Page 25 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

ELIAS

The engine purrs softer than it has in weeks as I guide her car into the driveway.

Fixed the knocking, replaced the filter, tuned the belts just right. It drives smoother than before, like it wants to take her somewhere better.

I sit for a moment after shutting it off, resting my hands on the wheel, letting the silence drag longer than necessary. There’s a tightness under my ribs that hasn’t eased since last night. Maybe even longer than that.

I fish out her keys, slide out of the seat, and cross the path toward the front door. The sun is barely over the trees, the air thick with summer heat and something else.

Her scent.

It clings to the porch like memory. Familiar. Sweet. I try not to think about what it means that I can smell her.

The door creaks open before I knock.

Noah steps out.

His shirt is loose, unbuttoned. His scent floods out behind him—raw, earthy, rich with the proof of what they did. I don’t need to be told. I know it.

I know it in the way her scent is buried in his skin, tangled up in the salt of his sweat. He looks at me like he already expects something, something hard and inevitable.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

I lift the keys. “Finished the car. Thought I’d drop it off before I leave.”

He steps forward. “Leave?”

“Yeah.”

He studies me before saying. “Like leaving town?”

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone level. “Got a position in Anchorage. It’s a good opportunity. Field work. Ocean preservation and impact analysis. I start next week.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “So that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“There’s a lot going on, Noah. You know that. And I can’t stay in a town where Julian walks around like nothing happened. Like he’s not poison.”

Noah crosses his arms, gaze sharp. “What the hell happened between you two?”

My jaw tightens. “It’s not something I want to unpack right now.”

“You sure about that?”

I glance past him, toward the door that’s still open a crack. I can hear soft movement inside. A mug hitting the counter. Her laugh, faint. It sinks into me, cold and final.

“I’ve been trying to forget what his family did to someone I cared about,” I say. “Trying not to lose my shit every time I see him, pretending it’s fine. But it’s not. He’s not. And I need to be somewhere I can breathe without choking on what I know.”

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 box slams 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.

Cora stands on the porch, one hand raised, the other wrapped around herself like she’s holding something fragile in place. She’s wearing a faded lilac sweater and jeans.

Her hair is pulled up, messy, a few strands clinging to her temples. Her lips part when she sees me, but the words take a second to catch up.

“Noah said you were leaving.”

I glance back into the room, where boxes are stacked in uneven towers, kitchen chairs are wrapped in plastic, and the framed picture of my father rests against the wall. A suitcase sits by the couch, half-zipped.

Rusty barrels past me and straight to her, tail wagging like it’s never wagged before.

She bends without thinking and scratches the space behind his ear, the same one he always leans into. He whines, presses closer, and she laughs under her breath.

“Rusty, leave her alone,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She straightens, and her eyes find mine. There’s something in them I’m not ready to hold.

“Can I come in?”

I hesitate. Everything in me is wired tight. Ready to bolt. But when her hand brushes the doorframe and she says, “Please, Elias… don’t go,” I stop moving.

I step aside.

She walks in, gaze sweeping the chaos, taking in every taped box, every sign of goodbye. Rusty follows her like a shadow, then curls up by the window.

She turns to me. “What happened between you and Julian?”

I glance away. “Nothing I want to get into right now.”

“So you’re just leaving?”

“I can’t stay.” The words are flat, but they carry too much.

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

She crosses the room, fingers brushing the edge of the dining table I haven’t used in weeks. “So is everything,” she murmurs.

There’s a pause. Then I say, quieter, “I liked being with you.”

She looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the way I said it.

“Then why leave?”

I move to the sink, twist the knob, splash cold water on the back of my neck. “I had a mate once. Thought it would last. It didn’t. She broke the bond and disappeared. I barely made it out of that mess in one piece.”

Cora walks to me, close enough that I can smell the soap she used this morning. Her hand brushes mine.

I don’t pull away, but I don’t close the space either.

“This thing,” I say, “whatever it is between us... it’s not simple. And you’re with Noah. Aren’t you?”

Her hand stays.

“It’s not that simple either,” she says. “Noah and I... we’re still figuring things out. But why does that mean you and I can’t figure something out, too?”

That quiet lands thick between us. Not heavy. Not light. Just real.

She doesn’t leave. Not right away. Hours slip past, sun dipping low behind the trees while I unpack a few of the kitchen boxes so I can cook.

I pull together something quick. Sautéed vegetables, grilled salmon, rice cooked slow on the stove. She offers to help, but I tell her to sit.

Rusty leans his chin on her knee the whole time like he thinks she belongs here.

After dinner, we rebuild the bed. She holds the frame steady while I slide in the screws. We don’t talk much. Just work. Hands brushing. Breath catching when our shoulders touch.

I find an old shirt from college, soft and worn, and toss it to her when she steps out of the shower. It hangs low on her thighs when she walks back into the room.

“I like this one,” she says, tugging on the hem.

“Keep it,” I tell her, already knowing I won’t be asking for it back.

We slide into bed. The room is quiet except for the cicadas outside and Rusty’s paws twitching as he dreams at her feet.

She turns her head on the pillow, eyes searching my face.

“You could stay,” she whispers. “At least give me time to figure things out before you disappear.”

I study her. My chest tightens again, but not in a way I want to run from.

I lean in, press a slow kiss to her lips—one she returns without hesitation. It’s not desperate. It’s not goodbye. It’s something else. Something hopeful.

“Okay,” I say against her mouth. “We’ll figure it out.”

She exhales, long and steady, like it’s the first time she’s breathed all day. Her hand rests on my chest, and I let my eyes fall closed to the sound of her breath folding into mine.