Page 255 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

A shadow moving across the lawn, just barely visible through the curtains.

My spine goes straight, my heart pounding as I move closer to the window, careful not to make a sound. My breath catches when I see the figure more clearly.

Tall. Alpha. Jaw cut from steel, so sharp it catches even the moonlight.

Ren.

For a moment, it feels like the world narrows to just him. His broad shoulders are rigid, his movements quick and purposeful as he makes his way across the lawn. He blends into the darkness like he belongs there. If I wasn’t looking at this precise moment, I would have missed him.

My heart stutters in my chest, the sight of him sending a jolt through me.

He stops, tilting his head slightly, and I think for a moment that he’s going to turn back. But then his gaze shifts upward, and his eyes meet mine through the window.

My breath stops in my throat, my hands pressing against the glass as we stare at each other.

His face is unreadable, those ice-cold eyes shadowed in the faint glow of moonlight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. And yet, in that moment, it feels like he’s said everything.

I feel the weight of him, the quiet intensity that’s always surrounded him, pressing against me even through the glass. He’s still the same alpha who always seemed the coldest, the most distant, the one I never really knew.

And yet, I know one thing for certain.

He loves Finn.

He would do anything for Finn.

And so would I.

The moment stretches until he finally breaks it. Ren’s gaze lingers on mine for just a heartbeat longer before he turns away, continuing his path toward the edge of the property.

I watch him go, my chest tightening with the weight of everything unsaid.

Where is he going? What is he doing?

And then it hits me. He’s heading toward the cabin.

I glance toward the bedroom door, torn between staying where I am and following him. But the longer I stand there, the more my curiosity—and my concern—grows.

Finally, I make a decision.

Grabbing a sweater and loose pants, I slip out of the room and head downstairs, my footsteps silent on the floorboards. The house feels different at night, the shadows longer, the silence deeper.

When I reach the front door, I hesitate for a moment before entering the security code and stepping outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin.

Ren is nowhere to be seen, but I know the way. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as I move toward the edge of the property.

The cool night air bites at my skin, my sweater doing little to keep the chill away. I should have grabbed shoes, but in my rush to follow him, I didn’t think about it. Now, each step is a careful negotiation with the earth beneath me—sharp twigs, damp leaves, and cold, uneven ground.

Ren is already long gone. I know that. Even though I left the house as quickly as I could, he’s faster, stronger, and far more familiar with this property than I am. He must be halfway to the cabin by now, if not already there. But I can’t bring myself to turn back.

The night stretches out around me, heavy and alive. The forest is a tangle of shadows, the trees swaying gently in the cool breeze. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots, its call low and mournful. The sound of crickets fills the air, a rhythmic hum that seems to grow louder the farther I get from the house.

I pick my way through the darkness, my steps slow and careful as I try to avoid tripping over the roots that rise up from the earthlike skeletal fingers. The brambles snag at the hem of my pants, their thorns biting into my skin, and I wince as a particularly sharp one catches my ankle.

The soft squelch of damp leaves underfoot is the only sound I make as I move deeper into the trees. The moonlight barely filters through the canopy, casting faint, dappled shadows on the forest floor. I focus on the path ahead, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I try to keep up the pace.

The moment I reach that lightning-struck oak—the one that looks like a grasping hand reaching for the sky—I know I’m close. The air feels heavier here, colder. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant snap of a twig—makes my heart jump, but I force myself to keep moving.

The cabin isn’t far now.

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