Page 43 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter forty-three

Cam

T he safehouse breathes with the slow rhythm of sleeping bodies.

Boards creak now and then as the night air shifts through cracks in the walls.

One lamp still glows low in the corner, a soft amber halo over the table where someone left the deck of cards half-dealt.

I’m in the single bed in the far corner, tucked under a quilt that smells faintly of cedar and old cotton, but the weight of it feels wrong. Too much.

I wake with my skin slick, my throat tight.

Heat pulses in my belly, a slow, rolling tide that builds with every breath.

At first, I think it’s just the quilt, the stuffy air, the faint lingering scent of the alphas from earlier when they all drifted off to their spots.

But it’s deeper than that. Warmer. Closer to the bone.

Oh no.

The thought lands like a stone in my stomach. I push the quilt away and sit up, gulping the close air. My pulse hammers in my ears, and there’s a dampness between my thighs that I don’t want to acknowledge. I haven’t been in heat for months—not since before—

I clamp down on that memory before it can fully form.

My throat tastes bitter. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards cool beneath my feet, and glance around.

Theo’s sprawled on a couch, arm over his eyes.

Dane’s in the chair by the door, head tipped back, mouth just barely parted.

Jamie’s stretched out on his bunk, blanket tangled around his legs.

They look peaceful, unguarded, and the last thing I want is to wake them.

I push to my feet, every step careful, deliberate. My body feels like it’s buzzing under the skin, too aware of every creak, every whisper of air. The heat is climbing, stealing the edges of my thoughts, so I move faster, making for the door. The latch clicks softly and I slip outside.

Cool night air rushes over me, sharp and clean.

I lean against the porch railing and close my eyes, breathing it in.

The forest smells of wet leaves, pine sap, and the faint sweetness of some night-blooming flower I can’t name.

It’s better out here—less suffocating—but the heat inside me doesn’t vanish. It just… waits.

I wrap my arms around myself, fingers gripping tight. My heart is a fist pounding against my ribs. I’m not ready for this. Not here.

The heat licks at my spine, curling low and insistent. I press my palms to my face, cool skin against fevered cheeks, and will it to pass. Just for tonight. Just long enough to keep the walls up.

Behind me, the safehouse glows faintly through the window, shapes moving in the dimness—one of the brothers shifting in sleep. They don’t know I’m out here. And I’ll keep it that way, at least until I figure out what to do.

The night is quiet, the stars sharp against the black. I breathe until my lungs ache, trying to focus on the cold air and the sound of the forest instead of the warmth gathering like a storm inside me.