Page 75 of Knot Your Karma
Declan
The Daily Grindat five PM is exactly what I expect from Destiny Rodriguez—controlled chaos wrapped in the scent of perfect espresso and fierce protective energy.
The after-work crowd buzzes around us while she flips chairs onto tables, dark eyes tracking every customer while simultaneously evaluating my worthiness as Karma’s pack alpha.
I’ve faced down construction site disputes, angry clients, and Blake’s most spectacular meltdowns, but sitting across from Karma’s best friend feels like the most important interview of my life.
“Large coffee, black, with the understanding that if you hurt my girl, I will find creative ways to destroy your life that won’t technically qualify as illegal,” Destiny says, sliding a mug across the small table. Her voice carries that sweet tone that means violence is absolutely an option.
“Noted,” I say, accepting the coffee. It’s perfect—rich, strong, no unnecessary complications. “And appreciated.”
Karma sits beside me. She’s trying to look calm, but her hand keeps drifting to her neck where Adrian’s bonding bitehides under her sweater collar. The unconscious gesture makes my chest tight with possessive satisfaction.
“So.” Destiny settles across from us with her own mug, bangles clicking as she folds her hands. “Let’s talk.”
“Des,” Karma starts, but Destiny cuts her off with one perfectly manicured hand.
“Nope. Adults are talking now.” The way she looks at me makes me feel like she knows things about me that I haven’t figured out yet, which is exactly the kind of cosmic insight that makes me want to hide behind Reed. “Declan Mitchell, right? Second Chances Restoration, from Boston. Pack alpha. Recently had your gentle giant give my best friend a permanent bonding bite during her first functional heat in eighteen months.” Her voice sharpens like a blade. “And before you get confused about terminology—I know the difference between heat claiming and mate bonding. Adrian marked her for life, not just for the week.”
The directness shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Most people dance around alpha bites and bonding like they’re discussing nuclear physics. Destiny states facts like she’s reading a weather report.
“Damn right he did,” I confirm, meeting her stare directly.
“Good. I like directness.” She leans back, coffee mug cradled like a weapon. “So here’s what I need to know—are you serious about her, or is this some alpha convenience thing where you get pack benefits until something better comes along?”
“Destiny,” Karma’s voice pitches higher, vanilla flooding with mortification.
“What? It’s a reasonable question.” Destiny doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Blake spent eight months making her think she was his chosen mate while secretly rating her sexual performance on spreadsheets. I watch her practice cooking his favorite meals, stress about wearing the right perfume, apologize for having opinions about movies.” Her voicehardens to steel. “She loses fifteen pounds from anxiety and thinks it means she isn’t trying hard enough to be perfect for him. And don’t even get me started on her dads.”
My hands curl into fists against the table. “Blake’s a narcissist who collects people instead of caring about them. What we have with Karma isn’t a collection—it’s commitment.”
“Prove it.”
“We made that call the second we understood what Blake did to her. When we figured out she’s his ex-omega, we chose her over our family without hesitation.” I lean forward, holding her gaze. “We knew she stole the compass. We supported her right to take it.”
Something shifts in Destiny’s expression. Her coffee cup pauses halfway to her mouth, and I catch the way her posture straightens with attention.
“You know about the compass.” Not a question.
My voice drops, with barely controlled fury. “The compass is justice, not theft.”
Destiny sets her mug down with a soft clink, espresso and cinnamon warming with what might be approval. “You really hate him.”
“I hate what he did to her. Blake’s my brother, but that doesn’t excuse systematic emotional abuse.” I pause, watching surprise flicker across Karma’s face at my vehemence. “Karma’s ours now.”
“Ours?” Destiny’s eyebrow arches dangerously.
“Mine, Reed’s, and Adrian’s. We’re bonded to her, committed to her future, planning our lives around making her happy.” The words come out with complete certainty because we are completely certain. “She’s not temporary, Destiny. She’s forever.”
Karma makes a small sound—pleased and overwhelmed and slightly disbelieving all wrapped together.
“Forever’s a pretty word, but I watched Blake convinceher that asking for basic honesty ishigh-maintenanceand wanting to meet his friends isclingy.” Destiny’s voice carries years of watching her best friend diminish herself piece by piece. “She spends months apologizing for having needs. So when I ask what forever looks like, I mean—what happens the first time she has a bad day and needs reassurance? What happens when she’s stressed about money and gets snappy?”
The question cuts way deeper than just relationship stuff. This is about undoing all the damage Blake and her dads did to her self-worth, about proving we’re not just better than them—we’re actually good for her.
“Forever looks like us claiming that compass for our bonding ceremony instead of Blake’s. Her shop thriving because she’s got backup instead of handling everything alone. Heat cycles that don’t terrify her because she knows we’re not going anywhere.” I reach over and find Karma’s hand, lacing our fingers together. “Forever looks like proving every day that having needs doesn’t make someone high-maintenance—it makes them human.”
Destiny goes quiet, and I can practically see her running calculations in her head. The coffee shop continues its evening rhythm around us—chairs scraping, espresso machine hissing, the last few customers filtering out into October twilight.
