Page 59 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)
Like, happening happening. My vanilla spikes with the kind of panic that tastes like wait, did I remember deodorant? because apparently my brain thinks personal hygiene is the real crisis here.
“Friends, family, and community,” Sterling begins, and his voice has that same confident warmth he uses when closing million-dollar deals, except this time he’s selling the idea that four people can actually make this work forever.
Which, honestly, sounds way more impossible than any business transaction when you put it like that.
“We’re here today to witness something remarkable.
Four people choosing each other, not just for today or this season, but for all the seasons to come. ”
I look around the circle of faces—Destiny beaming with pride though I catch her glancing toward Reed’s cousin with the kind of interest that suggests maybe she’s finally ready to believe in possibilities, Adrian’s mother dabbing at her eyes with the same quiet dignity her son carries, Reed’s family listening with the kind of attention that suggests they understand how significant this moment is.
Even Declan’s parents seem moved by the gravity of what we’re about to do.
“Karma, Declan, Reed, Adrian,” Sterling continues, “please step forward and form your own circle within ours.”
We move to the center, and this is where it gets real. Like, really real. I’m holding hands with three men who somehow convinced themselves I’m worth forever, and my palms are definitely sweating despite the December air.
Our scents start doing that thing where they spiral together—vanilla threading through cedar like silk through strong wood, ocean spray dancing around sandalwood until the four scents create something that makes everyone in the circle unconsciously lean closer, drawn to the harmony.
Through our bonds, I feel their emotions—Declan’s steady certainty as his hand tightens on mine, Reed’s barely contained joy in the way his eyes shine, Adrian’s quiet contentment in how his shoulders settle.
Several omegas in the circle close their eyes with wistful sighs at whatever we must look like together.
“The bonds you’re formalizing today didn’t begin with this ceremony,” Sterling says, producing a length of silk cord in deep blue that catches the winter light like water.
“They began the moment you chose to see value in each other, to protect and support and love without reservation. Today, we simply make visible what your hearts already know.”
Sterling holds out the first cord to Declan, and I watch my alpha’s hands—those same hands that have guided me through panic attacks and organized my entire life—reach for this piece of silk as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever touched.
Which, okay, it probably is. No pressure or anything.
His fingers don’t shake, because of course they don’t. Declan doesn’t do shaking. He does steady, reliable, I’ve got this handled even when this is promising forever to a woman who still sometimes hides in her shop when emotions get too big.
“Declan, as alpha of this pack, will you speak your promises first?”
Declan looks at each of us in turn before settling his gaze on me, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch.
“Karma Rose, months ago I came looking for a stolen compass and found something infinitely more valuable.” He begins wrapping the cord around our joined hands, each loop deliberate and meaningful.
“A woman who sees worth in broken things, who creates beauty from forgotten pieces, who taught me that the best treasures choose you back. I promise to protect you, to provide for you, to be the steady presence you can count on. I promise to value your independence while offering belonging, to support your dreams while building our future.”
His voice roughens with emotion. “I promise to love you with the consistency you deserve, the loyalty you deserve, and the kind of forever that actually means forever.”
Sterling produces a second cord, this one in silver-gray that seems to capture and hold the winter light, and hands it to Adrian. My gentle craftsman takes it as if he’s accepting responsibility for something precious, which I guess he is.
“Adrian, will you speak your promises?”
Adrian’s sandalwood spikes with nervous energy.
“ Karma, you taught me love isn’t something you earn through perfect work.
You taught me that being seen for who I am is more precious than any project I could complete.
” The gray cord joins the blue around our hands with gentle movements that speak to years of working with delicate things.
“I promise to build you a home in every sense—not just walls and rooms, but safety and comfort and space where you can be completely yourself.”
He pauses, gray eyes serious and unwavering. “I promise to show you every day that you’re worth choosing, worth keeping, worth the thoughtful attention I give to everything I love.”
Reed steps forward to receive the third cord—ocean blue that seems to shift and dance with the winter breeze like water made solid.
“Reed, your promises?”
“Karma Rose,” Reed begins, and his diplomat’s composure cracks slightly with emotion, “you taught me that real harmony isn’t avoiding conflict—it’s having people willing to work through difficulties together.
You showed me that being needed isn’t the same as being valued, and that the right person wants you around even when everything’s perfect.
” The blue cord weaves through the others.
“I promise to be your mediator when the world gets overwhelming, your advocate when you can’t speak for yourself, your source of lightness when everything feels heavy. ”
His scent goes soft and sweet, carrying notes of joy and determination. “I promise to make you laugh every single day and to remind you that you’re not responsible for fixing everyone else’s problems—you’re only responsible for being gloriously, authentically yourself.”
Now it’s my turn. Sterling offers me the final cord—golden silk that gleams like candlelight and seems to pulse with warmth against my palm. My hands are definitely shaking now, but not from nerves. From the sheer overwhelming reality that this is actually happening.
“Karma, will you speak your promises to your pack?”
I look at them and have one of those surreal moments where I’m like wait, these three men actually want to legally bind themselves to the woman who once ate cereal for dinner five days straight.
But Declan’s steady presence, Adrian’s quiet devotion, and Reed’s absolute joy are making my vanilla go all sparkly, and I smell like celebration whether I want to or not.
“Six months ago, I was convinced I was meant to be alone. That love was something that happened to other people, that pack bonds were beautiful in theory but not meant for someone like me.” I begin weaving the golden cord through all the others, binding us together in truth as well as symbol, the silk warm and substantial between my fingers.
“You guys proved me wrong about everything.”
My voice strengthens with certainty. “Declan, I promise to trust your protection while keeping my independence, to let you provide while contributing my own strength, to be the partner you deserve.”
I turn to Adrian, meeting those gentle gray eyes that see everything and judge nothing.
“Adrian, I promise to see and value the man behind the thoughtful work, to create home with you wherever we go, to show you every day that love isn’t something you earn—it’s something you deserve just by being yourself. ”
Finally, Reed, whose scent carries such joy it makes everyone in the circle unconsciously smile.
“Reed, I promise to let you balance me when the world gets overwhelming, to laugh at your terrible jokes, to be your anchor when diplomatic solutions aren’t enough and you need someone who’ll simply stand with you. ”
I look at all three of them, golden cord completing the binding of our hands in silk that catches the lighthouse beam.
“I promise to choose all of you, every day, in every way that matters. I promise to build a life that honors what we’ve found together.
I promise to love you with the kind of forever that actually means forever. ”
Sterling steps forward, placing his hands over our bound ones with the reverence of someone who understands exactly what he’s witnessing.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Rhode Island, and more importantly, by the love and support of this community, I now pronounce you a bonded pack. What you have chosen together, let no one separate.”
He produces the compass—our compass, the one that started everything—and places it in the center of our joined hands.
The brass surface feels warm despite the winter air, as if it’s been waiting for this moment, which honestly it probably has been.
This compass has been through more drama than a reality TV show.
“This compass once pointed toward separation and pain. Today, it points toward true north—toward home, toward love, toward the family you’ve chosen to build together.”
We hold the compass together, its brass surface warm against our palms, and I feel the rightness of this moment settle into my bones like truth made manifest. This is what Grandma Rose meant when she talked about things finding their way home.
“Now,” Sterling says with a grin that transforms his entire face with genuine joy, “I believe there’s a tradition about sealing these promises.”
Declan, Reed, and Adrian exchange a look of perfect understanding before moving closer.
The kiss we share starts gentle—Declan’s lips finding mine first, then Reed’s mouth warm against my temple while Adrian’s hand cradles the back of my neck, four heartbeats syncing until our scents bloom outward like flowers opening to sunlight.
Vanilla and cedar and ocean spray and sandalwood create a harmony so complete that several people in the circle sigh with unconscious appreciation .
When we break apart, the circle of witnesses erupts in cheers and applause that echoes off the lighthouse and carries across the harbor.
Destiny’s makeup runs in precise tracks down her cheeks despite her waterproof mascara, but she’s smiling so hard it transforms her entire face, coffee scent bright with vicarious joy and something that might be her own newfound hope.
Adrian’s mother is beaming with pride that radiates through her scent like sunlight, and even Declan’s father looks genuinely moved by what he’s just witnessed.
I catch Destiny’s eye across the circle, and she mouths I believe now with a smile that looks like hope taking root.
“Before we adjourn to the reception,” Sterling calls over the celebration, his voice carrying easily despite the joyful noise, “there’s one more tradition I’d like to honor.”
He gestures to the gathered community with the kind of inclusive warmth that makes everyone feel essential to this moment.
“In pack bonding ceremonies, it’s customary for the witnesses to offer their scents as blessing—a way of showing that this new family is welcomed and supported by their community. ”
And then something happens that I definitely wasn’t prepared for, which is saying something because Reed planned this thing like a military operation.
People start approaching us. Not rushing—this isn’t a receiving line at some stuffy wedding—but moving with the kind of purpose that makes my throat tight. Destiny comes first, naturally, because she’s never met a moment she couldn’t improve with her presence.
“You did it,” she whispers against my ear, coffee scent mixing with something that might be tears, “you actually did it, you beautiful disaster.” And when she pulls back, I can smell her determination and affection clinging to the silk of my dress like a promise that she’ll always be in my corner.
Then Adrian’s mother, who hugs as if she’s been waiting months for permission, her lavender and quiet strength settling into the fabric at my shoulders.
“Welcome to the family, dear,” she says, and the word “family” hits different when it comes from someone who raised the man who sees worth in broken things.
Reed’s parents approach together, his mother’s ocean scent layered with diplomatic warmth and his father’s steady presence mixing with approval that smells like harbor salt and old books.
“We couldn’t be happier,” his mother says, and her scent carries the same mediation skills as her son, designed to make everyone feel included and valued.
Declan’s mother follows, her beta scent soft with maternal pride despite her husband’s obvious discomfort. She whispers something in my ear about grandbabies that makes me blush to my toes, her scent carrying hopes and dreams that taste like Sunday dinners and holiday traditions.
By the time the last person has offered their blessing, our combined scents have created something like a perfumed aurora—layers of coffee and ocean salt, pine and vanilla, determination and joy all swirling together until even the winter air tastes like celebration.
When Mom approaches, she hugs me close and whispers, “Your grandmother would be so proud, sweetheart. You found your way home,” her lavender scent carrying three decades of love and hope finally allowed to bloom.
Sterling is the last to approach, and when he embraces our pack, his scent carries something I’ve never noticed before—contentment, hope, and the kind of happiness that comes from watching love triumph over pain, mixed with the particular satisfaction of seeing pieces fall into their proper places.
“Thank you,” I whisper to him. “For everything. For seeing who I could be, for bringing us together, for helping Mom find her way back to you.”
“Thank you,” he replies, “for proving that some stories get the endings they deserve. ”
The ceremony’s over. Like, officially over. I’m officially pack-bonded to three men who somehow convinced me I’m worth keeping.
“Ready for part two?” Reed asks, offering his arm as if we’re heading to a nice dinner instead of the reception he’s been planning.
“Ready for everything,” I say, and mean it completely.