Page 23 of Knot the Last Chapter

I pick up my pace, boots splashing through the shallow pools gathering at the water’s edge.

When I reach her, she’s already trying to pull herself upright.

“Easy,” I say, steady and low, crouching at her side. “You hurt?”

She blinks up at me, panting, rain running down her face. Her hair clings to her skin in dark, soaked strands. She’s small—at least next to my alpha bulk she feels small—and pale under the weight of the storm. But her eyes are clear. Bright. Alert.

“No, I don’t think so.” She coughs, steadying herself on one arm. “The boat—” she gestures weakly behind her, “—caught a bad current.”

I scan her quickly. No visible injuries beyond a few cuts and scrapes. Bruises, likely, but nothing life-threatening. Relief eases some of the tightness in my chest.

And then I catch it.

Her scent.

Omega.

Sweet, warm. Like clover honey and rain-washed flowers. Richer than anything I’ve breathed in a long time. My pulse kicks hard in my throat, and for one dangerous second, my instincts tighten like a coil beneath my ribs.

Steady.

She’s not in heat. Just shaken. And cold. But that scent—it’s enough to pull something from deep in my bones.

“You need to get warm,” I say, grounding myself in facts. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

I slide my arm carefully around her waist. She doesn’t resist. She leans into me as we make our way up to the four-wheeler. The rain’s still heavy, though the worst of it seems to be breaking.

“What’s your name?” I ask, raising my voice over the wind.

“Lila,” she answers, breathless but calm.

“Lila.” I nod. The name rings faintly familiar. Starling Grove isn’t a big place. But it’s not the name that knocks me sideways—it’s her.

“I’m Rhys,” I offer back. “Let’s get you inside.”

I help her onto the back of the four-wheeler, making sure she’s balanced before gunning it toward the house. The wheels slide slightly on the wet track, but I know these trails well enough not to slow.

The rain is falling in sheets by the time we reach the back drive of the house. The porch lights cast a warm glow against the gray sky as I pull to a stop by the mudroom.

“Come on,” I say, offering her my hand again. “You’re safe now.”

She slips her cold fingers into mine without hesitation, and that brief touch shoots heat through me that I try very hard to ignore.

Inside, the warmth hits immediately—dry wood, faint cedar smoke from the fire I laid earlier, and the hum of home.

“Sit by the hearth,” I tell her, steady. “I’ll grab you something to dry with.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft but steady.

As I turn toward the hall closet, I feel her eyes on my back. And I can feel the tension humming beneath both of our skins.

I’ve helped plenty of people in my life.

But I’ve never felt like this.

Not once.

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