Page 13 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

The darkness inside is thick, but that scent hits me hard—sweet, intoxicating, with an undercurrent of fear and exhaustion that makes me want to growl. It catches in my throat, floods my senses, awakens something primitive and hungry beneath my skin. The growl builds before I can stop it, clawing up my throat until I have to physically fight it back. As my eyes adjust, shapes beginemerging from the shadows. The familiar outline of the table, chairs, the trunk against the wall, and then…

I freeze.

There’s someone in my fucking cot.

My body tenses, ready to defend my territory, but something about their scent makes me hesitate. It calls to me in a way I don’t understand, like a melody half-remembered from childhood.

The moonlight filtering through the window catches on pale skin and dark hair streaked with caramel and honey-blonde highlights. It illuminates the delicate curve of a shoulder, the vulnerable line of a throat —

A female. Anomega, my brain supplies instantly, recognizing that alluring scent that drew me in.

What’s an omega doing in my cabin? No. Scratch that. What’s an omega doing on our property, period? And alone, it seems. How did she even get here? The omega is curled into herself, like she’s trying to appear small even in sleep, and something about that defensive posture makes a part of me bristle.

I dare to take a step closer, not really believing what I’m seeing.

“What the hell?” The words escape in a shocked whisper as the moonlight reveals what I couldn’t see from the doorway.

She’s blindfolded. A dark cloth is tied around her eyes, digging into her skin. What…in the ever living…fuck.

And then I see her wrists—bound with coarse rope, the fibers digging so deeply they’ve left angry, swollen welts where she’s clearly struggled against them.

These aren’t just casual restraints—they’ve been tied with deliberate skill, the knots cruelly tight, meant to ensure she couldn’t escape.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, momentarily frozen in horror. This isn’t just an intruder. This is a victim. Someone did this to her. Deliberately restrained her, deliberately hurt her.

She’s hurt, she’s bound, she’s blindfolded—and she still managed to find her way here? What the hell is going on?

Her dress—if you could call it that—is in tatters, transparent and barely covering her. I adjust my gaze automatically and catch sight of something darker staining the sheets in thin streaks near her side. Blood. The same blood I found on the porch.

Rage floods my system. Hot. Familiar. But somehow different. Deeper. More primal than anything I’ve felt before. This isn’t just anger at seeing an omega harmed. This is…this is something else. My vision sharpens, focuses on those bonds until they’re all I can see. The urge to hunt down whoever did this burns in my blood, turns my growl feral.

Who would do this to her? My mind races through possibilities, each darker than the last. Human trafficking. Ritualistic abuse. Some sick alpha’s idea of control. None of the scenarios make sense—especially for the fact that she’s here on our property—but the evidence is right in front of me, tied around her wrists, covering her eyes.

Her presence here could be a danger to my pack. ToFinn. I should wake her. Should demand answers. But there’s something about the way she’s sleeping that stays my hand. Omegas don’t just rest anywhere. They’re notorious for needing safety, security, and familiar scents before they can truly relax enough to sleep. Yet here she is, passed out cold in a strange alpha’s cabin, despite being bound and blindfolded. There’s nothing threatening about her.

My fingers twitch with the urge to free her immediately, to remove that blindfold, to check her wounds. I clench my fists, forcing myself to think clearly. This isn’t some simple rescue. I have no idea who did this or if they’re still out there hunting for her. I need to be smart about this.

The bitter notes of distress in her scent tell a story of desperation and fear. Even in sleep, her breathing is shallow and quick, her body curled tight as if expecting a blow.

I take another careful step closer, trying to sort through the confusing mix of alpha instincts warring in my head. The need to protect clashes with pack protocol, boundaries, and years of experiencethat scream at me to be cautious. Unknown omegas don’t just appear in the wild. Not alone. Not injured. Not bound and blindfolded like someone’s escaped prisoner.

As a slight breeze comes through the open door, it stirs her hair, carrying with it a fresher wave of her scent. Beneath the fear and blood, there’s something else. Something that makes me practically purr with recognition. But I’ve never met her before.

I stare down at her, fists clenching an unclenching. She’s beautiful. Startlingly so. Despite the cloth covering her eyes. Despite the smudges of dirt and sweat. High cheekbones, full lips slightly parted in sleep, features delicate yet somehow strong beneath smudges of dirt. Something about her face seems almost familiar, tugging at memories I can’t quite place. It’s maddening, like trying to recall a word that’s on the tip of your tongue.

She shifts in her sleep, a small whimper escaping her lips, and my decision is made before I consciously realize it. I can’t leave her like this, bound and bleeding. But I also can’t ignore the fact that someone did this to her, that whoever it is might be looking for her right now.

The smart thing to do would be to call Jax. As pack alpha, he should be the one handling this situation. But the exhaustion in his eyes these past weeks, the strain of keeping the pack together… No. I need to handle this myself, at least until I understand what’s going on.

Moving with deliberate slowness, I ease myself down to kneel beside the cot. She’s so still, too still, and something about it claws at my chest. My gaze flickers over those restraints again, and a protective fury builds under my skin. I want to hunt down whoever hurt her, to tear them apart with my bare hands. The intensity of the reaction startles me—this isn’t just basic alpha instinct. This feels personal, visceral, as though someone has wounded something that belongs to me. And even I know that has to be fucking bullshit.

“Hey,” I do my damned best to keep my voice soft, pitched lowto avoid startling her. No response. She’s really out cold, which only heightens my concern.

I should check her wounds, but the thought of touching her while she’s unconscious, while she’sbound…it feels wrong on every level. My fingers hover over her shoulder, uncertain.

That’s when I notice the slight tremor running through her body. She’s cold. Of course, she is—the cabin gets chilly at night, and she’s barely dressed. Before I can think better of it, I shrug off my jacket and carefully drape it over her.

The effect is immediate. She burrows into the warmth instinctively, turning her face into the fabric. Something in my chest tightens at the sight. At how innocent she looks, how vulnerable.

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