Knot Happening Again (Claimverse Book 2)

The neon sign outside the Scent Bar flickers above me as I stand on the sidewalk, my heart pounding in my chest. The bass from inside thrums through the pavement, matching the rhythm pounding in my chest.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. The scent of desperate alphas and omegas hangs heavy in the air, a potent cocktail that makes my head spin.

I push open the heavy door, stepping into a world I thought I’d left behind years ago. The interior is dimly lit, awash in shades of red and purple. Smoke machines create an ethereal haze, adding to the dreamlike quality of the scene. Bodies writhe on the dance floor, a mass of tangled limbs and pheromones.

My eyes scan the room, searching for the face that’s haunted my dreams for seven long years. I move through the crowd, my senses on high alert.

Omegas brush against me, their scents free flowing and meant to entice and lure, but none of them register.

I’m here for one omega, and one omega only.

And then, suddenly, there she is.

Ophelia.

She’s perched on a barstool at the far end of the room, her posture perfect, long and shapely legs crossed at the ankles. Her raven hair cascades down her back in soft waves, longer than I remember. She’s wearing a tight black dress that hugs every curve, the high collar no doubt hiding the incomplete mark I left on her neck all those years ago. Even from across the room, I can see the sharp line of her jaw, the elegant curve of her neck.

The sight of her hits me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. All the old feelings come rushing back—desire, affection, regret.

But there’s something else, too.

Something new and overwhelming.

Her scent.

It washes over me, slicing through the miasma of the bar like a knife. Jasmine and ocean air, intoxicating and all-consuming. It calls to something primal inside me, awakening instincts I didn’t even know I possessed.

And in that moment, I know.

She’s my scent match.

The realization rocks me to my core, turning my world upside down.

How is this possible?

How could I not have known back then?

My mind races, trying to make sense of it all. Was I too young, too immature to recognize it? Or did I subconsciously push it away, afraid of the commitment it would entail?

No… that might be part of it, but not all.

I hadn’t found my pack yet.

It’s rare for an alpha to find his omega before he finds his pack. Almost unheard of. And I’ve heard some don’t recognize her at all until a pack bond forms.

But this…

This just seems like a sucker punch from the universe.

However it happened.

Like the punchline to a joke that’s been in the works since I walked away from her all those years ago.

And if Ophelia is my scent match, that means this omega Rhys and the others are so worked up about is a fraud after all. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time an omega has used pheromone sprays and other tricks to convince a pack of powerful alphas into thinking she’s their scent match.

What the hell am I going to tell them?

But right now, all the questions have to wait.

Right now, I have one focus.

I take a step toward her, then another, drawn by an invisible force I can’t resist. The crowd seems to part before me, or maybe I’m just shoving my way through, I can’t be sure.

All I know is that I need to get to her.

‘Ophelia?’

As I approach, her head turns, those piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, she looks confused, her brow furrowing as she tries to make sense of me. Then she looks shocked, her eyes widening in recognition.

And finally, fury.

Her face contorts with rage, eyes flashing dangerously.All content is © N0velDrama.Org.

‘You have no right to be here,’ she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. Even angry, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. ‘Ophelia, please,’ I say, my voice barely audible over the pounding music. ‘Just give me five minutes.’

‘No,’ she snaps, turning away from me. Her hair whips around, the scent of her shampoo hitting me like a physical force. ‘Leave. Now.’

I open my mouth to argue, to beg if I have to, but before I can speak, a mountain of a man appears at Ophelia’s side. The bouncer, I realize. He’s easily six and a half feet tall, with biceps the size of a tree trunk. He eyes me suspiciously, one hand resting on Ophelia’s shoulder protectively.

‘Is there a problem here?’ he asks, his tone making it clear he’s ready to throw me out on my ass.

I could take him.

But then she’d really be fucking pissed.

Ophelia tenses, her eyes darting between me and the bouncer. I can see the wheels turning in her head, weighing her options. After what feels like an eternity, she mutters, ‘Five minutes. Outside on the balcony. Then you leave.’

‘Thank you.’

The bouncer’s eyes narrow and he looks to Ophelia again for confirmation. When she nods, he steps aside, but his eyes never leave me. The message is clear.

One wrong move, and I’m out.

We make our way to the balcony, weaving through the throng of bodies. The cool night air hits me as we step outside, a welcome respite from the stuffy interior of the bar. The balcony overlooks the city, neon signs and streetlights creating a tapestry of color below us.

Ophelia leans against the railing, her back to me. The moonlight casts a soft glow on her skin, making her look ethereal, otherworldly. Her hair shimmers in the dim light, and I find myself mesmerized by the way it moves in the gentle breeze. I want to reach out and touch it, to see if it’s as soft as I remember.

I know it would be.

I force myself to stay still, to keep my distance. Instead, I drink in the sight of her, trying to imprint this image on my memory. I might never see her again after tonight, and I want to remember every detail. The curve of her spine, the delicate line of her neck, the way her dress hugs her hips.

And I can’t blame her if she never wants to see me again. I’m lucky she didn’t kick me in the balls the moment she saw me. The thought almost makes me smile, despite the gravity of the situation.

Ophelia turns to face me, her expression guarded.

‘What do you want, Leon?’ she asks in a flat tone.

I swallow hard, suddenly at a loss for words, and realize I’ve just been standing there staring at her. All the speeches I rehearsed on the way here desert me, leaving me floundering.

‘I know you have every right to hate me,’ I begin, the words feeling inadequate even as I say them. ‘I just… I needed to see you.’

She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound like broken glass. ‘Please,’ she scoffs. ‘You haven’t given a shit about where I am for the last seven years. Why should you care now?’

Her words sting, but I can’t deny the truth in them. ‘That’s not true,’ I say, taking a step closer. I can smell her scent more strongly now, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to close the distance between us. ‘I looked for you. Every day, for so many years. It was like you disappeared.’

‘Yes, well, that’s what happens when good girls from high society families turn up half-marked,’ she says, her voice dripping with venom.

I flinch at her words, the confirmation of what my private investigator suspected hitting me hard. Her family essentially erased all traces of her existence, casting her out like she was nothing.

The thought makes my blood boil.

Not just at her family, but at myself.

I did this to her.

And I’ve spent the last seven years hating myself for it, but not enough.

Never.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, knowing it’s woefully inadequate. ‘I know it doesn’t mean anything⁠—’

‘You’re right,’ she interrupts, her eyes flashing. ‘It doesn’t.’ She fixes me with a hard stare, and I feel like she’s looking right through me. ‘It means absolutely nothing. Same as I meant to you back then. Why are you really here, Leon?’

I stare at her, wondering the same thing myself. I came to apologize, to see if there was some way to put things right. But now I realize that even that was selfish. An attempt to assuage my own conscience of the unforgivable.

‘There has to be something I can do,’ I say, desperation creeping into my voice. ‘Some way to make this right.’

Ophelia’s eyes narrow. “Sure,’ she says. ‘You can walk right out that door and forget I exist all over again. You’re good at that.’

Her words cut deep, but I know I deserve them.

I deserve them all and more.

Still, I can’t give up.

Not now.

Not ever.

The fact that I now know she’s my scent match might solidify that knowledge, but it doesn’t change anything. The thought of walking away from her again is physically painful.

‘I can give you money,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. The look in her eyes makes it clear that was the wrong decision.

But that’s the only way I know how to deal with problems.

Even now that I’m panicking because the words came out so wrong, it’s the only thing I can think of. The only way to get her away from this place.

‘You don’t belong here, Ophelia,” I say when I’ve found the words to explain what I mean. “There’s no way you want to work here⁠—’

The look she gives me could freeze hell itself. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, turn to chips of ice.

‘Fuck off,’ she snarls, her voice low and dangerous. ‘The last thing I want is your charity.’

I reach out without thinking, grabbing her wrist. Her skin is soft and warm under my fingers, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through me. ‘Ophelia, please⁠—’

Her glare turns murderous.

For a moment, I think she might actually slap me in the face. And I would welcome it, because at least she’d be touching me.

But then her face goes blank, her eyes fixed on a spot just below my chin. I realize with a start that she’s seen the mark peeking out from my collar.

The mark that ties me to Rhys.

Her expression grows cold again. ‘Whatever absolution you came here to find, you can take it and shove it, along with your money,’ she says, her voice icy. ‘I don’t need either. I don’t need you.’

With that, she pulls away, her wrist slipping from my grasp. I want to reach for her again, to pull her close and never let go. But I force myself to stay still, knowing I’ve already overstepped.

‘If I ever see you again, I’ll call security. Trust me, enough of them stomping you into the ground at once would be too much even for you,” she tosses over her shoulder in warning before disappearing back into the bar.

I watch her go, feeling like I’ve been gutted.

All I can think about is how she must have felt when she woke up that following morning and realized I was gone.

The door closes behind her with a finality that feels like a death knell.

That went about as badly as it possibly could.

So much for closure.

But one look at her was enough to know that closure was never in the cards. The truth is, I still have feelings for her.

I’m still obsessed with her.

I never stopped.

And now, knowing she’s my scent match… it’s like a piece of me that I didn’t even know was missing has suddenly clicked into place.

As I stand there on the balcony, the weight of everything I’ve lost—everything I threw away—settles on my shoulders. I’ve royally fucked up, and I have no idea how to fix it. The gulf between us seems insurmountable. A chasm of my own making.

But I know one thing for certain.

I can’t walk away.

Not again.

Not now that I’ve finally found her.

And this time, I have enough sense not to let her go.

The thought of leaving her here, in this place, is beyond impossible. Not while I’m alive. It won’t happen. Can’t happen.

She deserves so much more than this.

I just have to figure out how to make her see it too.

And hope that when she does, she doesn’t hate me even more for it.

Because the truth is, I’m not just fighting for myself anymore.

The image of Ophelia in our home, surrounded by the love and protection of our pack, flashes through my mind. It’s a beautiful vision, but it’s also a reminder of how much I stand to lose if I can’t make this right.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the lingering traces of Ophelia’s scent. It centers me, calms the storm of emotions raging inside. I know what I have to do. It won’t be easy, and there’s a good chance she’ll never forgive me.

But I have to try.

For her.

For us.

For the pack we could be with her.