Page 28 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

NOAH

She hisses the second her heel hits a shard of glass. I reach her in two strides, crouching down as blood blooms beneath her sandal.

“Cora, don’t move,” I say, my hand already reaching under her knees.

She starts to protest but winces again and leans into me, the sting shooting through her face. I slide one arm beneath her thighs, the other around her back, and lift her.

Her bakery smells like burnt sugar and soaked wood, but she smells like vanilla and fire, like someone who refuses to be knocked down even when the world keeps trying.

Elias falls in beside me, already grabbing paper towels and a kit from the supply shelf that somehow survived the mess.

I carry her to the back, pushing open the half-hinged door and setting her on the low prep counter. She tries to slide off.

“Don’t,” I say. “Just let us help.”

Elias crouches in front of her while I tear into the antiseptic wipes and bandages. The cut’s long but not deep, a thin line of red slicing across the arch of her foot.

Glass glints just under the skin. She flinches when Elias gently presses near it.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“You’re not,” I counter, keeping my tone steady while my chest goes tight watching her grit her teeth. “It’s okay not to be.”

Elias nods in agreement as he sterilizes the tweezers. “This wasn’t just some random act of vandalism. Whoever did this wanted to send a message. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix it.”

She swallows, then nods as Elias carefully pulls out the shard. I hold her hand and keep her eyes on me while Elias wraps her foot. She’s quiet now. Too quiet.

When it’s done, she thanks us and swings her legs over the side. “Who would do this?” she asks again, her voice brittle and raw.

I exhale through my nose. “I don’t know. Not yet.”

The words stick. I do know. But I won’t say it. Not now. Not while her fingers are cold and her eyes keep searching the corners of the ruined bakery like she’s hoping this is some kind of nightmare she’ll blink out of. Not when she’s already decided Julian’s words were true.

We step back into the front of the shop, and the air changes. More people have shown up.

Mr. Alden brings plywood. Two of the high schoolers from the volunteer program are sweeping glass. Fiona’s already set up a cooler with water bottles and wipes.

Cora watches them, stunned. “Why would they—”

“Because this is Whisked,” I tell her. “And this is your place.”

People don’t just come to her for cupcakes. They come to her because she remembers birthdays without needing a calendar, because she keeps extra dog treats by the register for strays.

She’s the kind of woman who makes a whole town feel like family.

We join in. Elias takes over organizing the shelves that didn’t collapse. I help reframe the front window. We replace the sign, board up the cracks, and clean the scorch marks from the left side of the door.

It takes all day, but by evening, the place looks less like a crime scene and more like a place waiting to breathe again.

Elias claps his hands together, brushing off dust. “I should check on Rusty. He hasn’t been walked all day.”

Cora leans in and hugs him tight.

He kisses her temple, lingering. “You did good, babe. Keep me updated, alright?”

“I will,” she says, her voice still rough.

He gives me a nod before heading out. When the door shuts behind him, the silence between us stretches. She wipes at a speck of dirt on her apron, then turns and starts rearranging the display tray that has nothing in it.

“You’ve done enough,” I say gently, stepping closer. “You can do the rest tomorrow.”

She doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t meet my eyes. “There’s just so much to clean. I have to redo the menus, and the frosting station is ruined. The espresso machine—”

“Cora.” I touch her wrist, just enough pressure to stop her. “Grace said she brought chili earlier. Did you eat?”

She finally looks at me. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s enough. You’re done for tonight.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a look. “You’re coming home with me. I’m feeding you, and then you’re going to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll pick this all up again.”

There’s a pause. Then her face softens and she takes a step forward, resting her forehead on my chest. Her body folds into mine and I wrap my arms around her, fitting us together like this is where we’ve always belonged.

“Just hold me for a minute?” she whispers.

I close my eyes and press my mouth to her hair. “Of course, baby.”

Her hands slide around my back, and I swear something settles in me that hasn’t been steady in years.

I don’t push her to talk. I don’t ask her what she’s thinking. I just hold her like I mean it. Like I don’t want to let go. Because I don’t.

After a moment, she tilts her chin up. Her eyes are red, but clear. Her mouth parts slightly. I lower my head and kiss her. It’s slow, unhurried—not a claim, not a demand. Just a promise that she’s not alone tonight. Not with me here.

She leans into it, hands fisting the fabric of my shirt. I cradle the back of her head. When we pull apart, there’s no rush between us. Just her eyes finding mine again like she’s seeing me in a new light.

We walk out together, the scent of smoke and sugar trailing us. The bakery may still need repairs, but tonight, she’s not staying in the wreckage.

She’s coming home with me.

I expect her to talk to me, but she’s quiet the entire drive there. We walk into my house, the door clicking shut behind us, and she pauses at the threshold like she’s not sure she belongs. Her eyes scan the space, then land on me.

“I don’t want to sit on any of your surfaces looking this way.”

“I don’t mind it,” I tell her. “Besides, we have fucked on these seats so…”

“I feel icky still,” she murmurs, rubbing her arms like she wants to scrub the day off her skin.

“Head upstairs,” I tell her gently. “Take your time in the shower. I’ll start dinner with whatever we’ve got.”

She hesitates, giving me that small, worn look like she’s too tired to argue but not quite ready to let someone else carry the evening.

“Is that okay?” I ask.

She nods slowly.

“Good.” I watch her climb the stairs, every step soft and slow, her shoulders still curled in from all the tension.

Once she disappears into the bathroom, I turn toward the kitchen and roll my sleeves up. My palms still carry the scent of her skin, and it lingers as I scrub my hands at the sink.

I juice two oranges, then toss in some ginger, ice, and a splash of coconut water. She needs something to replenish her.

I sip from my juice as I start pulling ingredients out of the fridge. Eggs. Spinach. Tomatoes. Simple, but warm. Nourishing.

I hear the water cut off upstairs just as I set the pan on the stove. I make a mental note to shower after her, but right now, she comes first. I’m stirring the mixture when I hear her call my name.

I turn everything off and head up the stairs, catching her voice again, softer this time. My feet are quiet against the wood. The door to the bedroom is half-open.

And then I see her.

She’s standing there in nothing but a towel that barely reaches mid-thigh. Her hair is wet and curling at the ends, skin glowing with moisture. My cock hardens instantly. I swallow, standing there like an idiot, unable to look away.

“What is this?” I ask, voice low, rough.

She doesn’t say anything.

She drops the towel.

“No,” I groan, stepping forward, jaw clenching at the sight of her fully bare. “You need sustenance.”

“I need to feel better,” she whispers.

She lowers to her knees in front of me, but I stop her with a shake of my head. “No more of you on the floor.”

I scoop her up and lay her on the bed like she’s something breakable. Her head dangles slightly off the edge as I strip, her eyes never leaving mine. My pants drop, and I take a breath.

She opens her mouth and I guide myself in slowly, her throat warm and slick as she takes me deep. My hand rests lightly on her jaw, thumb caressing the side of her neck while she works me in ways that have my hips locking.

Her fingers drag along my thighs. She moans when I brush the back of her throat, and I curse, tightening my grip.

It’s too good. Her mouth around me like this, the angle, the wet heat, the sounds. Her lips stretch and her throat relaxes and she fucking swallows me whole.

Spectacular doesn’t even touch it.

When I pull out, she’s panting, wiping her lips, her eyes heavy-lidded as she reaches up. “Please. I need you inside me.”

I kneel onto the bed, bracing myself over her. “You need to eat.”

“Please,” she whispers again, lifting her hips toward mine.

I don’t argue.

Once I’m inside her, I know I’ve made a mistake. Her body clenches around me, hot and soaked and eager, and my body responds with a jolt.

I grip the sheets beside her as she arches, tilting her hips so I sink even deeper. Her legs wrap around my waist, and she pulls me harder against her.

She’s tight, impossibly so, the drag of her body making it hard to think, let alone hold back. I grit my teeth, watching her eyes flutter, her mouth falling open. “Fuck,” I breathe against her lips as she pulses around me.

“Are you going to come?” she asks, voice caught between desperate and breathless.

“Not until you do,” I murmur, fingers sliding down to her clit. I press and circle, watching her twitch under me, coaxing her toward the edge.

She’s not gentle.

She claws at my back, scrapes her nails across my skin. Her mouth finds mine and tugs at my lip, teeth dragging until I growl.

She hooks her ankles behind me and pulls me deeper, harder, her whole body rising to meet mine like she’s chasing the same storm I’m drowning in.

Then her hand slides lower.

I jerk slightly when her fingers trace between my cheeks. It’s new. Electric. Foreign in the most insane, arresting way.

“Oh fuck me, Cora,” I groan, body locking up from the shock of it. My knees nearly buckle as I try to hold back.

She grips me tighter, her thighs trembling, her breath ragged. I curse again, voice sharp and low as my body gives in. I knot, my release shooting deep as I stretch inside her, locking into place.

It’s the second time I’ve done it with her, but fuck, it hits harder than the first. Her whimpers mix with my moan as her body accommodates it, clinging to me.

I press my forehead to hers, trying to slow the burn in my chest.

“I guess we’re going to be hungry a little longer,” I manage, still pulsing inside her.

She laughs, and the vibration sends aftershocks through both of us. The sound curls around my ribs, that bright, breathless joy that only she can offer.

Her head tips back as she comes around me, mouth parting on a sharp gasp that turns into a soft cry. I kiss her jaw as her body flutters and tightens again.

My hands stroke down her hips, then back up to her ribs, and I rest there, holding her as the tension drains from both of us.

I pull back just enough to see her face.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah.”

I kiss her again, slower this time. This one isn’t about need. It’s about everything else.

It’s about making sure that my Omega is okay.

Mine.