Page 91 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Ican sense them hovering at the edges of the room, my alphas, their scents thick with concern and confusion. Any other time, I might care. Might feel guilty about shutting them out, about the warning glare I’d given them as I passed. But right now, all I can focus on is the small form curled against my chest, her breathing still hitching occasionally from crying.

The movie plays on the screen—some lightweight comedy I’d chosen hoping to lift her spirits—but I haven’t processed a single scene. Instead, I’m hyperaware of every tiny movement Hailey makes. The way she flinches slightly at sudden sounds. How she keeps her limbs tucked tight, making herself smaller, even as she presses closer to me. The slight tremor that still runs through her body every few minutes.

I adjust the blanket, tucking it more securely around her shoulders. She makes a soft sound—something between appreciation and distress—and burrows deeper against me. The trust in that simple movement makes something ache deep inside me.

“You’re safe,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My hand moves to her hair almost of its own accord, fingers carding gently through the soft strands. “I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but I feel some of the tension leave her body. Her scent grows calmer. Sweeter.

Everything she revealed in the kitchen plays through my mind again, making my jaw clench. That fucking Academy. Even worse, her fucking useless pieces-of-shit parents. The very thought makes my blood boil.

I force myself to relax as Hailey stirs, responding unconsciously to my anger. This isn’t about me or my rage. This is about making her feel secure. Protected.

A sound behind us—one of the alphas shifting position—makes her tense again. My arms tighten instinctively around her, and I shoot another warning look toward the doorway. I catch a glimpse of Jax’s broad shoulders retreating further into shadow. Good. They can hover all they want, but they need to stay back. Give her space.

Giveusspace, some part of me whispers. The thought surprises me. I’ve never been territorial with other omegas before—never felt this fierce need to protect, to shelter. But something about Hailey calls to something deep inside me. Maybe it’s her vulnerability, or the way she looked at me in the kitchen like I was offering her the world instead of just grilled cheese.

She shifts against me, one hand curling into my shirt. The movement draws my attention back to her face, and my breath stills in my nose. In the soft glow from the window, she looks almost ethereal. Dark lashes resting against pale cheeks, lips slightly parted, the tension finally easing from her features as exhaustion takes over. Beautiful, my mind supplies unhelpfully. She’s beautiful.

I shouldn’t be noticing that. Should be focusing on keeping her safe, helping her heal, and figuring out what the hell happened to her. But I can’t stop cataloging details—the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls across her forehead, the subtle sweetness of her scent that seems to wrap around me like…

“Cold?” I ask softly when she shivers, using the excuse to pull her closer. She’s practically in my lap now, tucked between my legswith her head resting against my chest. The position should feel awkward or inappropriate. Instead, it feels right in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

Time seems to slow, marked only by the steady rise and fall of her breathing against my chest. The movie plays on, forgotten background noise as shadows lengthen across the floor. Her weight settles more fully against me as exhaustion gradually wins over her tension. I find myself memorizing every detail—the way her fingers occasionally twitch where they’re curled in my shirt, how her breath whispers across my collarbone, the subtle way her scent mingles with mine.

The house feels…different with her here. Warmer. More intimate. My own breathing slows to match hers, and I catch myself drifting, conscious thought giving way to sensation. The softness of her hair beneath my fingers. The delicate curve of her shoulder under my other hand. The way she fits perfectly against me, as if she was meant to be here.

I don’t remember closing my eyes.

When they open again, the room is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. My first awareness is warmth—her body still pressed against mine, but somehow closer. During our sleep, she’s shifted to lie more fully on top of me, her face now tucked into my neck. Her breath fans hot against my skin with each exhalation.

The second awareness hits like lightning through my veins. I’m hard. Achingly so. And with her positioned like this…

I swallow hard, trying to control my breathing. Trying not to focus on how perfectly she fits against me, how her scent has deepened into something richer, how her lips are practically brushing my throat. This isn’t right. She’s vulnerable, traumatized. The last thing she needs is…

She stirs slightly, making a soft sound that sends heat coursing through me. My hands clench into fists at my sides, fighting the urge to pull her closer.

Her movement stills, but now I’m aware of every inch of herskin against mine. The weight of her slight frame pressing me into the couch cushions. The way her chest rises and falls against mine. One of her hands has slipped beneath my shirt during our sleep, resting warm against my ribs. The position is innocently intimate in a way that makes me almost whine. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched that the sensation sends fireworks right through me.

Breath hitching, I freeze when I hear a slight shift near the door. Someone walking past. The footsteps slow as they near the sitting room and I know it’s one of the others watching. Probably all still hovering there since earlier. A surge of bitterness rises in my throat, sharp enough to taste.Nowthey’re here. Now they’re concerned. Where were they all those nights I paced these halls alone, drowning in silence? All those times I needed them, needed anything to fill the emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole? But one pretty little omega shows up and suddenly they’re constant shadows, watching, hovering, acting like they’ve always been this attentive.

The anger mingles with the desire still thrumming through my veins, almost making me dizzy. Making it harder to think clearly with her warm weight pressed against me, her scent filling my lungs with every breath.

I should wake her. Should carefully extract myself before this gets more complicated. But she looks so peaceful, features softened by sleep, completely relaxed against me after she opened up and told me so much about her past. The trust in that vulnerability makes something ache in my chest even as it sends heat coiling through my belly.

She shifts again, and this time her lips definitely brush my throat. A small sound escapes me before I can stop it. Her scent spikes in response—sweetening, warming—and I realize with a jolt that she’s not entirely asleep anymore. Her breathing has changed, become more deliberate. But she doesn’t move away. If anything, she presses closer, her fingers flexing against my skin like she’s seeking something she can’t name.

“Hailey,” I manage, my voice rougher with exactly the thing I don’t want her to hear. Her name is a warning? A question? I’m not even sure anymore.

She lifts her head slowly, and my breath hitches. Her eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed with sleep and something else. She blinks several times as I come into focus, cheeks rosy as her lips part. Warm rays of sunlight catch in her hair, and god help me, but I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

The thought makes me hate myself a little.

A shiver goes through her and I’m about to tighten the blanket across her shoulders when her sweet scent intensifies. I almost groan. She’s perfuming. That telltale sweetness that means an omega is experiencing arousal. It’s like a smoke signal, a message meant for alphas, not for another omega like me. Yet here I am, responding as if I have any right to these feelings, as if I’m not betraying everything by wanting her.

Shit. I hadn’t even thought to ask about her cycle. The realization sends ice through my veins even as my body burns hotter. Jax and Stone and Ren…an omega in pre-heat would be impossible for them to ignore. But what terrifies me more is that I can’t ignore it either. Each breath of her deepening scent makes my cock throb, makes something primal in me want to roll her beneath me and—God, my mates deserve better than this. Than me fantasizing about someone else while their bond marks still burn on my skin.

I’m so hard, I’m sure she can feel it pressing into her, and no amount of imagining unsavory things is helping. She squirms slightly, her body responding to signals she probably doesn’t understand, seeking friction she doesn’t even know she needs.

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