Knot Happening Again (Claimverse Book 2)

As I stand in the foyer of our pack house, my heart heavy with the weight of everything I’ve been keeping from my packmates. From my own bond mate. The familiar scents of home—sandalwood from Rhys’s favorite incense, the lingering aroma of Mace’s cooking, the faint trace of Troy’s leather jacket hanging on a hook by the door—all assault my senses, reminding me of everything I’ve been avoiding.

I’ve been gone for weeks, telling myself it’s for a good cause, that I’m doing this for the pack. But deep down, in the darkest corners of my mind where I can’t hide from the truth, I know I’m being a coward.

My fingers trace the smooth surface of my phone in my pocket, a constant reminder of my failure. I’ve been trying to track down Ophelia again, to make things right, to prove that she’s our true scent match.

But I’ve got nothing to show for it.

No contact.

No progress.

Just a growing sense of desperation that gnaws at my insides like a hungry beast.

I know that Rhys is going to want me to meet this new omega he thinks is our scent match. I knew the moment he sent that text asking me to come home and those four dreaded words.

We need to talk.

Time is up.

But how can I explain to him that this omega, whoever she is, can’t possibly be right for us? How can I make him understand that our true match is out there when she won’t even talk to me?

I need to have a solid case for why this new omega isn’t our match, but without any contact with Ophelia, my arguments feel flimsy, built on a foundation of sand that’s rapidly eroding beneath my feet. I still haven’t been able to track down her personal phone number, despite paying my private investigator enough to ignore every other client on his list.

I pace the length of the foyer, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. The house feels too big, too quiet without the usual bustle of pack life. It’s my fault, I know. I’ve disrupted the harmony we’ve worked so hard to build, all because of my past mistakes and current cowardice.

I debate whether I should show up at the Scent Bar again. The memory of my last visit there flashes through my mind—Ophelia’s cold eyes, her bitter words, the threat of her calling security. I don’t think she was bluffing about calling them if I showed up again. The thought of being thrown out, of causing a scene that could potentially harm her job and make her hate me even more, is far from ideal.

Even if the thought of her doing that kind of work churns my stomach. But I know she won’t accept my help, either. Not unless I can find a way to convince her.Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

With a heavy sigh, I make my way through the house. Each step feels like I’m walking through molasses, my body resisting the confrontation I know is coming.

The familiar surroundings mock me. Photos of happier times on the walls, the half-finished puzzle on the coffee table that we all work on together during pack nights. All reminders of what I stand to lose if I can’t fix this mess.

I find Rhys in the upstairs living room. He’s standing by the window, his back to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The sight of him sends a pang through my chest. Loyalty and guilt and fear all tangled up in a knot that I don’t know how to unravel.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, as if I haven’t been absent for weeks, as if this is just another normal day.

Rhys turns, and for a moment, I see a flicker of relief in his eyes. It’s quickly replaced by a guarded expression, but that brief glimpse of his true feelings is enough to make my guilt intensify. It’s my fault, I know, and the knowledge is a bitter taste in my mouth.

‘They’re out,’ Rhys says, his tone carefully neutral. ‘Mace is at the gym, Troy’s at his studio, and Maddox had some business to take care of.’ He pauses, his eyes searching my face. ‘Did you take care of your family business?’

I can hear the suspicion in his voice, see the doubt in his eyes. It’s all I can do not to flinch under his gaze. ‘I want to talk to you about that,’ I mutter, knowing it’s a weak response. ‘But first, what did you need to tell me that we couldn’t discuss on the phone?’

Rhys folds his arms across his chest, a defensive posture that speaks volumes about the state of our relationship. ‘The omega we met at Temporary Bonds,’ he says, his voice flat. ‘I want her to meet the entire pack.’

The words hit me like a physical blow. I react defensively, my voice sharper than I intend. ‘You didn’t run that by me.’

‘You haven’t been home for me to run anything by you,’ Rhys shoots back, a hint of anger creeping into his tone.

I can’t argue with that, but I want to. I want to explain, to make him understand why I’ve been gone, why I’ve been distant. But the words stick in my throat. Instead, I mutter, ‘It’s not a good time.’

‘Why?’ Rhys asks, his voice rising slightly. ‘Because of whatever secret you’re keeping from your entire pack?’

The accusation hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I open my mouth to deny it, to offer some explanation, but nothing comes out. How can I explain without telling him everything? And how can I tell him everything when I have nothing to show for my efforts?

‘Leon,’ Rhys says, his voice softer now but no less intense. ‘You’ve been the reason we’ve delayed finding an omega all this time, and we can’t put it on hold forever. Especially not when you expect us to put our lives on hold for you while not even being honest about what’s going on.’ He pauses, his eyes boring into mine. ‘Unless that’s changed?’

I know this is the moment.

I need to come clean.

I have to tell Rhys everything.

About Ophelia, about our past, about the incomplete mark I left on her neck.

About how I think she’s our true scent match.

But without Ophelia being anywhere near willing to meet with me, let alone the rest of the pack, to prove she’s our actual scent match, I know it’s too soon.

It would sound like a desperate excuse.

A last-ditch effort to avoid the inevitable.

‘Please, Rhys,’ I plead, hating the desperation in my voice. ‘Just give me a little more time.’

Rhys hesitates, and for a moment, I think he might agree. But then his expression hardens, and I can see the hurt in his eyes, the disappointment that cuts deeper than any anger could. When he speaks again, his voice is cold, distant in a way I’ve never heard before.

‘We’ve waited long enough, Leon,’ he says. ‘And you can’t give me a good reason to keep waiting.’ He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he’s about to say. ‘Our scent match is coming on Friday to meet the pack. I want you to be there, but she’s coming regardless.’

With that, he turns and leaves the room. The sound of his footsteps fading away feels like a countdown, each step bringing us closer to a future I’m not ready to face.

Frustration boils over inside me, a tidal wave of emotion that I can no longer contain. I lash out, my fist connecting with the wall. Pain shoots through my hand, radiating up my arm, but I barely notice it. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil raging inside me.

I stare at the hole I’ve made, my ragged breathing the only sound in the now-empty room.

What have I done?

How did I let things get this far?

My mind races, replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity. I should have told Rhys the truth from the beginning. I should have tried harder to find Ophelia. I should have been honest with my pack about my past, about the guilt that’s been eating me alive for seven years.

But I wasn’t. And now, I’m on the verge of losing everything. My scent match, my pack, my future.

I sink to the floor, my back against the damaged wall, and bury my face in my hands. I can almost hear the disappointment in Mace’s voice, see the hurt in Troy’s eyes, feel the confusion radiating from Maddox.

My pack.

My family.

The people I swore to protect and lead.

I’ve let them all down.

And Ophelia… God, Ophelia. The memory of her face when I saw her at the Scent Bar haunts me. The shock, the anger, the pain in those beautiful blue eyes. I did that to her. I broke her trust, left her vulnerable and alone. And now, when I finally fully realize what she means to me, to us, I can’t even reach her.

I pull out my phone, staring at the blank screen as if it holds the answers I so desperately need. I should call the private investigator again, demand that he find Ophelia’s number even if he has to tear the whole damn city apart. I should go back to the Scent Bar, consequences be damned. I should do something, anything, to fix this mess before it’s too late.

But what if it already is too late? What if Ophelia wants nothing to do with me, with us? What if this new omega manages to fool the others completely?

No. I shake my head, trying to clear the doubts from my mind. I know what I felt when I saw Ophelia again. That pull, that instant connection—it wasn’t just memory or guilt.

It was real.

She’s our match.

She has to be.

I push myself to my feet, wincing at the pain in my hand. I flex my fingers, noting with detached interest that I’ve split the skin over my knuckles. It’ll heal quickly, thanks to my alpha biology, but for now, it serves as a physical reminder of the damage I’ve done.

I have to find Ophelia. It’s now or never. I can’t let Friday come without at least trying to make things right. I owe it to Rhys, to my pack, to Ophelia, and to myself.

With renewed determination, I head for the door.

I don’t have a plan, not really.

But I have desperation and determination on my side. I’ll go back to the Scent Bar. I’ll beg, plead, do whatever it takes to get Ophelia to listen to me. And if security tries to throw me out, I’ll come back.

Again and again, until she agrees to hear me out.