Page 80 of Knotted By my Pack

Noah doesn’t push. Just waits for me to say something about Cora, about the night we all spent together, about how she disappeared afterward.

“I got offered this job weeks ago,” I tell him. “Back when I thought maybe something might happen here. Maybe I’d get a second shot with her. I turned it down at first. Then things changed. And I said yes.”

His brow lifts slightly. “Are you not even going to talk to her? After everything?”

My throat tightens, but I don’t look away. “I think it’s better if I leave. Quiet. No more confusion. No dragging this out. Besides…”

I exhale and shake my head.

“She’ll be okay,” I say. “As long as you’re around to keep her safe. Protected. That’s what matters.”

Noah steps closer. His jaw works like he’s chewing something sharp. “I knotted her last night.”

The words land heavy. A deep, hollow echo in my chest. I didn’t expect it, but maybe I should’ve.

My fingers curl around the keys. Her scent. His scent. The way they’re wound together now like something final.

“I marked her too,” he adds, voice low.

That ache pulls through me fast. It slices under the skin, clean and merciless.

My lungs tighten. Not from jealousy. This isn’t petty. It’s deeper than that. I spent years running from bond marks. From the idea that anything permanent could last.

But with her, I wanted it. I wanted that tether. That chance.

“I wish I’d gotten to do that,” I say. “Even once.”

He doesn’t speak. Just watches me.

“But I’ve done the mate thing,” I go on. “Did it young. Thought I knew what it meant. She left. Took everything with her when she did. Took the best parts of me. I’m not doing that again. Not when I know how it ends.” My voice drops. “I’m saving myself from the inevitable train wreck.”

There’s a stretch of quiet between us, filled only by the slow rustle of leaves and the way the air stirs around her porch.

“But I’m happy for you,” I say, and I mean it, even if it guts me. “If she’s chosen you, don’t waste it.”

He nods once. No smile. No gratitude. Just something grim and respectful between us. Two men who know how rare real things are.

“Just remember,” I add, tossing him the keys. “Julian? He’s not someone you turn your back on. Don’t trust him. Ever.”

Noah catches them easily. “I won’t.”

I start to walk off but pause on the last step.

“She deserves peace,” I say. “Whatever it costs.”

Then I leave, each step down the drive heavier than the last, trying not to look back.

The last boxslams shut with more force than necessary, the echo bouncing off the basement walls.

My hands are raw from tape and splinters, sweat clinging to the back of my neck, sticking my shirt to my spine. The place smells like dust, pine, and change.

Half my life crammed into cardboard. Half my head still spinning from this morning.

Upstairs, Rusty barks again. Loud. Sharp. Like he’s trying to tell me something urgent.

I wipe my palms on my jeans and take the stairs two at a time. The moment I reach the main floor, I know. That scent. Soft vanilla and sugar. It pulls at something low in my gut. My pulse catches before her knock even lands.

I open the door.