Chapter 112
Kara
As the crowd began filtering toward the house, Blake pulled me close, his mental voice sheepish and apologetic in the bond.
I'm sorry. I didn't realize—I just thought since you called her 'friend'—
It's okay, I sent back, but my frustration bled through anyway. I couldn't help it. Just... ask me before volunteering people who want me dead for wedding planning duties, yeah?
Can I volunteer myself for something else? His gunpowder scent spiked with heat that had nothing to do with the bonfire. Because watching you stake your claim in public made me want to drag you upstairs and—
Blake, Asher warned through the bond. Not now.
Fine, Blake grumbled. Then, private just to me: But later. Definitely later. You in that dress, marking your territory... fuck, Kara.
Despite everything—the cold, the hostile stares from Victoria and the old-guard wolves, the anxiety coiling in my stomach like a snake—I smiled.
Later, I agreed. After I survive whatever fresh hell this party turns into.
Optimistic, Blake sent back.
Realistic, I corrected.
---
The party was a blur of faces and forced smiles and champagne that tasted like expensive regret. I stood at the refreshments table, pouring bubbly for wolves who still couldn't quite meet my eyes—some out of shame, some out of lingering disdain, all of them trying to figure out how the girl they'd ignored for ten years was suddenly their future Luna.
Bet you wish you'd been nicer to me now, assholes.
When two familiar shrieks pierced the din, I actually jumped.
"KARA!"
Sophia and Emma descended like matching hurricanes in designer dresses—Sophia's dark skin glowing against a silver sheath, Emma's blonde hair in an intricate updo that had probably taken three hours and a professional. They crashed into me in a three-way hug that involved jumping and squealing and definitely wasn't dignified Luna behavior.
I didn't give a single fuck.
I laughed—real, genuine joy bubbling up from somewhere I'd thought was dead—and hugged them back hard enough to wrinkle their dresses.
My people. My actual people.
"Let me see it!" Emma grabbed my hand, holding it up to the light like she was appraising a diamond at Tiffany's. "Oh my GOD. Ice-blue sapphires?! Do you know how rare—how EXPENSIVE—"
"It's perfect," Sophia interrupted, already pulling out her iPhone to document the ring from every angle. "I'm literally speechless. You're engaged to three Alphas. THREE. That's like—that's romance novel territory!"
"That's insane territory," Emma corrected. But she was grinning like this was the best gossip she'd heard all year.
It IS insane. My whole life is insane. I'm engaged to the three guys who used to make me cry, I'm wearing a ring worth more than a car, and I just publicly destroyed a woman in front of a hundred witnesses.
Blake appeared behind me, his hands settling on my waist possessively. He'd been tracking me through the bond—worried I'd bolt at the first opportunity, probably. "These your bridesmaids?"
"They could be," I said slowly. An idea crystallized, sharp and perfect. I turned to my friends. "Actually, would you two want to help plan the wedding? Like, full bridesmaid and wedding planner duties?"
"YES!" They both shrieked again, drawing stares from nearby wolves who probably thought future Lunas shouldn't have friends who screamed in public.
Fuck what they think.
"Oh thank god," Emma added, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. "Because no offense, but I saw Crystal and your... um... Victoria talking earlier and they did not look happy about this whole Luna situation."
"Understatement," Sophia muttered. Then, louder: "We accept! On one condition."
"What?" I braced myself.
Sophia's eyes cut to Blake, then back to me with exaggerated innocence. "Can I get Blake's number? For my cousin. She's single and—"
"I have a mate," Blake interrupted flatly. His arms tightened around me. "Sorry."
Not sorry, came through the bond, along with a wave of smug satisfaction.
"Worth a shot." Sophia grinned at me. "Okay, we're officially your wedding planning team. First order of business: keeping certain people's claws out of your special day."
Through the bond, I felt Cole and Asher's approval. And Blake's smug satisfaction that I'd chosen my friends over his mother, like this was some kind of victory.
It is a victory, you idiot. Every choice I make for myself is a victory.
For the first time since landing in Alaska, the knot in my chest loosened.
Maybe I wasn't completely alone here after all.
Maybe I can actually do this.
---
The party droned on—music too loud, conversation too false, everyone trying too hard to pretend this was normal. I excused myself to the kitchen under the guise of refilling the champagne.
Bullshit. You're running away.
Yeah. I was running away. I needed sixty seconds without people staring at the ring or whispering about "the debt girl who got lucky" or speculating about whether I was pregnant.
The kitchen was blessedly empty. Industrial steel counters. Restaurant-grade appliances that I'd cleaned a thousand times as a child, my hands raw and red from bleach. I grabbed a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the wine fridge, letting the cold air wash over my flushed cheeks.
Breathe. Just breathe. You're doing fine.
"Running away already?"
Fuck.
I spun. Victoria stood in the doorway, arms crossed, blocking the only exit. Déjà vu slammed into me hard enough to make my vision blur—how many times had Luna cornered me here? How many times had she criticized my cleaning, my posture, my breathing, my existence?
Don't let her see you're scared. Don't give her that.
"Just getting more champagne," I said evenly. Proud that my voice didn't shake.
Victoria's lily-of-the-valley scent intensified—cold, funereal, like flowers on a grave. "Cole told you."
It wasn't a question.
My fingers tightened on the bottle. Hard enough that I was briefly worried the glass might crack. "About Connor. Yes."
"Did he also tell you that our parents were alcoholics?" Victoria stepped further into the kitchen, her heels clicking on tile I'd scrubbed on my hands and knees. "His mother and my father. I raised that boy from the time he was six years old. Packed his lunches. Taught him to read. Cleaned up after him when he got sick from their benders." Her voice turned razor-sharp. "Just like I raised you after his catastrophic life choices dumped you on my doorstep."
Oh, we're doing this now? Okay. Fine.
"You didn't raise me." The words came out before I could stop them, before I could swallow them down like I'd swallowed everything else for ten years. "You gave me a roof and food—sometimes. And for that, I'm grateful. But raising a child requires love, Victoria. You never loved me."
You never even tried.