Page 50 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Finn’s hands tighten around his mug. “Yes. You already met Stone. Then there’s Jax and Ren.” He takes a careful breath. “They’re alphas, too.”

Three strong alpha scents woven through this house, throughFinn’s sage-and-rain scent, creating something I’ve never encountered before. No wonder I’m so confused, so drawn to this space.

“And they’re…” I hesitate, not sure how to ask. Are they kind? Safe? Like Stone, who brings food and clothes but never demands?

“They’re good men,” Finn says quietly, but there’s that pain in his voice again. “Or at least, I thought…” He stops, shakes his head, then smiles. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”

I take another bite, watching as he moves to the sink to wash his mug. His shoulders are rigid now, scent sharp again with distress. Whatever’s happening between him and his alphas, it’s clearly causing him suffering. Or maybe it’s all because I turned up here.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for.

He turns, leaning against the sink. “Don’t be. None of this is your fault.” His gaze drops to my wrists, to the bandages Stone wrapped so carefully. “Whatever’s happening here, I’ll figure it out. You and me together.”

Together. The word makes something warm unfurl in my chest. How long has it been since I’ve had anyone on my side? Since anyone has looked at me and seen someone worth helping?

“Now,” Finn says, his voice gentle but firm. “Think you can tell me how youreallyended up in that cabin?”

Chapter 16

Finn

Her voice catches like fabric on barbed wire as she begins her story, and my fingers curl against the counter’s edge, fighting the urge to comfort her. It’s strange how my usual omega territoriality seems nonexistent with her—where I should feel threatened by another omega in my space, I only want to protect. Something about her pulls at my instincts in a way I’ve never experienced with another omega. Maybe it’s how small she looks in Stone’s clothes, or how her scent keeps spiking with fear despite my attempts to keep the kitchen saturated with my own calming pheromones.

At first, I think she’s lying. A Reform Academy? In this day and age? But as she continues, describing the sterile bedroom and strict routines, my skepticism turns to horror. Her hands flutter against her thighs as she speaks, fingers kneading the fabric like a nervous cat. The way her gaze keeps going to the door while her body unconsciously orients toward me—these aren’t the tells of a liar. This is trauma, raw and real.

She describes the daily “lessons” in submission, the constant reminders of her place in society, and I remember how she fell to my feet earlier. Fuck. My stomach turns as she mentions thesuppressants they were given, the way they were kept isolated from each other. Everything designed to break them down, to make them perfect, compliant omegas for whatever alpha purchased them. She can’t be making it up. It’s too…too horrific.

The accident she describes with the truck sounds like something from an action movie—the way the truck rolled and almost tore apart. But I recognize that distant look in her eyes, the unconscious way her fingers drift to her temple when she talks about it. There’s probably still a bump there, hidden under her hair.

I have the same tells when I remember my own accident. The one that changed everything. That slight wince that crosses her features, the way her words get a bit choppy and disconnected—those are the marks of someone who’s lived through metal crushing around them, who’s felt the world spin and shatter.

I know because my hand does the same thing, reaching for the scar hidden in my hairline whenever I think about my own wreck. It’s like muscle memory of trauma.

She talks about running through the woods, about being so tired and cold she thought she would die. About climbing the fence and finding the cabin. Of thinking anything was better than freezing to death outside. Her voice gets quieter when she mentions waking up to find Stone. How he brought her food and bandaged her wounds. How he brought her clothes and the fluffy blanket I saw her sleeping under.

Her hands wring when she mentions that, eyes darting to the door again. She probably wants it back. I’ll have to go get it for her later.

When she finishes, silence fills the kitchen. I realize I’m gripping the counter so hard the skin over my knuckles has stretched thin.

“So Stone…he didn’t bring you there. Hefoundyou?” I ask finally, trying to keep my voice steady.

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “He…he just started bringing things. Food. Clothes. But he never…” She swallows hard. “He never tried to make me submit or…or claim me.”

She says that like it’s something natural and expected. Like she expected the first alpha she met to do just that. I open my mouth to tell her that’s not how it works. That omegas are so rare, so precious, that we’re the ones who get to choose. That most of us are spoiled brats who pit alphas against each other, who see other omegas as competition rather than potential friends.

God, I remember being like that once—turning my nose up at other omegas, seeing them as threats to my status. There are so few of us that most cities only have a handful, and we’re constantly trying to outdo each other for the best packs, the most powerful alphas, the most luxurious lives.

The fact that she expects to be claimed, to be forced into submission…it makes my blood boil. What did they teach her at that place? What kind of twisted reality did they create?

“Why didn’t Stone call the police or bring you to the hospital?” I think out loud, and immediately regret it when Hailey’s scent spikes with terror.

“No!” She stands so quickly the barstool scrapes against the floor. “Please, no police. No doctors. They’ll send me back. They’ll?—”

“Okay, okay,” I say quickly, raising my hands in a placating gesture. “No police. I promise.”

She’s trembling now, looking between me and the door like she’s calculating her chances of escape. “Thank you for the food,” she whispers. “I should go.”

“Go where?” The words sound sharp, and I force myself to soften my tone. “Sorry, I just…you’re safe here, Hailey. You don’t have to run anymore.”

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