Page 208 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

My blood runs cold. These aren’t random betas from the Academy. These are trained mercenaries.

Jax and the intruder slam into the hallway wall again, trading vicious blows. Even in the dim light, I can see they’re evenly matched. But Jax is fighting with something the operative doesn’t have: raw, protective fury.

I need to help. My eyes dart around frantically, searching for the gun, but in the chaos and darkness, I can’t spot it. The sound of flesh hitting flesh draws my attention back to the fight. Jax has the mercenary in a chokehold, but the man drives his elbow back into Jax’s ribs with brutal force. Once, twice, three times until Jax’s grip loosens.

The mercenary uses the moment of weakness to break free, spinning to deliver a kick that catches Jax in the chest. He stumbles back, and I see the mercenary reach for something at his belt—the metallic glint of a knife.

Pure instinct takes over. I grab the nearest thing I can find—one of Finn’s precious houseplants—and swing it with all my strength. The flowerpot connects with the back of the mercenary’s head with a satisfying crack, sending him staggering forward. Jax doesn’t waste the opening. He grabs the man’s knife hand, twisting until something snaps. The mercenary howls, but Jax is already moving, driving his knee up into the man’s solar plexus before following through with an uppercut that lifts the mercenary off his feet.

The man crumples, but Jax doesn’t stop. He straddles the fallen intruder, raining down blows with a savagery that holds me frozen. Blood sprays across the wall, and still Jax doesn’t stop.

“Jax,” I whisper, reaching for him. “Jax, he’s down.”

He freezes at my touch, his chest heaving. When he turns to look at me, his eyes are almost black with fury. Blood drips from his split knuckles, and there’s already a bruise forming along his jaw.

More sounds of fighting drift up from below, reminding us we’re not safe yet. Jax pushes to his feet, pulling me close as his eyes scan the darkness.

“We need to move,” he says roughly. “Now.”

Right. But then I remember the gun. My focus darts to where it skittered across the floor during the initial attack. In the dim light filtering through the broken window, I catch a glint of metal partially hidden under a fallen picture frame near the wall.

“The gun,” I whisper, pointing. Jax follows my gaze and moves to retrieve it, keeping his body between me and the hallway. The sound of fighting downstairs has shifted—it sounds closer to the stairs now.

Jax checks the gun quickly, his movements quick despite his bloodied knuckles. A crash from below makes me jump, followed by Stone’s voice—a warning shout that’s cut off too quickly.

“Stone,” I breathe, my heart clenching. But Jax’s hand closes around my arm, pulling me toward the far end of the hallway.

“Back stairs,” he says quietly.

“Back stairs?”

“Through the study in my room. We need to?—”

He stops abruptly, shoving me behind him as footsteps thunder up the main staircase. Multiple sets, getting closer. We’re still too far from the study—at least thirty feet of open hallway between us and safety. My pulse roars in my ears as I realize we’ll never make it in time. They’ll have clear shots at us before we’re halfway there.

Jax’s jaw clenches as he backs us against the wall, gun trained on the staircase where the footsteps are growing louder. His bedroom door seems to mock us from its distance, so close and yet impossibly far.

“When I move,” he breathes, so quiet I barely hear him, “get into my room, head to the study, and barricade the door.”

“I don’t want to leave you out here,” I hiss back, but he cuts me off with a sharp look that brooks no argument.

“Three seconds,” he says. The footsteps are almost at the top of the stairs now. “One…”

A shadow appears at the end of the hallway.

“Two…”

The shadow is a hulking beast. Definitely an alpha. Bigger than the others.

“Three—”

But before he can move, before either of us can react, something comes hurtling up from the darkness below—a massive shape that slams into the mercenary with bone-crushing force.

Stone.

Stone’s roar shakes the walls as he drives the mercenary into the floor with devastating force. He’s bleeding from a cut above his eye, still naked and somehow more terrifying for it—pure alpha fury unleashed. The mercenary tries to bring up his weapon, but Stone catches his wrist and slams it against the floor until the gun clatters free.

Stone has his target locked in a brutal struggle on the ground, but I spot movement behind him—a mercenary emerging from the shadows, weapon raised at Stone’s exposed back.

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