Page 43 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

I blink, trying to focus, but everything blurs at the edges. Pink light washes over me, soft and hazy. Where am I? The question feels important, but my thoughts scatter like startled birds when I try to catch them.

Something hard beneath me. A chair? Yes. Metal. Icy against my soft skin. My skin prickles with goosebumps—I’m naked.Why am I naked?

A shiver runs through me, though it’s not entirely from the cold. There’s something else, something building under my skin. Something hot. Something insistent. It radiates from my core outward, making my limbs feel heavy and my head light.

I try to lift my hand, surprised by how much effort it takes. My muscles aren’t responding right. Like they’re weighed down or wrapped in cotton. Did I drink too much? No, that’s not it. Something else. Something…is wrong.

The heat intensifies, pulsing through me in waves. I’ve felt something like this before, haven’t I? But not like this. Not thispowerful. This consuming. It dawns on me slowly, realization filtering through the fog in my brain.

Is this it?

My first full heat.

I’m in heat.

But that’s not possible. Heats are supposed to build gradually, predictably. This is like being dropped into a furnace. My body temperature skyrocketing without warning.

And theneed. It claws at me from the inside, frantic and ravenous. I’ve never felt so empty, so hollow. I need…something.Someone.

My hand slides across my bare stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I should stop. I know I should. But the heat pulls at me, insistent, overwhelming. My palm cups my breast, and the sensation sends a jolt through me so intense, I gasp.

“Alpha,” I whimper, not sure where the word comes from, not even sure what alpha I’m calling for.

As my fingers graze over my hardened nipple, I gasp, inhaling hard. A scent reaches me, faint but distinctive. Alpha. My heart leaps, but then sinks just as quickly. It’s wrong. Not the right alpha. Notmine.

Mine? Do I have an alpha? The question feels important, crucial even, but trying to answer it is like grasping at smoke.

My fingers continue their exploration, trailing down between my thighs where I grow slick and swollen. The first touch makes me arch, a moan escaping my lips before I can stop it. The relief is immediate but fleeting. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

“Please,” I whisper to the empty room. “Please…”

Please what? Who am I begging? My fingers move faster, driven by instinct rather than thought. The pleasure builds, sharp and sweet, but it’s like trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon. Each moment of relief is swallowed by greater need.

Something hard digs into my calf, and my fingers tighten, closing around a small object. A…syringe? Why do I have a syringe? I want to throw it away so I can use both of my hands to curb this need, but something stops me.

The syringe is important, but I don’t know why.

Swallowing hard, another moan bubbles in my throat as my free hand moves over my clit. I lift the other that’s holding the syringe. It’s empty.

The sight of it triggers a flash of memory—convulsions, foam at my mouth, feigning unconsciousness.

Why? Why would I pretend? And who was I trying to fool?

Heath. The name surfaces suddenly, bringing with it a wave of disgust so powerful it momentarily cuts through the haze of heat. Veyra Heath. Widow.

And someone else…

An alpha I can’t remember.

The memories slip away before I can grasp them fully, dragged under by another wave of heat-induced need. My body doesn’t care about names or memories. It wants only one thing.

My fingers move urgently now, chasing relief that seems just out of reach. Slick coats my thighs, my scent growing stronger with every passing minute. It’s too much. I’m burning alive from the inside out.

I buck shamelessly against my hand, unable to stop myself, when a sound catches my attention—a muffled groan or growl. I look up, squinting through the pink-tinted light.

For the first time, I realize I’m not alone.

There’s a figure across the room, behind what looks like glass. An alpha. Male. Strapped to a chair, his face a mask of agony and fury.

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