Page 45 of Knot Your Karma
“I’ll check the auction pieces,” Declan says, attention moving to displays with professional hunger. “See if anything matches our compass, figure out what kind of merchandise moves through here.”
“And I stay with Karma,” Adrian says, his palm finding my back through vintage navy silk.
We separate into the crowd, and my confidence solidifies on familiar ground. This is my world—expensive antiques, collectors with more money than sense, the delicate dance of authentication and negotiation.
Even with wine-headache fog, I know these rhythms.
Adrian stays close without hovering. He positions himself to track threats while letting me lead conversations. When I approach a woman examining a sextant, he’s there but not intrusive.
“Gorgeous pieces,” I tell the woman with the sextant, keeping my voice casually appreciative. “Eighteen eighties?”
“Good eye.” She assesses my vintage dress and pearl earrings with practiced evaluation. “Though I suspect most pieces here are earlier than marked. Sellers age things up for premiums.”
“Always a risk with private collections.” I move closer to examine brass fittings with professional interest. “Do you deal much with maritime pieces?”
“When I can find authentic ones. Harrison has the best eye for real provenance, but he’s very... selective about sharing knowledge.”
“Mr. Blackwater seems to know everyone here.”
“He should—half owe their best pieces to his recommendations. The other half hope to sell him something he can’t resist.”
“And does he ever find anything irresistible?”
Her laugh carries bitter edges. “Rarely. He’s more likely to sell these days than buy. Says his collection is complete.”
My stomach drops like I’ve missed a step. If Blackwater considers his collection complete, convincing him to sell anything will be nearly impossible.
I’m processing this when Adrian’s energy shifts beside me. His whole body coils with alert readiness, and I follow his gaze across the room.
A man in an expensive suit stares at me with focused attention that makes every omega instinct scream danger. When our eyes meet, he starts walking toward us with the confidence of someone used to getting what he wants.
“Karma,” Adrian says quietly, his hand moving to my elbow with firm pressure. “We move. Now.”
Too late. The man reaches us before we can gracefully exit, inserting himself into our space with practiced smoothness.
“Excuse me,” he says, voice carrying that particular alpha polish that immediately puts my hindbrain on high alert—too controlled, too interested. “I couldn’t help noticing your expertise with maritime pieces. I don’t think we’ve met.”
He extends his hand, and when I reluctantly shake it, he holds on too long. His palm is damp, grip too firm. His scent hits me wrong—expensive cologne over something that makes my omega hindbrain screampredator. Not the same kind of alpha energy as my guys. This one hunts.
“Marcus Webb,” he says, still gripping my hand despite my attempts to pull away. “I specialize in... unique acquisitions.”
Unique acquisitions. Code for stolen goods and questionable provenance.
“Karma Rose.” I extract my hand as politely as possible while my pulse hammers. “I run a small maritime antique shop.”
“How charming. Local expertise.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s something calculating that makes my instincts screampredator. “You know, you look familiar. Have we done business before?”
My breath catches. This could be recognition, or it could be fishing, testing whether I’m connected to networks I shouldn’t be.
Either way, it’s dangerous.
“I don’t think so.” My voice comes out strained despite efforts to sound casual.
“Hmm. I’m usually quite good with faces.” He steps closer despite Adrian’s obvious presence, close enough that predatory edge cuts through expensive cologne. “Especially beautiful omegas who know their way around valuable maritime pieces.”
The way he saysbeautiful omegas—like he’s shopping for something specific—makes my skin crawl.
This isn’t attraction. This is hunting.
