Page 40 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

“This morning, about an hour ago. Said he’d call back this afternoon.” Fate glances between all of us, mystical intuition clearly reading the tension and pack protective responses. “Should I be concerned about mysterious gentleman callers asking about family maritime pieces?”

“Probably,” Reed admits. “It’s the kind of complicated that makes international incidents look like minor scheduling conflicts.”

“Family drama always is.” Fate speaks with the wisdom of someone who’s dealt with Santos dynamics her entire life. “But whatever’s happening, the energy feels significant. Like things are moving toward resolution rather than escalation. ”

Before anyone can respond to that mystical observation, the shop phone rings.

The old-fashioned ring echoes through maritime displays like a death knell. My heart starts hammering so hard that Declan’s head snaps toward me like he’s got omega distress radar, and suddenly I’m surrounded by protective pack scent and three bodies moving closer like they’re preparing for battle.

“That’s probably him.” My whisper barely escapes.

“Answer it.” Declan moves close enough that his scent grounds me. “We need intel on his position.”

I pick up on the fourth ring. “What Goes Around, Karma speaking.”

“Miss Rose.” The voice carries cultured authority—decades of getting exactly what he wants through charm and subtle intimidation. “Sterling Ashworth. I believe we need to have a conversation.”

“Mr. Ashworth.” My voice steadies more than expected. “What can I do for you?”

“You can meet me in Boston tomorrow evening. I have a proposition regarding the Mitchell family compass that will interest you greatly.”

“Boston?” My free hand finds Declan’s automatically. “That’s quite a trip for a conversation.”

“Some conversations require... privacy, Miss Rose. Away from prying eyes and federal databases.” His pause feels loaded.

“I’m hosting a private viewing at my Beacon Hill residence tomorrow evening—very exclusive, very discreet.

The sort of intimate gathering where we can discuss mutual interests without interruption. ”

The way he says interruption crawls across my skin with implications I don’t want to examine. This isn’t just about selling the compass—this is Sterling orchestrating whatever game he’s been planning since the auction.

“What kind of proposition? ”

“The kind that benefits everyone involved, provided all parties are willing to be... flexible about certain arrangements.” Another loaded pause. “I’ll expect you and your associates tomorrow at eight PM. My assistant will text you the address.”

“Mr. Ashworth?—”

“Oh, and Miss Rose? Do bring your maritime expertise. I have several pieces I’d like your professional opinion on. Consultation work, you understand. I’m sure a woman of your particular knowledge will find them fascinating.”

The line goes dead, leaving me holding a phone that suddenly feels like a weapon pointed at my chest.

“Well?” Reed asks.

“Boston. Tomorrow night. Private viewing at his Beacon Hill residence.” I set the phone down with barely shaking hands.

“He wants professional consultation on several pieces, which sounds suspiciously like he’s planning to test my expertise or put me in a position where I have to prove credentials under pressure. ”

“Control the workspace, control the project.” Adrian’s voice carries grim understanding. “Same principle as construction.”

“Beacon Hill,” Declan mutters. “Of course the bastard lives in Beacon Hill. Probably has harbor views and thinks he owns half the maritime history in New England.”

“So what’s the play?” I pace between maritime displays while my brain works through possibilities.

“Because Sterling doesn’t invite people to private viewings just to discuss selling one piece.

This feels like walking into an expensive trap designed by someone who collects rare things and probably has opinions about what happens to people who disappoint him. ”

“Maybe he wants you to authenticate other questionable pieces,” Reed suggests. “Use your expertise to legitimize items with suspicious provenance. The kind of consultation work that comes with excellent pay and terrible legal consequences.”

“Or maybe he wants to test whether you’re actually the expert you claim to be,” Adrian adds, construction-strong hands curling into fists. “See if you can spot forgeries, identify authentic pieces under pressure. Stress-test the foundation.”

“Either way,” I stop pacing to face them directly while determination crystallizes in my chest, “we’re going to Boston.”

“We?” Declan’s eyebrows rise.

“We,” I confirm. “Pack handles pack business, right? This affects all of us now, and I’m not walking into Sterling’s territory alone. I’ve spent too many years handling things by myself, and honestly? I’m terrible at it.”

“Boston overnight.” Reed’s voice carries anticipation mixed with nervous energy that spikes ocean spray with excitement.

“Our first pack trip with a freshly claimed omega. Road trip with a mysterious collector who probably has a dungeon, potential criminal activity, and Boston traffic. This is either going to be amazing or the most expensive mistake we’ve ever made. ”

The thought flutters in my stomach with something unrelated to Sterling’s threats. Pack travel. Omega care considerations. Hotel arrangements that accommodate pack dynamics and the fact that I’m still processing what it means to be permanently marked by Adrian while bonded to all three.

“That’s going to be...” I start, then realize I don’t know how to finish without admitting how much pack travel logistics both excite and terrify me. “Is it weird that sharing hotel space with you guys makes me more nervous than facing down a potentially dangerous collector?”

“Complicated,” Adrian supplies, but his expression suggests he’s already working through the logistics. “Already planning three exit routes and backup transportation. ”

“Interesting,” Declan corrects. “Worst case scenario planning comes after we assess the actual threat.”

“Educational,” Reed adds.

“All of the above.” I look around at my pack—three men who’ve somehow become my entire future, now planning to accompany me into whatever Sterling has planned because that’s what pack does.

“Also probably terrifying and definitely requiring better planning than my usual wing it and hope for the best approach.”

Fate watches this exchange with obvious fascination and growing delight, mystical intuition practically humming with satisfaction.

“Oh, this is perfect.” She claps her hands together like the universe just delivered exactly what she ordered. “Your first pack adventure, a mysterious collector with questionable motives, a family heirloom with complicated history, and Boston in October. The energy is absolutely electric.”

“Is that good or bad?” I ask suspiciously, because mystical proclamations about electric energy could go either way.

“It’s significant.” Fate speaks with certainty that comes from believing the universe has plans and we’re all just playing assigned roles.

“Things are aligning exactly as they should. You’re going to get your compass back, Sterling’s going to underestimate you completely, and this trip is going to solidify your pack bonds in ways you can’t imagine yet. ”

“You can tell all that from energy patterns?”

“I can tell all that from watching four people who belong together finally stop fighting what they want and start claiming it.” Fate’s smile is brilliant, mystical, absolutely convinced of cosmic intervention.

“Trust me—this is your moment. The universe has been building toward this since the day you took that compass.”

Reed looks at his sister with obvious fondness and mild concern. “Fate, please don’t encourage them to do anything requiring me to call our parents and explain why we’re all in Boston jail.”

“I’m not encouraging anything. I’m just reading what’s already written.” Fate waves dismissively. “Besides, Karma’s going to handle Sterling brilliantly, you three are going to provide perfect backup, and everyone’s going to come home with exactly what they need.”

“The compass,” I say.

“Among other things,” Fate agrees mysteriously, her eyes holding secrets about cosmic timing and universal justice.

I look around at my pack, at Fate’s confident expression, at my shop where maritime antiques catch afternoon light like they’re celebrating something significant.

Tomorrow we go to Boston. Tomorrow we face Sterling on his territory, in his carefully controlled environment, with whatever game he’s planning.

But tonight, we pack for our first trip as a complete pack.

“All right.” My voice sounds steadier than expected despite the magnitude of what we’re planning. “I’m going to have to call Destiny first.”

She’s never going to believe any of this.