. Alphas are known to be unstable. Prone to fits of rage. Impatience. And startling strength.

But this alpha…he’s breaking all the rules. The kneeling. The ‘please.’ The patient silence as he waits for my response. My heart thunders in my chest as I try to make sense of it. Is this some elaborate training exercise? Another lesson in obedience?

And hisscent.

I didn’t know alphas could smell like this. So…clean. So…good. Like pine needles after rain, like mountain air and wilderness. Not the aggressive, overwhelming musk I’d been trained to submit to. This scent makes something deep inside me want to lean closer, want to breathe deeper, but I force myself to remain still.

I bite back another whimper in my throat, hoping I’m hiding the fact his scent alone makes something melt inside me. The vulnerability is so acute it brings tears to my eyes.

Finally, when he remains silent still, I risk another glance up. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t read—brows drawn together, lips pressed tight. He looks…lost? That can’t be right either.

“What’s your name?” he asks, still in that gentle voice that makes all my internal processes go awry.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Speaking without permission was always met with swift correction at the Academy. The memory makes my throat close up.

He shifts his weight, and I can’t help the full-body flinch. His scent spikes with something sharp—anger?—and I curl tighter into myself, waiting for the blow, the command, the punishment.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and suddenly he’s moving away, putting space between us. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

The distance helps clear my head a little. Lets me breathe past the overwhelming pine-and-earth scent of him. He’s different from the alphas at the Academy. His movements are careful, telegraphed. He’s trying not to frighten me.

That makes him more frightening somehow.

“I’m Stone,” he offers into the silence. Like we’re having a normal conversation. Like I’m not a strange omega who broke into his cabin. Like this whole situation isn’t wrong in every way.

A low whine builds in my throat. I can’t help it—the omega in me wants to respond to his gentleness, wants to trust the safety his scent promises. But six years of training scream that it’s a trap. That any response will be wrong. That I need to be still, quiet, perfect…

My ribs throb. One of the cuts on my arm has reopened, a warm trickle of blood sliding down to my wrist. The pain helps ground me; reminds me I ran for a reason. That I can’t trust gentle words or kind eyes or a pine scent that makes me want to curl up and submit.

“You’rebleeding.” He stresses the fact again. His entire frame looks tight, as if he might snap, and I glance around, looking for a way out. But he’s standing near the only exit.

My breaths come hard as I drop my gaze again, swallowing hard just as he takes a step forward. I press harder against the bed.

Something close to a growl rumbles from his chest—not threatening, but frustrated. The sound hits something deep in me, making me want to bare my neck, to apologize, to be good…

No. No. No.

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