Page 58 of Hot Knot Summer
He nods, then disappears down the hallway, his soft “Hey, River” fading as he moves away.
I collapse backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling through the gauzy canopy. What the hell am I doing? I’ve been in Whispering Grove for less than a week, and I’m already entertaining wildly inappropriate thoughts about not one but three of the Alphas who’ve generously offered me shelter.
Alphas who are packmates. Alphas who live in this isolated, beautiful tower in the woods. Alphas who have shown me nothing but kindness and respect, who created this perfect Omega nest for me without being asked.
I press my thighs together, suddenly aware of the insistent throb between them. Even to my own nose, I can detect the subtle shift in my scent, sweeter, more intense, embarrassingly revealing to anyone with Alpha senses.
God, I need to get a grip. Or a cold shower. Preferably both.
I sit up, resolute. A shower. That’s what I need. To clear my head, to cool the fire that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my veins since arriving in this town.
I head for the bathroom Levi indicated. Then I duck inside, closing the door perhaps more firmlythan necessary. As I turn on the shower, cranking the temperature dial firmly toward the red end of the spectrum, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, eyes too bright, lips slightly parted. I look... affected.
“Get it together, Emma,” I mutter. “They’re just being nice. You’re just traumatized and emotional and mistaking basic human kindness for... whatever this is.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. The way Levi looked at me wasn’t just kindness. The energy between us wasn’t my imagination. And if I’m honest with myself, the same charge has been building between Atlas and me since the moment he sat next to me on the plane.
And now I’m living under their roof. Surrounded by their scents. Sleeping in a nest one of them built for me with his own hands.
As steam begins to fill the bathroom, I force myself to face the unavoidable truth—I am in serious, serious trouble. How am I supposed to resist three gorgeous Alphas when just one of them makes my knees weak? How am I supposed to protect my already battered heart when they’re all being so impossibly, irresistibly perfect?
The answer is simple, I can’t.
That terrifies me more than any fire ever could.
11
LEVI
My head spins at River’s rapid-fire questions about our new housemate. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was the one who’d spotted Emma first, not Atlas.
“Yes, she’s settling in. No, she hasn’t tried to escape yet. Yes, I gave her the nest room,” I answered, barely getting a word in edgewise.
“The job’s almost done,” River explained. “We’ll be back around lunch. We’ll bring pizza. Sound good?” Before I can answer, he continued, “Atlas says hi. Well, he grunted, but in Atlas-speak, that’s practically a sonnet.”
I slide my phone into my pocket, calculating angles and load-bearing considerations for the bookshelf I’ve been designing for the living room. Three days ago, my biggest concern was whether Baltic birch or walnut would better complement our existing furniture. Then a blond Omega with haunted eyes anda smart mouth crash-landed into our lives, and suddenly, we’re all circling like planets that have found a new sun.
I’m crossing through the living room when a high-pitched scream splits the quiet. Not any scream, but the kind that freezes your blood, the kind that triggers every protective instinct in Alpha biology.
My body reacts before my brain can process—heart rate spiking, muscles tensing, focus narrowing to a pinpoint. I’m halfway down the hall before the scream cuts off, only to start again, louder this time.
“Emma?” I call out, already knowing she’s in the bathroom. Spatial awareness has always been my strong suit; I can map a building in my head after walking through it once and can pinpoint sound origins with near-perfect accuracy. “Are you all right?”
Another scream is my only answer. Not pain, there’s no underlying growl of someone truly hurt, but pure, unadulterated terror. The mathematics of the situation compute instantly—Emma + bathroom + terror - visible threat = something unexpected frightening her, not an intruder or injury.
“I’m coming in!” I shout, not bothering to knock as I throw open the bathroom door.
Steam billows out in a thick cloud, momentarily disorienting me. Through the fog, I can make out Emma’s form behind the frosted shower glass, pressed into the corner. The sight triggers an unexpected pulse of desire that I ruthlessly suppress. Emergency first, inappropriatethoughts later.
“Get it out! GET IT OUT!” she shrieks, her voice pitching higher with each word.
I scan the bathroom for anything out of place. No structural damage, no visible source of water leakage, and no electrical malfunctions that might cause shock.
“What’s happening?” I ask, moving closer to the shower. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
“THERE!” She points frantically to the opposite corner of the shower. “Oh my God, it’s coming closer! Please, please get it!”
I move toward the shower door, still trying to identify the threat. “I’m coming in, okay?”
