Page 9 of Knot the Last Chapter

“My fictional dead body,” I clarify, heat blooming up my neck. “Not a real one. I’m not that interesting.”

“I don’t know,” he says, walking slowly past a shelf of vintage paperbacks. “You have the look of someone sitting on an unsolved riddle. I’m Corwyn, by the way.”

Of course he is. No one who looks like that is named Steve.

“Lila.”

“Lovely name.” His gaze lingers, warm but not invasive. Then, just as I start to feel grounded again, his scent shifts. Stronger. Spicier. Sharper around the edges. I feel it press against something in me I’ve never fully experienced, suppressed since I was a teen.

Heat.

Not a full one. Just the whisper of it. A glimmer behind my ribs. My fingers twitch against my purse strap.

Gods, no.

Not now. Not for the first time in a bookstore owned by an actual Alpha Poster Model come to life.

I take a half step back and bump into a stack of hardcover thrillers. My phone buzzes, blessedly, in my coat pocket.

Pine.

Some mysteries are better when you don't rush the solution. Trust the process, Plot Bunny.

I exhale hard and flick my eyes to the text. Something in me, the piece winding too tight, loosens.

Corwyn tilts his head. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “Just—uh, my friend.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “The mystery texter, perhaps?”

“What gave it away?”

“The look of someone being held together by coffee, sarcasm, and secrets.” He smiles again, gentler this time. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, Lila.”

I nod, already taking a step toward the door. He takes a step toward me, like he wants to keep me here. The thought doesn’t frighten me. It appeals to me.

Which really means it’s time to go. I’ve lost my job and my big city life. Now’s the time to rut with any alpha I find, even if they’re the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve been hit by enough inspiration for one afternoon.”

“I do have a very persuasive inventory.”

“Your inventory isn’t the problem,” I mumble, mostly to myself.

The chime above the door jingles softly as I slip back outside, gulping cool air like I’ve just run a marathon uphill through desire and social awkwardness.

I walk two blocks before my heart rate returns to normal.

It wasn’t Pine. That much is obvious. Corwyn might have the looks and the charm, but Pine has a voice that makes me feel seen, not just stirred.

Still, I can’t deny what just happened in that shop. What Corwyn stirred up.

For the first time in my life, my body responded.

Not fully. But the static’s there now, humming under my skin, and I have no idea what to do with it.

So I do the only thing I can.

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