Page 44 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Something about him…something familiar. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Eyes that burn with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

I know him. Don’t I?

The thought sends a fresh wave of slick between my thighs, my body responding to his presence even if my mind can’t place him. Is he real? Or a hallucination brought on by the heat and whatever drugs they’ve pumped into me?

“Alpha?” I call uncertainly.

No response, just more muffled sounds. He’s gagged, I realize. And hurt. Even through my distorted vision, I can see blood on his skin, on his face.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I don’t understand why. Why should I cry for an alpha I don’t know? Except…I do know him. Don’t I?

I slide from the chair to my knees, my legs too weak to support me. The concrete floor is cold against my overheated skin, but I barely notice. I need to get closer to the alpha. Need to see his face clearly.

I crawl forward on hands and knees, each movement sending fresh pulses of arousal through me. The friction of my thighs against each other is almost unbearable. I stop, pressing my hand between my legs again, unable to resist.

“I can’t,” I gasp, not sure what I’m refusing. “I need… I need…”

You. The word hangs unspoken in the air.I need you, alpha. Whoever you are.

I reach the glass, pressing my slick-coated palm against it. The alpha’s expression shifts, something like hope flaring in his eyes. He’s beautiful, I realize, despite the bruises and blood. Or maybe because of them. There’s something fierce and wild about him that calls to the most primitive part of me.

He tries to speak, but the words are unintelligible through the gag. His eyes, though—they’re screaming at me. Trying to tell me something important.

The heat surges again, and I whimper, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. My free hand moves between my legs again, seeking relief I know won’t come. Not like this. Not without him.

“Alpha,” I breathe, my breath fogging the glass. “Help me.”

He strains against his bonds, muscles bulging with effort. The leather creaks but holds. Blood trickles from his wrists where the restraints have cut into his skin.

A flicker of memory—him standing with three others, all looking at me as if I belonged.

Home.

The word resonates through me like a struck bell. Home. I had a home. Didn’t I?

Pack. Home. Mine.

Three words. A mantra. My mantra? They feel right in a way nothing else does at this moment.

“I know you,” I whisper, staring at the alpha. “Don’t I?”

He nods frantically, eyes burning with intensity.

More fragments of memory surface—a gala, beautiful lights, a sense of belonging. Then terror. Pain. Darkness.

“Ren,” I breathe, the name coming to me suddenly, clear as crystal. “Your name is Ren.”

His eyes widen, relief flooding his features. He nods again, more urgently.

Ren. The name feels right in my mouth, familiar and precious. But who is he to me? Friend? Protector? Lover?

Pack.

The word appears in my mind again, insistent.Pack. Family. Mine.

“We’re p-pack,” I say, testing the words. They ring true, cutting through the chemical haze for a moment.

Behind me, a door opens.

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