Page 49 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter forty-nine

Dane

T he safehouse breathes around us. Old wood settles with soft, sighing creaks. The woodstove ticks as it cools, carrying the faint scent of burnt cinnamon from earlier tea. Outside, the wind combs through the trees, bringing the briny tang of the sea with it.

I sit at the corner of the table, the old chair angled so I can watch both my brothers and the door that leads to Cam’s room.

I tell myself it’s for a tactical reason—clear lines of sight—but we all know better.

My gaze keeps drifting there. My instincts keep stretching that way, too, like I could shield her from here if I just stayed alert enough.

Theo’s crouched in front of Jamie, inspecting the dressing on his leg with the single-minded precision he’s known for. His hands move quick but careful, calloused fingers smoothing the bandage as if neat edges might keep the world in order.

Jamie tries for nonchalance. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

Theo’s brow furrows. “You’re a worse liar than Dane.”

I snort. “Not possible.”

Jamie grins, but it’s weaker than usual. “Better than being a terrible patient.”

Their voices pull me in, but only partway.

My thoughts keep circling Cam. The way she’d curled in earlier, small and contained, like she was holding back something dangerous.

Her scent—cinnamon with a sharp, new edge—still lingers in my head.

I’d told myself it was stress. I don’t believe that anymore. Not with the way it’s shifting.

Theo finishes rewrapping the bandage. “You try walking before I say you can, I’ll knock you flat.”

Jamie lifts a brow. “What if it’s to save you?”

“Then I’ll say thank you while I’m knocking you flat.”

I smile faintly, but my gut is tight. Jamie’s injury, the collapse, my plan to leave, the island—it all keeps slipping from my grip. I like control. I like knowing I can prepare for every variable. Right now, there’s one variable we’re not ready for, and she’s behind that closed door.

Theo glances at me, voice quieter now. “She’s safe.”

“I know.” Safe isn’t the same as okay.

We fall into a stillness that isn’t restful. Jamie’s knee bounces once, restless energy he can’t burn off. Theo’s fingers tap against the table in a steady rhythm, his version of pacing. I’m about to push back my chair and check the perimeter when—

It comes.

A sound so small I almost doubt I heard it. A soft, wounded whine.

I freeze, breath held. Theo’s head snaps toward the bedroom. Jamie’s gaze sharpens instantly.

We don’t need words. The air changes in a heartbeat—thicker, tighter, every instinct in us kicking awake. The protective drive surges hard and fast, no hesitation.

I’m on my feet before I think about it. Jamie shifts to stand, his jaw tight against the effort, and Theo’s already bracing him, one hand under his arm, the other hovering like he’ll catch him if gravity tries anything, all threats of knocking him down forgotten as alpha instincts take over.

We move toward her door together, an unspoken formation.

I take the lead, keeping my steps steady but quick, every muscle ready to react.

Theo’s steadying Jamie, but his shoulders are coiled, ready to drop him into the nearest chair and rush forward if I call.

Jamie’s jaw is set, his free hand clenched—he might not be able to run, but he’ll damn well fight if it comes to it.

The whine doesn’t come again, but it doesn’t need to. Whatever pulled it from her is still there. I can feel it. We all can.

We reach her door, and I glance at them. Theo meets my eyes, his expression a mix of calculation and barely leashed worry. Jamie nods once, slow but certain.

We don’t knock. We don’t hesitate.

We go in.

The door gives under my hand, and the first thing I see is her—curled in the far corner of the bed, knees drawn tight, arms wrapped around herself.

Her hair sticks damp to her temples, her breathing uneven. The room feels too warm, heavy with the faint, unmistakable shift in her scent. That new edge is stronger now—spiced cinnamon layered with something sweeter, more intoxicating.

My instincts punch to the surface so fast it’s almost dizzying.

Every muscle wants to close the distance, to anchor myself between her and the world, to keep her safe from anything and anyone—including my own pack.

But I stop just inside the doorway, fingers curling against my thigh.

If I move too fast, too close, I’ll crowd her.

She doesn’t need a wall of alpha instinct pressing in on her.

Behind me, Theo steadies Jamie against his side, both of them pausing at the threshold. Their expressions mirror my own—protective, alert, already scanning the room for threats that aren’t there. The only danger here is how easily we could smother her if we give in to the pull.

“Cam,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady.

Her gaze flicks up, quick and guarded, before skimming away again. She doesn’t speak, but the tremor in her breath answers me well enough.

Theo shifts, his tone careful. “Too warm in here?”

She nods once.

Jamie’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing on her flushed cheeks. I know he wants to come closer, but Theo’s grip keeps him in check. We’re all balancing on the same knife’s edge—instinct clawing at us to close in, common sense holding us back.

I take one slow step forward, keeping my body turned slightly so I’m less of a looming presence. “We can help you cool off,” I offer, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, not a lifeline I’m trying to throw her without letting my voice betray how badly I want her safe.

Her shoulders relax—barely—but it’s enough.

Theo catches my glance and nods. “I’ll get cold water,” he says, steering Jamie toward the hall. The movement is subtle, but it’s a relief—pulling their scents a little further away, giving her space.

I stay. Not too close. Not too far.

Her fingers clutch at the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her steady. “I didn’t want this,” she murmurs.

Something twists in my chest at the quiet truth in her voice. “I know,” I say softly. And I do.

Every instinct I have is a roar in my blood, telling me to promise her she’s safe, to make her believe it by sheer force of presence. But I hold my ground, keep my breathing slow. If I push, I’ll lose what little trust she’s letting me keep right now.

Footsteps return—Theo with a glass of water, Jamie leaning heavier on him now. They stop just inside the door, reading the air the same way I do.

Theo hands me the glass without a word. I kneel, placing it on the nightstand within her reach, my movements deliberate, unhurried.

She glances at it, then at me. Her lips part, like she wants to speak, but no sound comes.

Jamie’s voice breaks the quiet, low and certain. “We’ll keep you safe, Cam. All of us.”

She swallows hard, looking down again. But I catch the way her fingers ease their grip on the blanket. Just a little.

And for now, that’s enough.