Page 7 of Knot My Luck

And then, as she reaches the altar and the officiant begins speaking, the best man steps forward to stand beside the groom.

I freeze.

The man stepping into view is none other than the guy from the hen do – the alpha I spent that wild, reckless night with. The one I’d sworn to never see again, especially not in a setting like this.

I bite down on the gasp that threatens to escape, pressing my hand over my mouth to stifle it. My chest tightens, my palms suddenly damp as I glance down, praying to God no one’s noticed the colour draining from my face. I can’t believe it. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him.

He stands there, his back straight, dressed in a sharp suit, exuding the same quiet confidence that made my heart race that night. His presence fills the space, even from here, even though I’m sitting all the way in the back row. I can’t see his face clearly, but I know him. I don’t need to see it. I know the tilt of his jaw, the way his shoulders are squared, and the subtle but unmistakable aura of dominance he wears like a second skin.

He doesn’t notice me, of course. He’s too busy being the best man, too focused on the ceremony. But the weight of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks.

I try to breathe through the sudden heat rushing to my face, but my body betrays me. I’m already starting to feel it – the familiar warmth spreading through my chest, down my spine, a tension I can’t ignore. My scent. I press my wrist to my nose, hoping no one will notice the shift, but it’s already too late. Crisp green apple, toasted pecan, a hint of cinnamon and caramel.Burntcaramel because I’m freaking out.

My panic spikes as I realise the truth: I didn’t bring extra scent blockers. I’m on suppressants. Theyshouldbe enough. They usuallyareenough. But for whatever reason today – most likely my stress and anxiety over everything – they’re not working as effectively as normal. This is the last place I wanted this to happen, and yet here I am, sitting in the back of a church, a slow burn of desire starting to radiate through me at the worst possible moment.

I can’t look at him again. I can’t let him see. I can’t letanyonenotice.

But even as I stare down at my trembling, sweaty hands, trying to calm myself, I know it’s too late.

The damage is done.

I’m going into heat.

The reception is a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft hum of conversation. The church bells have barely stopped ringing, and already, the atmosphere at the nearby hotel has shifted from sacred to celebratory, a warm buzz filling the air as guests make their way to the outdoor marquee. Miraculously for mid April, the weather is holding and it seems that the bride and groom’s dream of an outdoor reception at Easter wasn’t so crazy after all.

I linger at the edges, careful not to draw attention to myself, keeping my distance from the throngs of guests, as they mingle and exchange pleasantries. My glass of wine feels too warm in my hand, the edges of the crystal rim damp from condensation. I sip it slowly, trying to keep my movements small, unobtrusive.

I can feel it. He’s here somewhere. The best man. The guy who’s been haunting my every thought since I saw him in the church. I don’t want to see him again – not here, not in this place. I don’t want to make eye contact or give him any reason to notice me, especially when I can’t seem to control what my body’s doing.

My nerves are on edge, and my senses are heightened, the faintest shifts of the crowd catching my attention, as I move through the room like a shadow. I keep my back to the walls, hoping to blend in, to escape detection. But as the laughter continues and the chatter grows louder, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching me.

And then, I bump into them.

“Dev, is that you?” A familiar voice calls out, warm and full of welcome.

I jolt, stepping back on instinct.

I look up to see a group of school friends, their faces lighting up the moment they spot me.

“Well, well, look who’s finally decided to grace us with their presence,” Lucy teases, a grin playing on her lips. “We were startin’ to think you weren’t gonna make it. The bride’s been asking for you, you know.”

“Yeah, we were wonderin’ if you’d gone off the grid altogether,” Emily adds, smirking as her sharp eyes scan my face. The two of them weren’t at the hen do, so they’ve no clue I’ve already been back.

I force a smile, nodding, though my heart is hammering away in my chest. “Ah, just needed a bit of time to…prepare.”

“Is that so?” Lucy raises an eyebrow. “So tell us, have you run into your ex yet?”

My stomach drops, the blood draining from my face as a surge of panic rushes through me.

“What?” I choke out, my voice cracking on the word. “Why would he be here?”

Emily gives me a look, exaggerated and knowing. “It’s a wedding, isn’t it? And sure, you know he’s friends with the groom. Small world and all that.” She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes flicking around the room. “I could’ve sworn I saw him earlier, talkin’ to one of the groomsmen. You didn’t notice?”

Another wave of panic crashes over me, heat crawling up my spine. It’s nothimI’m worried about – it’s the scent I’m trying to keep in check. The last time I saw Cathal was six years ago, when he shattered my heart and walked away. Back then, I hadn’t presented as an omega, and everyone here still thinks I’m a beta. It needs tostaythat way. Up until now, the heat spike I felt in the church had died down a bit, but I feel my temperature rising right alongside my anxiety.

The warmth spreading through my chest is getting worse, my pulse quickening, and I can already feel my scent shifting, perfuming just a little too much.

Shit. I hope there’s enough flowers and perfume and other scents in here to mask me.

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