Chapter 41: Knot Happening Again: Chapter 41

‘Ophelia!’ I call out, my voice echoing off the concrete walls outside the arena.

No response.

Where could she have gone?

She’s not answering her phone.

I round another corner, scanning the parking lot for any sign of her. Nothing but a sea of cars and the distant flashes of cameras. Those vultures are still circling, waiting for their next shot.

My blood boils as I remember the reporter’s words. How dare they dig into her past like that? How dare they expose her vulnerabilities to the world? I clench my fists, wishing I could punch something—preferably that asshole’s face.

At least Leon got a few good hits in. The guy’s face looked like pulp. I know I should be disappointed as his manager, but as his packmate?

I want to give him a medal myself.

A solid mass slams into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumble back, ready to lash out, when I realize it’s Troy.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he mutters, steadying himself. His eyes are wild, darting around frantically. ‘Any luck?’

I shake my head. ‘No sign of our girl. You?’

‘Nada.’ Troy runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. ‘How the fuck did they find out about us? About her?’

‘I don’t know, but when I find out who leaked it, I’ll⁠—’

‘You’ll what?’ Troy cuts me off, his voice sharp. ‘Beat them up? That won’t solve anything.’

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make me any less angry. ‘We need to focus on finding her. Any ideas where she might have gone?’

Troy shakes his head. ‘I’ve checked all the obvious places. The locker rooms, the bathrooms, even the damn janitor’s closet.’

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, heart leaping when I see Rhys’s name on the screen. ‘Rhys? Did you find her?’

‘No,’ he says, and my hopes crash. ‘I was hoping you had.’

“We haven’t found a single sign,” I reply, frustration seeping into my voice. ‘We’ve looked everywhere.’

‘I’m worried,’ Rhys says, his voice tight. ‘With the press out there… they’re like sharks that have smelled blood in the water.’

‘I know.’ I glance at Troy, who’s pacing back and forth, his agitation palpable. ‘We’re not giving up. We’ll find her.’

‘Keep me posted,’ Rhys says before hanging up.

I turn back to Troy. ‘That was Rhys. He hasn’t found her, either.’

“Fuck!” Troy growls, kicking at a nearby trash can. It clatters to the ground, spilling its contents across the pavement. ‘Where the hell could she be?’

I rack my brain, trying to think of any place we might have missed. ‘What about the roof? Is there access?’

Troy rakes a hand through his hair. “Y-yeah. There’s a maintenance ladder on the east side. I saw it earlier when we were coming in.’

We take off running, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. As we burst out of a side door, the cool night air hits us, carrying with it the distant sounds of traffic and the persistent clicks of camera shutters.

The maintenance ladder looms before us, stretching up into the darkness. Troy starts climbing without hesitation, and I follow close behind. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of exertion and fear.

What if she’s not up here?

What if she’s already left, disappearing into the night?

What if…

We reach the top, hauling ourselves onto the flat expanse of the roof. For a moment, all I can see is darkness and the faint outlines of ventilation units.

Then I spot her.

Ophelia sits on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the side. Her long, raven hair whips around her in the wind, and even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders.

‘There,’ I whisper to Troy, pointing.

He nods, relief washing over his face. We approach slowly, not wanting to startle her.

Inwardly, I’m panicking.

What the hell is she doing up here?

‘Ophelia?’ I call out softly when we’re a few feet away.

She doesn’t turn around, but her back stiffens. ‘Go away,’ she says, her hoarse voice barely audible over the wind.

Troy and I exchange a glance. He nods, gesturing for me to take the lead. I swallow hard and take another step forward.

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘I’m not your problem,’ Ophelia spits, her words sharp as broken glass. ‘That reporter was right. Those betas were right. I’m nothing but a liability to you all.’

My brow furrows. ‘What betas? What are you talking about?’

She doesn’t answer, just hunches her shoulders and turns away. The wind whips her hair around her face, hiding her expression.

I take another cautious step forward, my hands raised in a placating gesture. ‘Ophelia, please. Talk to us.’

Troy moves up beside me, his voice low and urgent. ‘Come home with us, Effy. We can figure this out together.’

She lets out a harsh laugh. ‘Home? I don’t belong with you. I don’t belong with any of you.’

‘That’s not true,’ Troy insists, inching closer. ‘We’re a family.’

“Family.” Ophelia’s voice cracks bitterly on the word. ‘Your families will never approve of me. I’ll bring you nothing but shame, just like I did to my own.’

Troy’s face hardens. ‘That’s bullshit, and even if it wasn’t, fuck our families if they don’t accept you.’

I nod in agreement, but Ophelia doesn’t seem convinced. She stands though, and I tense, ready to lunge forward if she loses her balance.

‘You don’t understand,’ she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. ‘I’m damaged goods. I’ll never be good enough for any of you.’

My heart clenches at her words. I want to wrap her in my arms, to shield her from the cruel world that’s made her feel this way.

I pull out my phone, quickly tapping out a message to Rhys.

Troy takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. ‘Effy, please. Let us help you.’

She turns to look at us then, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a moment, I see a flicker of something—hope, maybe—in her gaze. But there’s something else, too.

Is she sick?

Before I can even begin to figure out what it is, her eyes roll back and she starts to slump forward.

“Ophelia, stop!” Troy bellows in an alpha bark that sends a jolt through even me. Ophelia freezes, like her body is responding to his command even though she’s losing consciousness.

It buys him just enough time.

Troy lunges forward, catching her before she can fall. He scoops her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. ‘Shit, she’s burning up,’ he says, his voice tight with worry.

I press my hand to her forehead, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. ‘Fuck…’

The door to the roof slams open. Rhys bursts through, followed by Leon and Mace. Their eyes widen as they take in the scene before them.

‘What happened?’ Rhys demands, rushing over to where Troy cradles Ophelia like he’s holding our entire world in his arms.

And he is.

I open my mouth to explain, but Mace cuts me off. His gaze fixates on the ledge, and he chokes out, ‘Was she going to…?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘She wasn’t—’ I pause, realizing I can’t be certain. The image of her perched on the edge flashes through my mind, and a chill runs down my back. ‘I don’t think so. She was running from the press. Came up here to get space, I think. Then she collapsed and she’s burning up.’

‘It must be the bond sickness,’ Rhys murmurs, his voice clinical and professional but laced with the terror we all feel.

Leon’s face drains of color. He takes a step forward, then stops, as if an invisible barrier holds him back.

His eyes never leave Ophelia’s limp form.

Rhys kneels beside Troy, pressing a hand to Ophelia’s forehead. “We need to get her inside. Now.’

‘How?’ Troy asks, his voice strained. ‘The place is crawling with reporters.’

Leon snaps out of his daze. ‘I know a way,’ he says. ‘There’s a private area where fighters stay sometimes after a rough match. We can take her there.’

‘Wait,’ I say, looking around. ‘Where is Natalie?’

Rhys and the others hesitate. ‘I saw her last before the press conference,’ Rhys admits. ‘Someone should go check on her. Send for a car to take her home.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Mace grunts, and I’m grateful. I know he doesn’t want to leave her side any more than the rest of us do, but someone has to. Ophelia wouldn’t want us to leave her friend unattended in this chaos.

The rest of us follow Leon through a maze of corridors, Troy carrying Ophelia as if she weighs nothing. My mind races, trying to piece together what happened. Those betas she mentioned—who were they?

What did they say to her?

Leon leads us to a secluded wing of the arena. The room he takes us to is small but comfortable, with a plush couch and a mini fridge in the corner. Troy lays Ophelia on the couch, and Rhys immediately starts examining her.

I watch Leon hover nearby, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He looks like he wants to reach out to her, but something holds him back. Guilt? Fear? Both?

‘It’s definitely the bond,’ Rhys confirms, his voice tight with concern. He gently turns Ophelia’s head, exposing the side of her neck. I lean in for a closer look and suck in a sharp breath. ‘I’ve heard of this happening before, from a colleague of mine. The mark has become infected.’

‘How?’ I croak. “She was fine.”

But he’s right.

The half-formed mark is an angry red, the skin around it inflamed and swollen. It looks painful, infected.

Rhys hesitates. ‘She was under a lot of stress tonight, and she’s off suppressants. They were probably helping.’

Leon looks like he wants to crawl under a rock, and I can’t say I blame him.

‘Shit,’ Troy mutters, running a hand through his hair. ‘What do we do?’

Rhys stands up, his expression grim. ‘We need to bring her fever down. Grab some ice from the mini fridge.”

I nod and hurry to collect some, wrapping it in a paper towel. After bringing the makeshift ice pack back to Rhys, I turn to Leon, who’s still frozen in place, staring at Ophelia with a mixture of longing and dread.

‘Leon,’ I say softly, placing a hand on his arm. He flinches, as if coming out of a trance. ‘You okay?’

He shakes his head, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘This is my fault.’

‘Beat yourself up for it later. It’s not what Ophelia needs right now.’

He nods listlessly and mutters, ‘Yeah. You’re right.’

I turn back to Ophelia, my stomach twisting at the sight of her pale face. She looks so small, so vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the fiery, stubborn omega I’ve come to know.

‘We need to bring her fever down fast,’ Rhys says, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts. He’s already rolling up his sleeves, doctor mode in full swing as he applies the pack of ice. Rhys places it gently on Ophelia’s forehead, and she whimpers softly in her sleep.

‘What else can we do?’ Troy asks, hovering anxiously nearby.

Rhys runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘We need more supplies. There’s got to be a first aid center in this arena. We need antibiotics, IV fluids, proper bandages…’

‘I’ll go,’ Troy volunteers immediately. ‘Just tell me what to ask for.’

Rhys nods, relief flashing across his face. ‘Tell them you need access to their medical supplies. Specifically, ask for broad-spectrum antibiotics, saline solution for an IV, and sterile bandages. If they give you any trouble, and they will, tell them it’s for a fighter who’s had an adverse reaction and you’re working for his private physician.’

Troy nods, determination etched into every line of his face. He squeezes Ophelia’s hand gently before heading for the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

As the door closes behind him, a heavy silence falls over the room. Leon’s still standing off to the side, looking like he might be sick at any moment.

Rhys clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine. ‘There’s only one guaranteed way to deal with this,’ he says quietly.

My breath catches in my throat. I know what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘Completing the mark,’ I finish for him, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys nods, his expression grim. ‘It would stabilize her condition immediately.’

Leon’s eyes widen. ‘She’d never go for that.’

I shake my head in agreement, feeling a surge of protectiveness. ‘She’s not ready for that,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘I know,’ Rhys agrees, his voice heavy with resignation. ‘That’s why I’m going to do everything I can to get this under control here. But if we can’t… we might need to take her to a hospital.’

The thought of Ophelia in a hospital, surrounded by strangers, makes my skin crawl. Especially since there’s no guarantee of escaping from the press there now that they’re on her trail and Leon’s victory—and subsequent beatdown of a journalist who’s probably texting everyone he knows on his way to get patched up—just put our pack on the map in a whole new way.

But I know Rhys is right.

Her safety comes first.

The door bursts open what feels like an eternity later, and Troy rushes in, arms full of medical supplies. ‘Got everything you asked for,’ he pants, dumping the items on a nearby table.

Rhys springs into action, sorting through the supplies with practiced efficiency. He prepares an IV line, his movements quick and precise.

‘Hold her arm steady for me,’ he instructs Leon, who complies without hesitation.

Leon touches her like she’s made of glass.

Like he doesn’t belong in her presence.

I watch as Rhys gently inserts the needle into Ophelia’s arm, connecting it to the bag of saline solution. He then prepares a syringe of antibiotics, injecting it into the IV line.

‘This should help bring down the fever and fight the infection,’ Rhys explains as he works. ‘But the mark itself needs attention.’

He gently turns Ophelia’s head, exposing the angry, inflamed skin of her neck. My stomach lurches at the sight. The half-formed mark is open and bleeding now, a slow trickle of red staining her pale skin.

Rhys cleans the area carefully, his touch feather-light. As he applies an antibiotic ointment and begins to bandage the wound, Ophelia stirs.

Her eyes flutter open, confusion clouding her gaze. ‘Wha… where…?’ she mumbles, trying to sit up.

Rhys places a gentle hand on her shoulder, easing her back down. ‘Shh, it’s okay, Ophelia. You’re safe. Do you remember where you are?’

She blinks slowly, her eyes roaming around the room. Recognition dawns on her face, followed quickly by panic. ‘The press… they know… I can’t…’

‘It’s okay,’ Rhys soothes, his voice low and calming. ‘You’re safe here. No one can get to you.’

I move closer, unable to stay away any longer. ‘We’ve got you, Effy,’ I add, trying to infuse my voice with all the comfort and reassurance I can muster. “You don’t have to face this alone. You’re going to be okay.”

Her gaze flickers between me and Leon. For a moment, I worry she’s forgotten why he’s here. She’s not thinking clearly. ‘You beat up that reporter,’ she murmurs to him.

He gives a stiff laugh. ‘Yeah, I did. I’d say I’m sorry, but… I’m not.’

Her brow knits together. ‘You’re going to get in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he pleads with her, sweeping a strand of sweat damp hair out of her face before quickly pulling his hand back. ‘I’ve been through worse. And it was worth it, for the record.’

She gives a small sniff, but her amusement is quickly replaced by something I realize is shame. ‘He was right. I hard some girls talking about me in the bathroom. It was only a matter of time before it got out. I don’t know who told them, but it’s going to affect you.’ She looks at each of us in turn. ‘All of you.’

‘It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, darling,’ I assure her, walking over to be as close as I can without getting in Rhys’s way. ‘You’re ours.’

‘He’s right,’ Leon agrees. ‘The only reason every member of this pack isn’t shouting it from the rooftop is because we know how those assholes can be. The press is… ruthless. And they’re always hungry for a story. We didn’t want you exposed to that. Tonight is why.’

‘But they’re right,’ she insists weakly, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘I’m an embarrassment. The Carver pack, picking a used up omega? It’s a fucking joke, scent matching or not.’

‘No,’ Leon snarls, his alpha bark echoing through the room.

Even Troy and Rhys feel it.

I can tell from the way their postures stiffen.

Ophelia just stares at him, stunned.

Leon holds her gaze and reaches out, cupping her cheek in his palm. ‘Let me make one thing clear, Ophelia. I have so many fucking regrets. Regrets I’ve lived with every day for the last seven years. But you? You were the only thing in my life worth being proud of back then. And I’ve tried all these years to become someone who deserved you, just in case I ever got another chance. But I failed in that, too. I don’t give a shit what some asshole reporter says. You belong with this pack. You’re the center of it already. You were always meant to be. And you should have been, from the very start.’

‘He’s right,’ Rhys says gently. ‘You’re ours, Effy. We didn’t want to overwhelm you, but now that it’s out, the more people who know that, the better.’

Ophelia’s eyes dart between us, her expression a mix of confusion and exhaustion. She opens her mouth as if to argue, but the words seem to die on her lips. Her eyelids droop, the fever clearly taking its toll.

Rhys leans in, his voice gentle but firm. ‘Ophelia, beautiful, try to stay awake. We need to get you stable enough to go to the hospital. Your condition is serious.’

The effect is immediate. Ophelia’s eyes fly open, panic replacing the fatigue.

‘No,’ she croaks, her voice raw. ‘No hospitals. Please.’

My heart clenches at the fear in her voice. I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “We need to make sure you’re okay…”

She shakes her head vehemently, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I can’t… I can’t face them. The cameras, the questions… Please, I just want to go home.’

We exchange glances, the weight of her plea hanging heavy in the air. I know we’re all thinking the same thing.

How can we deny her this when she’s already been through so much?

Rhys runs a hand through his long hair, his expression torn. ‘There is… one other option,’ he says slowly, his eyes flicking to Leon.

I follow his gaze, realization dawning.

Oh.

Oh shit.

‘What?’ Ophelia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys takes a deep breath. ‘Leon could… complete the mark.’

The words land like a bomb in the room.

Ophelia’s eyes widen, shock written across her features as she turns to look at Leon.

Leon’s face is a mask of guilt and regret. He takes a step forward, hands raised as if to ward off the very idea. “Ophelia, I understand if you don’t want that. I don’t deserve to complete it, not after what I did to you. I don’t even deserve for you to breathe the same air as me.”

I hold my breath, waiting for Ophelia’s reaction. Part of me wants to jump in, to assure her that we’ll find another way, that she doesn’t have to do this.

But I bite my tongue.

This has to be her choice.

Ophelia’s gaze is fixed on Leon, her expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy. I can feel the tension radiating off the others. Troy’s barely contained nervous energy, Rhys’s concern, Leon’s palpable guilt.

And then, Ophelia speaks.

“Okay.”

The word is so soft, I almost think I’ve imagined it. But the shocked expressions on everyone else’s faces confirm that they heard it too.

‘What?’ Leon chokes out, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Ophelia swallows hard, her gaze never leaving Leon’s face. ‘I want to complete the mark.’

Holy shit.

I feel like the ground has shifted beneath my feet.

After everything that’s happened, after all the pain and anger and resentment, I never thought I’d hear those words from Ophelia’s lips.

And judging from the look on Leon’s face, I’m not the only one.