Page 46 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter forty-six

Cam

T he door is heavier than I expect, and it groans a little as I slip back inside.

The safe house is dim, lit only by the faint spill of moonlight through gaps in the curtains and the glow of a single lantern on the table.

It smells of dust and weathered wood, but also—faintly—of them.

Pine resin, warm musk, and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon left too long in the back of a cupboard.

My skin still feels too hot, my pulse a steady thrum in my ears, but the cool night air has taken the sharpest edge off. I pull the hood from my head and push damp hair off my cheeks. Every movement feels deliberate, careful.

Dane is still outside. I can feel him in the way the air shifts behind me when I close the door. I know he’s keeping his distance, and I’m grateful for it, even though part of me wants to lean into that solid, unyielding presence.

I don’t expect the place to look different. But it does.

The single room’s door is wide open, and there’s a heap of blankets on it—layer upon layer, starting with heavy quilts on the bottom and rising to softer throws, worn smooth at the edges.

Someone’s rolled up a sweater at one end to make a pillow, and I recognize the navy knit from earlier, draped over Theo’s shoulders.

Theo’s not looking at me now; he’s leaning back in the armchair, arms crossed, pretending he’s not keeping track of every step I take. Jamie’s watching more openly, his good leg propped on the ottoman, his eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and concern.

It clicks all at once—what this is.

“Oh,” I say softly, and the sound barely makes it past my lips. My chest tightens, and for a second I have to blink hard to keep my vision clear. They made this for me.

Jamie smiles faintly. “Thought you might want somewhere… more comfortable.”

I step into the room, but leave the door open so I’m not alone, my hands brushing the edge of the top blanket.

It’s warm from where it’s been sitting in the lamplight.

The quilts smell faintly of cedar, but underneath is something else—traces of each of them, the kind of scent that makes my instincts stir.

“It’s…” I swallow. “It’s perfect.”

Theo shifts in his seat, looking like he wants to downplay the effort, but doesn’t. “Figured you’d rest better here.”

I lower myself onto the nest, and the quilts give under my weight, molding around me like they’ve been waiting. The heat pooling low in my belly eases just a fraction, replaced by a slow bloom of comfort. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to feel surrounded until now.

The fabric under my cheek is soft, worn in a way that speaks of years of use, and my fingers curl into it without thinking. I let myself sink in, the scents grounding me, wrapping around me like a wordless promise: safe.

I close my eyes and breathe it in.

For months—years, really—my body’s known only sharp edges.

Even in sleep I’ve been braced, ready to move, to defend, to run.

I knew something was up with Eric, but had been so busy with work and trying to ignore the small signs of infidelity that my body had forgotten how to relax.

But here, with the muted rustle of Jamie shifting in his chair, Theo’s steady breathing, and Dane’s presence still just outside, my guard finally slips, just a little.

My mind wanders back to my fiancé—my ex-fiancé, I remind myself.

How I’d once trusted him to keep me safe, only to find out safety was just another word he could twist. The memory is a splinter, sharp and unwanted, but it’s dulled tonight by the solid, simple truth in front of me: these men aren’t him.

They’re here, and they’re watching over me, not because it benefits them, but because they want me to be okay.

The heat still simmers under my skin, but it’s threaded now with something else—gratitude, maybe. Or the beginnings of trust.

I hear the floorboard by the door creak, and I know without looking that Dane’s stepped inside.

The cool night air follows him, and for a moment it cuts through the warmth of the room.

I don’t open my eyes, but I listen to the careful quiet of his movements, the way he lingers near the door before heading back toward the other alphas.

Jamie murmurs something low to him, too soft for me to catch. Theo’s voice follows, a little gruffer, and they settle into that brotherly rhythm that feels like background music—teasing and sharp-edged in tone, but steady in intent.

I curl deeper into the nest, pulling one of the blankets closer under my chin. The world narrows to the steady rise and fall of my breathing and the faint sounds of them moving in the room.

I’m still not ready for what’s coming. I’m still afraid of losing control.

But for tonight, at least, I’m not alone.