Page 26 of Knot the Last Chapter

I laugh again, then freeze. There’s a shape on the bed.

A long, elegant cat, with silvery fur and glacier-blue eyes, staring at me like I’ve entered its territory.

Rhys sees my surprise and smiles.

“That’s Misty. She’s… feral-adjacent.”

“Feral-adjacent?”

“She came from who-knows-where four winters ago and never left. Doesn’t like people. Tolerates us. Barely. But she definitely decided this is her home.”

I take a cautious step forward, and Misty immediately stands, pads to the edge of the bed and rubs against my hand, purring like I was made just for her.

“Who’s a pretty kitty?” I ask, scratching the spot on her chin she’s offering me, her purrs doubling in intensity. Rhys stares.

I glance back. “She doesn’t usually do this, I take it?”

“She never does this.”

Misty purrs louder, flopping sideways to offer me her tummy, which turns out not to be a trap as she laps in the rubs.

“Well,” I say, “just shows that she has good taste in humans.”

Rhys shifts slightly, and I catch a subtle tension in his shoulders. I wonder if he feels it too—that low hum in the air. Not attraction exactly, more like resonance of alpha to omega biology, our scents mixing pleasantly in the air. Too pleasantly.

He clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to change. There are towels in the dresser if you want to shower. Bathroom’s through that door.”

I nod, still scratching Misty’s ears. “Thanks. For everything.”

He pauses in the doorway. “You’re welcome, Lila.”

He leaves without another word, and the door closes with a quiet click.

I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale slowly.

The storm still howls beyond the windows, wind battering the glass like impatient fingers. But in here, everything is warm. Quiet. Safe.

Misty curls up in my lap and purrs louder.

I stroke her fur, heart thudding.

Rhys Carver, who lives in an island mansion.

I groan and look at Misty.

“What have I gotten myself into, Misty?”

The cat purrs in answer.

Chapter fifteen

Corwyn

The storm’s eased up for now, but the air still hums with electricity.

Rain hisses off the eaves as I step through the side door, pulling my jacket off and shaking droplets onto the entryway tile. The scent of wet pine and damp stone clings to everything—but that’s not what stops me cold.

It’s the other scent.