Knot Happening Again (Claimverse Book 2)

I step into the mansion behind Rhys, my heart racing. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The entire car ride gave me time to rehearse what I’d say, how I’d explain everything to my pack. But now that I’m here, facing the reality of it all, the words seem to vanish from my mind.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

My thoughts wander to the omega upstairs, the one my pack believes is our match. How can I convince them otherwise? How can I make them understand that our true match is out there, waiting for us?

The fact that I can’t even contact Ophelia, that she hasn’t returned to the Scent Bar, only intensifies my frustration.

As we move further into the house, a scent hits me with the force of a speeding train. Jasmine and ocean breeze, so familiar it makes my head spin. I stop abruptly, my eyes widening as I try to process what I’m smelling.

This has to be a trick my mind is playing on me. For fuck’s sake, the guilt is starting to wear at my sanity and now, I’m hallucinating her scent.

Rhys turns to me, his brow furrowed. Despite the anger I know he’s feeling, genuine worry colors his voice when he asks, ‘What’s wrong?’

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How do I explain this? How do I tell him that the scent filling our home is the same one that’s been haunting my dreams for seven years?

Finally, I manage to choke out, ‘That scent…’

Rhys’s expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. ‘I told you she was our scent match,’ he says, his voice gentle despite the tension still evident in his posture.

My mind reels. Could it be? Is it possible that the omega they found, the one they think is our match, is actually…?

‘What’s her name?’ I ask, my voice barely audible.

Rhys looks surprised by the question. ‘It’s Ophelia,’ he says, studying my face closely.

The name hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Ophelia.

My Ophelia.

The omega I marked and abandoned seven years ago. The one I’ve been searching for, the one I’ve been trying to make things right with. She’s here, in our home, with our pack.

I stagger back, overwhelmed by the realization. My legs feel like jelly, and I have to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. How is this possible? How did she end up here, with my pack?

Rhys watches me, concern etched on his face. ‘Leon?’ he says, reaching out as if to steady me. ‘Are you okay?’

I can’t find the words to respond. My mind is a whirlwind of emotions—shock, disbelief, hope, fear. What if I’ve ruined everything before it even had a chance to begin?

Rhys seems to sense that I need a moment. ‘Wait here,’ he says, his voice gentle but firm. ‘I’ll call the pack.’

I nod numbly, watching as he heads upstairs. Left alone in the foyer, I try to gather my thoughts.

Ophelia is here.

She’s in our home, with our pack.

It’s almost too much to process.

I pace the length of the foyer, my mind racing. The polished hardwood floor creaks beneath my feet, each step echoing in the quiet space. How do I explain this to the pack? How do I make them understand why I’ve been acting so strangely? And more importantly, how do I face Ophelia?

What if she thinks this is a setup? That they’ve been tricking her, lying to her on my behalf?

My eyes dart around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. The antique mirror hanging on the wall reflects my disheveled appearance—my hair is a mess, dark circles under my eyes betraying my lack of sleep. I look like a man on the edge, and I suppose that’s exactly what I am.

The minutes crawl by, each second feeling like an eternity. I can hear muffled voices upstairs, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by occasional laughter. The sound makes my chest constrict painfully. That should be me up there, with my pack, with our omega.

If I hadn’t fucked everything up, it would be.

I find myself drawn to the family photos lining the walls. There’s one of all of us at the beach last summer, our faces sun-kissed and happy. Another of our trip to the cabin in the mountains. These snapshots of our life together only serve to highlight how much I stand to lose if I can’t make this right.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, I hear footsteps on the stairs. Rhys appears first, his red hair slightly mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it. He’s followed closely by Mace, his large frame filling the stairway. Troy comes next, his usual swagger replaced by a cautious gait. Maddox brings up the rear, his beta instincts clearly on high alert as he assesses the situation.

They all look concerned, their expressions guarded as they take in my disheveled appearance. The air in the foyer feels thick with tension, the scent of their worry and confusion mingling with the lingering traces of Ophelia’s heat.

‘Well,’ Rhys says, his voice carefully neutral, ‘we’re all here. What is it you wanted to say?’

I look at each of them in turn, these men who have become my family. Mace, solid and dependable, his usually jovial face serious. His gray eyes, normally twinkling with mirth, are now clouded with concern. Troy, his arms crossed over his chest, a mixture of worry and suspicion in his eyes. His fingers tap an impatient rhythm against his bicep, betraying his nervous energy. Maddox, our beta, looking torn between concern for me and loyalty to the rest of the pack. His gaze flicks between me and Rhys, as if trying to gauge how to best support both of us.

And Rhys. My bonded alpha, my brother, the one who’s stood by me through everything. The hurt and anger in his eyes cut me to the core, but there’s still love there, still hope. His stance is rigid, arms crossed over his chest in a mirror of Troy’s posture, but I can see the slight tremor in his hands that betrays his inner turmoil.

‘I…’ I begin, my voice hoarse. I clear my throat, trying again. ‘There’s something I need to tell you all. Something I should have told you a long time ago.’

They watch me intently, waiting for me to continue. I can smell their emotions more clearly now—confusion, worry, a hint of anger. But underneath it all, there’s the scent of pack, of family. It gives me the courage to continue.

I open my mouth, ready to spill everything—my past with Ophelia, the guilt I’ve been carrying for seven years, my desperate search for her. But before I can speak, a movement at the top of the stairs catches my attention. My heart stops as I look up, my eyes locking onto a familiar face.

Ophelia stands there, her blue eyes wide with shock. Her raven hair falls in soft waves around her face, framing those piercing blue eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. Her pale skin seems to glow in the soft light of the foyer, a stark contrast to the dark silk robe she’s wrapped in.

The scents of my pack mates cling to her, like a protective mantel. The realization is a relief and a punch in the gut all at once, even though I have no right to feel anything.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. The world narrows down to just her, standing at the top of the stairs like a vision from my past. I drink in the sight of her, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure everyone in the room can hear it. I notice the little details I’d forgotten over the years—the small mole just below her left ear, the slight curl at the ends of her hair, the way her bottom lip trembles slightly when she’s nervous.

The air in the foyer feels electric, charged with the weight of our shared history and the shock of our unexpected reunion. I can see the others looking between us, confusion evident on their faces. They can clearly sense that something significant is happening, even if they don’t understand what.

Then, Ophelia’s voice breaks the silence, barely more than a whisper. ‘Leon?’

The sound of my name on her lips sends a current of electricity through me. Her voice is exactly as I remember—soft, melodious, with a slight huskiness that always drove me wild. But now it’s laced with disbelief and a hint of fear.

I want to say something, anything, but my voice seems to have abandoned me. Just like I abandoned her all those yeas ago.