Page 105 of Knot Your Karma
“Our Blake who we raised to respect omega autonomy,” Mom says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who we taught that bonds are sacred?”
“I’m not done.” I hold up a hand. “When I tracked the compass, I found the omega who’d sold it. Went to her shop expecting someone vindictive and bitter.” I pause, remembering that first moment of seeing Karma behind her counter, vanilla and sea salt hitting my system like coming home. “Instead, I met the most genuine woman I’d ever encountered.”
“Karma,” Father says slowly, his mind clearly making connections faster than the others.
“Karma Rose. Blake’s ex. The woman who’s now my bonded mate.”
All the comfortable atmosphere in this harbor view suite shifts. Mom reaches for both Dad’s and Father’s hands, her grip so tight her knuckles go white, eyes darting between their faces as if seeking confirmation this isn’t real. Dad’s composure cracks while Father looks as if someone’s just told him his life’s work was built on false premises.
“Oh,” Mom says finally, the word coming out breathless with shock. “Oh, Declan.”
“Didn’t plan it. Went for the compass, found my omega instead. Found the woman Blake threw away like garbage, who turned out to be everything I’d been looking for.”
“And Blake?” Father asks with restraint. “Does he know?”
“No. And he’s not invited to the ceremony.” I lean back in my chair, tension finally settling into something more determined than defensive. “Won’t have him anywhere near Karma on what should be the happiest day of her life.”
“Declan, he’s your brother—” Mom starts.
“He’s also an omega abuser who spent months lying to the woman I love. Family loyalty doesn’t extend to enabling that.” I choose Karma. And I always will.
Father stands abruptly, moving to the window with the kind of agitated energy that suggests his mind is processing implications at lightning speed. “This explains so much. The calls from Reed and Adrian over the years. The situations that needed family money to resolve.”
“You knew?” I ask, surprised.
“We suspected,” Dad says grimly. “But Blake always had explanations. And we wanted to believe...”
“We enabled this,” Father says quietly, his voice carryingthe weight of honesty that refuses to avoid uncomfortable truths. “Every time we bailed him out, every excuse we accepted, every consequence we helped him avoid.”
“But surely there’s room for forgiveness—” Mom begins.
“Forgiveness is Karma’s choice, not mine. And she’s not required to forgive someone who systematically destroyed her trust.” I stand up, tension coiling between my shoulder blades as I pace to work off the energy. “My job is protecting my pack. Blake doesn’t qualify.”
“This is about more than the compass,” Father observes. “This is about Blake’s pattern. About consequences we should have enforced years ago.”
“Blake’s spent his life skating by on charm and family money. Every mess gets cleaned up. No real consequences.”
“Until now,” Father says quietly, sinking back into his chair as if the weight of realization is too much to bear standing.
“Until now. Karma didn’t just steal a compass—she made Blake face reality. That actions have consequences. That you can’t destroy someone and expect them to quietly disappear.”
A knock at the door interrupts the conversation. All three parents freeze, not expecting anyone else. The sound itself makes every muscle in my body go taut with recognition—confident, entitled, expecting immediate attention.
“You expecting someone?” Dad asks.
“No,” I say, but even as the word leaves my mouth, I’m moving toward the door with growing dread. Because there’s something about that particular knock that makes my chest tighten with certainty about who’s standing in the hallway.
I open the door, and there he is.
Blake Mitchell adjusts his silver cufflinks before the door fully opens, shoulders squared in that particular alpha stance that expects immediate attention. His expensive suit drapes without a wrinkle. When he sees me, his smile activates like aswitch—white teeth and practiced warmth that’s never quite reached his eyes.
“Dec! There’s my big brother.” Blake moves to step into the room as if he belongs here, and my hands curl into fists at my sides as I force myself not to physically block his path. “Mom texted about a family reunion. Figured I’d surprise everyone.”
“Blake.” I don’t move from the doorway. “Not a good time.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. Christmas week, family’s gathering, haven’t seen Mom, Dad, and Father in months.” Blake’s smile doesn’t waver, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes that suggests he’s already picking up on the tension, his alpha scent carrying notes of confusion beneath practiced confidence. “Besides, I want to hear about this mysterious bonding ceremony. Mom was pretty vague.”
Behind me, I hear Mom’s sharp intake of breath, Dad’s muttered curse, and Father’s whispered “Oh no.”
