Page 104 of Knot Your Karma
Mom appears from the bedroom area, and her face lights up when she sees me—the kind of uncomplicated maternal joy that makes me remember why I love her despite her blind spots about Blake.
Father emerges from the suite’s sitting area, setting down what looks like a thick book about New England traditions. Darian Mitchell moves with the quiet confidence that made him successful in academic circles, his beta scent carrying notes of old books and thoughtful analysis. Where Dad’s energy fills a room, Father’s tends to settle it, creating space for deeper conversation.
“Declan.” Father pulls me into a proper hug, the kind that lasts long enough to actually convey affection. “Look at you. You look... centered. Happy. Different than when we saw you last.”
“Pack bonding will do that,” I say, settling into one of the suite’s armchairs while my parents arrange themselves around the room as if they’re preparing for a pleasant family meeting, their combined scents creating the familiar comfort of home.
“Tell us about Reed and Adrian,” Mom demands immediately, leaning forward with the intensity she usually reserves for charity fundraising campaigns. “We haven’t seen those boys since your college graduation. And your omega—Karma Rose? Such an unusual name.”
“Reed’s thriving in diplomatic work. Still the one who can make everyone feel heard during a crisis.” I gesture with my hands, trying to capture Reed’s particular gift for making complex situations manageable. “Could probably negotiate peace treaties over dinner.”
“Still mediating your arguments, I assume,” Father says with a fond smile, his voice carrying the warmth of someone who’s watched Reed defuse countless situations over the years. “That boy could calm a hurricane with the right conversation.”
“And Adrian’s built quite a reputation in historical preservation. Master craftsman now. Quiet strength—shows love through actions, not words.” I pause, thinking about Adrian’s gentle hands and steady presence. “Builds things that last generations.”
“I always liked those two,” Dad says, his business-focused mind probably cataloging how their careers have developed since college. “Solid men. Good influences on you.”
“Much better than some of Blake’s friends,” Mom adds pointedly, her scent warming with approval. “And Karma?”
“She’s...” I pause, trying to find words that captureeverything Karma means without sounding like a lovesick teenager. “Remarkable. Runs an antique shop here, maritime pieces. Sees value where others don’t. Smart, independent, kind.”
“She sounds lovely,” Mom says warmly, hands clasping together in that gesture that means she’s already planning how to welcome someone new into the family. “Though I admit, we’re all curious how you met. The invitation mentioned something about a family compass?”
And there it is. My jaw clenches automatically as the topic I’ve been avoiding finally arrives.
“The compass.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to figure out how to explain this without making Blake look worse than necessary. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Dad’s instincts are pinging—he can smell the tension I’m trying to hide, his own scent shifting to that particular alertness that made him successful.
Father sets down his maritime history book, his academic instincts clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere. “This is about Blake, isn’t it?”
“Blake lost it. Was supposed to bring it to his bonding ceremony, couldn’t find it. Asked me to track it down.”
“That doesn’t sound complicated,” Mom says with the kind of gentle confusion that suggests she’s missing crucial context, her head tilting in that particular way that means she’s trying to fill in gaps. “Sounds like Blake being Blake—disorganized but well-meaning.”
Father’s expression grows more serious, his senses clearly picking up nuances. “Declan, what aren’t you telling us?”
“Blake didn’t lose the compass.” I run both hands through my hair. “Had it stolen. By someone he’d hurt badly enough that they wanted revenge.”
Dead silence. I can practically hear my parents’ minds racing, putting pieces together they probably don’t want to see.
“Hurt how?” Father asks quietly.
“Dating an omega for several months. Led her to believe they were heading toward permanent bonding. Then she found out he’d been cheating with multiple omegas the entire time.”
Mom’s face goes pale, color draining so fast it leaves her looking fragile in the suite’s expensive lighting. Father’s book slides from his lap, hitting the carpet with a soft thud that sounds loud in the weighted silence.
“Declan, that’s serious—” Mom starts.
“It’s fact. I’ve seen the evidence. Emails, photos, hotel receipts.” My scent sharpens with protective fury as I remember Karma’s pain. “Blake was running systematic manipulation while making promises he never meant to keep.”
Dad’s expression hardens with the kind of controlled anger that suggests he’s processing implications I haven’t even voiced yet, his hands going still against his knees in that particular way that means storm incoming. Father’s composure cracks completely, his face cycling through shock, disappointment, and something approaching heartbreak.
“And this omega—she stole the compass?” Dad asks.
“Can you blame her? Months of her life, believed his promises about forever. When she found out the truth, she took the one thing that mattered to his family.”
“Dear God,” Father says softly. “Blake did this? Our Blake?”
