Page 25 of Knot the Last Chapter

The way he moves is all quiet purpose. He’s steady. Big, but careful. Not once since finding me has he made a move too fast or too close. Not once has he stared the way alphas sometimes do when they think they can get away with it.

That earns him a lot of points.

Still, I stay close to the fire, listening to the soothing sounds of him preparing tea in the kitchen. I bake, when I’m nervous. Or when I’m procrastinating. Right now, I’m just trying to warm up, exhausted from trying to steer the boat to a shore, any shore, even one apparently riddled with alphas.

Rhys returns a few minutes later with two mugs of tea, handing one to me. I wrap my fingers around the warmth greedily. The steam smells like mint and something sweet I can’t quite name.

“Thank you,” I say again.

“You’re lucky you made it to the cove,” he says quietly, settling across from me. “There’s a drop-off near the rocks. Storm like this could’ve dragged you under.”

“I was trying to outrun it. I didn’t think it would turn so fast.”

He nods. “They always do, this time of year. Lake valleys like this act like a funnel. What looks like distance on a radar is already overhead.”

“I’ll remember that,” I say.

He watches me a moment longer, like he wants to ask something but chooses not to.

I take a sip of tea and let the heat settle in my chest. “This house—it’s incredible. Yours?”

“Family home. Been in the Carver name for four generations.”

I blink. “Carver... wait, the Carvers? This is Carver Island?”

“Yeah. That’s us.” Another rueful smile, confident in who he is. “Heard of us?”

I look at him again. The height. The build. The quiet, practical competence. It clicks.

“You’rethatRhys.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about what you’ve heard?”

I smile into my mug. “My brother Jake used to say there were three alpha brothers in his class who lived on an island who knew how to wrestle wolves and fix anything with a wrench. I thought he was joking.”

“We don’t wrestle wolves,” he says mildly. “Anymore.”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. The sound of it feels good. Real.

He rises slowly, finishing the last of his tea. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

I blink. “That sounds… significantly more forward than I think you mean it to.”

He grins over his shoulder. “There’s a guest room with dry clothes. Promise.”

I follow him down a long hallway with tall windows and dark wood floors. The house is huge, but not cold. Every corner seemsto hold something of note, like a worn painting, an old lamp, or the faint scent of something like rosemary and pine.

He stops in front of a carved oak door and pushes it open.

The guest room is breathtaking.

Soft light filters in through narrow windows. A dark four-poster bed sits against the wall, a thick maroon quilt folded at the base. There’s a small writing desk in one corner and a window seat with cushions worn by time and use. On the dresser, a folded stack of soft clothes—a hoodie, leggings, thick wool socks.

“I figured those would fit,” he says, nodding at the pile. “Belong to my youngest brother’s ex. She left them here a year ago and never came back for them.”

“Awkward.”

He shrugs. “She left him for a sculptor in Vermont. We all agree he dodged something.”

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