Page 188 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Finn’s arms had been around me for hours after those words, holding me like he was afraid to let go. I don’t even remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me into something close to rest.

But now, in the light of day, it feels different. The sunlight streaming through the windows softens the shadows, but it doesn’t do much to ease the ache in my chest. His words still echo in my mind:This isn’t my pack anymore. Staying would break me.

I swallow hard, the memory twisting like a knife. He meant it—I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. The certainty in his tone haunts me. Finn truly believes he has to leave, and the thought creates a hollow space in my chest that expands with each breath.

I glance at him now, his hand steady on my back as we make our way downstairs. He’s here. For now, at least, he’s still here.

My legs are shaky, and every step feels like a reminder of the day before. My cheeks heat at the thought, the ache in my muscles pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts and into the present. Finn helped me again, with his fingers first…and then with his cock. And even during our shared shower.

The memory surfaces unbidden. The feel of him inside me, his hard length filling me, stroking me, coaxing me to a climax so intense it left me trembling—it’s all still so vivid. My core clenches with a sudden warmth, surprising in its intensity.

I can still feel him.

The thought sends a blush creeping up my neck, and I glance at Finn. He’s walking ahead of me now, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. He moves with that same easy grace he always has, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

But I know better.

I know what it’s costing him to stay.

I glance at him now as we make our way downstairs, his hand steady on my back. He looks tired, the faint shadows under his eyes betraying an exhaustion he’s trying to hide. Finn has always been steady, always unshakeable, but I can see the cracks now.

The realization that I can read him this well sends a strange flutter through my chest. Just days ago, he was a stranger—someone I feared might harm me. Now, I know the subtle shifts in his expressions, the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he’s hurting, the tension that gathers at the corners of his mouth when he’s hiding something. This intimacy feels precious and terrifying all at once, especially with the knowledge that he plans to leave hanging between us. I find myself cataloging each expression, each gesture, as if I could somehow preserve them against the day he’s no longer here.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “You’re doing great.”

I nod, swallowing hard. My throat feels tight, and I don’t trust myself to speak.

The kitchen feels too big, too open, but Finn’s presence keeps me grounded. He moves around with quiet efficiency, grabbing a plate and piling it with toast and fruit. I sit at the counter, my fingers curling around the edge of the stool as I watch him.

The ache in my belly hasn’t gone away. It’s duller now but still there, simmering under my skin, making me restless. My thighs shift against the stool, trying to ease the tension, but it doesn’t help.

“Here you go,” Finn says, sliding the plate in front of me. “Eat.”

I pick at the toast, nibbling at the edges. My stomach twists at first, but the food helps. Finn leans against the counter across from me, his arms crossed over his chest as he drinks a glass of water.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything, just watches me with that quiet patience of his. It should make me nervous, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is what I’m going to do to fix this.

Because I must.

I have to fix this.

I glance up at Finn, searching his face. He hides it well, but I can see it now. The pain is there, just beneath the surface. And the more I think about him leaving, the more determined I feel to stop it.

When I finish, Finn sets the plate aside and holds out a hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice warm. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

The living room is brighter than I expected, sunlight spilling across the floor and warming the leather of the couch. It’s quiet except for the faint rustle of papers and the distant hum of a TV program.

Stone is sitting on the edge of the couch, his broad shoulders hunched as he flips through a stack of papers in his hand. His presence is…different from Finn’s. Where Finn feels soft and grounding, Stone feels solid, like an immovable wall.

There’s something compelling about that solidity, something that draws me despite my lingering wariness. I remember the feel of his hands guiding mine on the loom, steady and warm, the careful way he moves around me as if mindful of his own strength. Even the memory of those moments sends a whisper of warmth through my belly. It’s confusing how I can respond to him even while part of me still flinches at sudden movements, still expects punishment for existing in an alpha’s space.

I hesitate in the doorway, unsure if I should say something. Finn leans in, a soft kiss brushing against my neck, and it’s like injecting me with some of his bravery. I have to do this. For myself, but most of all, for Finn.

I take a step inside.

Stone glances up, but I get the impression he’s already been aware that we were there.

“Morning,” he says, that deep voice of his sending vibrations through the air that makes the tiny hairs on my arms tingle.

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