Page 29 of Knotting Autumn

Eyes darkening, Sawyer’s fingers dug into my skin and a grumbling growl echoed from his throat.

“Woah, there,” I said, petting down his chest with a flat palm. “He was worried I’d call the police, remember?”

Sawyer still looked murderous.

“But now that I understand more, I can promise to not call the authorities. So actually, he should let us go, I think.”

“He won’t want to let you go. His instinct is to protect you, meaning keep you away from everything and everyone. But I’m not going to give him a choice.”

Frowning, I pulled back. That wasn’t protecting, it was hoarding. Sawyer wouldn’t get like that, would he?

“I’m going to be honest with him,” I decided. “Let’s go home.”

The idea had me shivering as I climbed off the bed. Clasping Sawyer’s hand tight in mine, we exited the bedroom. The hallway was surprisingly empty. Thorne waited in the living room, but Cole was nowhere to be found.

When we stepped into the room, Thorne leapt to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Listen, Thorne,” I said.

He eyed my hand in Sawyer’s.

I cleared my throat and continued, “I understand now. And I’m not going to call the authorities about you being a werewolf. Especially since my best friend is one, too.”

Thorne’s lip curled, and Sawyer’s hold on my hand tightened.

Scowling at them, I raised my voice. “I’m going home. I need time to process all of this. You may text me, but don’t come bother me. No stalking. I’ll talk with you when I’m ready.”

My instinct was to ask “okay?” but it wasn’t up for debate. He had no choice but to accept my decision. Squaring my shoulders, I marched toward the door.

Thorne stood still as a statue.

“Whatever you need,” he murmured.

At the door, I glanced back and took in his tense expression, jaw ticking, as he watched us leave.

The last thing I heard was Cole hollering from the hallway, “See ya later, Autumn!”

Sawyer’s arm tensed around my shoulders as he ushered me out of the house and to his old car.

Chapter 11

Thorne Loses His Mind

Sawyer drove us home in the old beater car we shared. Almost everything in our small town was walkable, so it rarely got used.

Back at the apartment, he ushered me upstairs. It was getting late, and I couldn’t help yawning. Without speaking, I walked into Sawyer's room and curled up in his bed, needing his sweet hazelnut scent all around me. I fell asleep with my best friend curled against me, his arms wrapped around my waist and holding my back against his chest.

Despite all the revelations, I slept like the dead.

Waking in Sawyer’s arms felt different—possessive, somehow. We often fell asleep snuggling during a movie or when we were too tired to make it to our own rooms. But this was not the same, and it felt like a new era.

There was an unspoken understanding that we wouldn’t sleep apart from each other again. Not if we could help it.

Sighing, I rolled over to face him, and pressed my cheek to his old band shirt. We’d gotten plenty of sleep, but my limbs felt heavy, and I just wanted to doze off.

Stroking his hand down my back, Sawyer murmured, “Do you want to call out from work today? I’d feel better if we stayed together, at least for a while.”

It was easier to drift back to sleep instead of answering him.