Page 219 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Stone walks in behind me, his eyes scanning every corner,every shadow, his instincts on high alert. Finn and Hailey follow, their movements slower, more hesitant. Finn’s fingers brush against Hailey’s as they step inside, and I watch the way she leans into him, seeking his quiet strength.

“Ren’s been busy,” Stone mutters, his gaze lingering on the weapons cabinet tucked into a corner near the fireplace. It’s locked, but the sight of it is enough to make my stomach twist.

“He always is,” I reply, my voice quiet.

Finn’s gaze sweeps over the space, taking in the little details—the stack of folded blankets on the couch, the basket of firewood by the hearth, the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke that lingers in the air. “It doesn’t feel like him,” he says softly. “It feels…like someone else.”

Hailey doesn’t say anything, but I can see the flicker of unease in her eyes. She’s been quiet since we left the house, too quiet, even quieter than her norm. I hate having to bring her here. This is another new location. After six years at that wretched Academy, our home had been the first safe place she’d been in years. I’ll just have to make her feel safe here, too.

“Let’s get you two settled,” I say, gesturing toward the wide staircase that leads to the second floor. “There’s enough space here for all of us. Pick a room, get some rest.”

“I’ll check the perimeter,” Stone says, already heading for the back door. His injured arm hangs stiffly at his side, but I know better than to argue with him. He needs this—needs to feel like he’s doing something. Like he’s keeping us safe.

The upstairs hallway stretches before us, wood-paneled walls glowing amber in the morning light. Four bedrooms branch off the main corridor, each door standing open like an invitation. But it’s the master suite at the end that draws both Finn and Hailey, as if pulled by some invisible thread.

The room is large. In the center is a king-sized bed dressed in quilts that look soft enough to sink into. Wide windows frame the endless sea of evergreens beyond, and something in my chestloosens at the defensive advantages of the elevation. A sliding glass door opens onto a private balcony, and I note with approval the subtle security features Ren has incorporated—reinforced glass, multiple locks, clear sightlines in all directions.

Finn moves through the space with the quiet grace that’s uniquely his, fingers trailing along surfaces as if testing their reality. He pauses at a cedar chest beneath one window, lifting the lid to reveal stacks of blankets and throws.

“There’s more in the hall closet,” I tell him. After the violence of last night, I understand his need to make this strange place feel like home. It’s what he does—transforms spaces into sanctuaries for all of us.

“This place feels…empty,” he murmurs, pulling out a particularly soft-looking blanket. “Too quiet.”

Hailey gravitates to the bed, sinking onto its edge with exhausted relief. Her honey-vanilla scent has gone soft and drowsy, but there’s still an undercurrent of anxiety that makes my protective instincts surge. When Finn joins her, their shoulders brushing, that anxiety noticeably dims.

“You should both rest,” I say, fighting the urge to gather them close, to wrap them in my scent until all traces of fear are gone. “Stone and I will secure the perimeter, stock the kitchen. We’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.”

Finn nods, but his movements are restless as he begins arranging the blanket he’s holding around Hailey’s shoulders. There’s something almost compulsive about the way he tucks it around her, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was…but no. It’s just Finn being Finn, taking care of his packmate—hismate—after a traumatic night.

“The light’s good here,” he says absently, glancing at the windows. “We could put some plants on that shelf, maybe. Make it feel more like…” He trails off, and I catch the flash of grief in his eyes. The plants he’d cultivated at home. One of those fuckers had trampled all the saplings in his effort to get up to the kitchen window.

Fuck.

“Finn, you don’t…” I release a breath, gaze shifting to Hailey. Maybe she can sense Finn’s growing distress, too, because she’s dipped her face into his neck, the skin-on-skin contact being exactly what he needs. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. We’re not staying here for long.” I swallow a lump down my throat. Because wecan’tstay here for long. Finn needs his nest. “I promise you.”

He gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. One that makes me want to march across the room and pull him into my arms. Make it all better.

Gulping again, I take a deep breath and leave the room, leaving them to settle. Padding downstairs, I find Stone already organizing supplies in the kitchen. He’s moving stiffly, favoring his injured arm, but his eyes are sharp when they meet mine.

“They okay up there?” he asks, voice rough with concern.

“As okay as they can be.” I start helping him unpack, noting the way Ren has stocked the kitchen with all our usual brands. “Finn’s already planning where to put plants.”

Stone’s lips quirk slightly. “Of course, he is. But we’re not staying here long.”

“No, we’re not,” I agree, pulling out boxes of Finn’s favorite tea from one of the bags. In our rush to leave, I’d still made sure to grab them.

The silence stretches between us as I arrange the tea boxes on the counter, desperately trying to create some semblance of normalcy. Stone leans against the cabinet, his presence heavy with unspoken words. Neither of us wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

I busy myself with filling the kettle, the clink of metal against metal too loud in the quiet kitchen. Upstairs, I can hear muffled sounds of Finn and Hailey moving about.

Stone shifts behind me, and I know he’s listening to them too. The weight of everything unsaid makes the air feel thick, suffocating. We need to talk about it—about last night, about what happens next, about how to keep them safe. But the words stick in my throat.

The silence that falls between us is weighted with everything we’re not saying. Stone’s scent has gone sharp around the edges—anger, frustration, and beneath it all, the sour tinge of fear. I know he’s still replaying last night in his mind: the sounds of struggle, the unmistakable copper tang of blood in the air.

Sighing, I move from the kettle and start to unpack the emergency kit we keep in the SUV, laying out the contents on the farmhouse-style table that dominates the dining area. First aid supplies, emergency rations, a satellite phone—and, apart from all that, extra ammunition for Ren’s gun. The gun itself is tucked into the waistband of my jeans, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of how quickly our lives have shifted.

“We’re gonna need to restock,” I say, just to break the silence. “There’s a town about forty minutes east of here, according to the details Ren left.”

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