Page 51 of Knot the Last Chapter

My coat is soaked through. Every step sends a fresh wave of pain through my knees, my spine. But I hold her like she’s the only thing left in the world. Like she’s mine.

Because she is.

By the time the house lights break through the trees, I’m soaked to the bone, trembling with exhaustion—but she’s still warm in my arms. Still breathing.

Rhys opens the door ahead of us, and the heat of the hearth rushes out to meet us.

We move like we’ve done this a thousand times. Rhys throws logs on the fire, building the heat. Corwyn disappears and returns with dry towels and soft clothes.

I lower her gently onto the couch, stripping off her wet coat and boots. Her skin is still pale, lips tinged with blue. Her fingers twitch faintly, but she doesn’t wake.

“Rhys, tea,” I bark. “Ginger, honey. Hot.”

He nods and vanishes into the kitchen. Corwyn hands me a bundle of clothes—one of my old shirts, leggings that look like they might fit. “She needs to change.”

“I know.”

I hesitate, heart hammering. She’s not awake enough to change herself. But she’s hurt, and we need to see where.

Corwyn sets a towel on the couch. “You undress her. I’ll help when needed. We’ll be careful.”

I nod and kneel beside her, the towel ready, and my hands trembling—not from want, but from reverence. My fingers move slowly, reverently, peeling the fabric away from her skin. Her hair is damp, clinging to her face and neck, her body chilled and trembling.

She is beautiful.

Not just in the way her body curves beneath the layers. I force myself to move slowly, to respect her, to honor her body as I remove the soaked clothes and blot her gently with the towel. Every motion is steady. Focused.

She deserves dignity. Even like this.

Even though every breath of her scent lights me on fire.

Even though I could drown in the shape of her lips alone.

A bad bruise is on her arm and shoulder, but it doesn’t look broken. The cold is what got her, and probably the shock.

We wrap her in the dry shirt and leggings, the fabric clinging to her body in soft waves. I place her gently on the couch near the fire and tuck the blanket around her shoulders, careful not to jostle her arm.

Her color begins to return. Pink touches her cheeks. Her mouth softens. She sighs in her sleep.

Rhys returns with tea, the smell of ginger and honey soothing in the warm air. He lifts her gently and helps her sip it, a few drops at a time.

She takes it groggily and then drifts off again.

Misty hops up beside her like a shadow, curling against her hip protectively.

The fire crackles, golden light flickering across the room. The scent of tea and rain-wet wood lingers in the air.

I sit beside her on the rug, my body aching, soaked through, but unwilling to move. I can’t take my eyes off her.

“She’s going to be okay,” Corwyn says softly.

I nod.

But I won’t rest until she opens her eyes and sees me. Until she knows I came.

Until she knows she’s not alone.

Chapter twenty-eight

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