Chapter 113
Kara
Victoria's face went white with rage. "You're just like her. Just like Celeste. So self-righteous. So certain you deserved better than what life gave you." She leaned closer, and I smelled old grief mixed with fresh venom. "She destroyed my brother. Dragged him into gambling, drugs, deals with dangerous people. And when it all came crashing down, she convinced him to abandon his daughter and run. Now here you are, about to ruin my sons the same way."
My mind flooded with responses—vicious, cutting things about Victoria's inability to save Connor, about her choosing to torture an eight-year-old instead of mourning properly, about how at least my mates chose me instead of being trapped in a political alliance like Victoria and Marcus.
You want to compare mothers, Victoria? Fine. Let's talk about how YOU chose to make a child sleep in a CLOSET because you couldn't deal with your own grief. Let's talk about how you let your sons torment me because it was easier than facing your own failures. Let's talk about—
But I swallowed them all.
Every. Single. Word.
Because hurting Victoria wouldn't bring back my parents. Wouldn't change the past. Wouldn't heal the eight-year-old still living in my head, waiting for someone to love her.
Would only prove I was exactly what Victoria thought—Celeste's daughter, born to destroy Sterling men.
So I did the hardest thing I'd ever done.
I turned around and walked toward the door.
Don't engage. Don't give her ammunition. Don't—
"Running away," Victoria called after me, her voice dripping with contempt. "Just like your mother."
I stopped in the doorway. Didn't turn back. Didn't let her see my face.
Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
"No," I said quietly. Calmly. Like my heart wasn't screaming. "I'm choosing not to continue a cycle of pain. There's a difference."
I'm choosing to be better than you. Better than my mother. Better than the scared little girl you tried to break.
Then I stepped into the hallway—
—and crashed directly into a wall of muscle and black ebony tobacco.
Asher.
His scent wrapped around me immediately, warm and protective and safe. One hand came up to cup my face, thumb catching the tear I didn't realize had fallen.
Shit. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry in front of her.
"What happened?" His voice was gentle. His eyes, scanning my face, were not. They were murder.
"Nothing. I just—I need a minute."
I need ten years and a time machine and a baseball bat.
Behind me, I heard Victoria emerge from the kitchen. Felt her cold presence like a draft.
"Asher." Victoria's voice held a warning. "We should talk about appropriate—"
"No."
The word came out of Asher's mouth like a judge's gavel. Cold. Absolute. Final.
I felt Victoria freeze behind me.
"I warned you, Mother." Asher's scent intensified, pressing against the walls, filling the hallway with black ebony and tobacco until I could barely breathe. Not quite an Alpha Command, but close. So fucking close. "No private conversations with Kara unless Blake, Cole, or I are present. That was a rule, not a suggestion."
Oh my god. He's actually doing it. He's actually standing up to her.
Victoria's eyes widened fractionally. "You're giving me orders? I'm your—"
"I'm Alpha now." Asher's voice dropped to that register that made my wolf want to bare her throat in submission. "And she is my mate. Our mate. If you want to be part of this family going forward, you will respect our rules. Understood?"
The silence stretched like pulled taffy.
Say something, Victoria. I dare you. Give him a reason.
Finally, Victoria's chin lifted—proud, unbroken, furious. She spun on her designer heels and stalked away, her cedarwood scent bitter with fury and—
Was that hurt?
Good. Let her hurt. Let her feel a fraction of what she put me through.
I sagged against Asher. He caught me, arms banding around my waist like he'd never let go.
"I'm taking you out of here," he murmured into my hair. "Somewhere you'll feel safe."
"Where?" Because nowhere in this house had ever been safe. Nowhere.
His eyes met mine. Dark blue, intense, understanding in a way that made my throat tight.
"Your old room," he said. "It's time we took it back."
Oh.
Oh fuck.
---
The storage room door stood open, revealing shadows I knew by heart. Every corner. Every crack in the plaster. Every water stain on the ceiling I'd memorized during sleepless nights.
I can't. I can't go in there.
Asher pulled me inside anyway, closed the door, and flicked on the single overhead bulb.
Everything was gone. The cleaning supplies that used to reek of bleach and ammonia. The cot with its threadbare sheets that never kept me warm. The cardboard box that had held my entire life—three changes of clothes and a stuffed wolf.
Only the narrow twin bed remained. Metal frame slightly rusted. Mattress sagging in the middle where I'd curled up night after night, trying to make myself as small as possible.
My eyes found the wall automatically. Found the scratches I'd carved with a kitchen knife when I was nine—tally marks counting the days until my parents would come back.
1, 2, 3... 365... 730...
I'd stopped at 1,000. Stopped hoping.
They're never coming back, nine-year-old me had realized, sitting on that bed with a stolen knife. They're never coming back and no one wants me and I'm going to die here.
"Why did you bring me here?" My voice cracked. Goddammit.
Asher moved behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. Warm. Solid. Real. "Because this room was your hell for ten years. And I want to turn it into our heaven."
What?
He turned me to face him. "I want to love you here, Kara. Want to make you scream with pleasure in the same place you cried yourself to sleep. Want you to know—in your bones—that this room, this house, this whole goddamn pack belongs to you now."
My breath caught. Through the bond, his black ebony scent poured into me—not dominance, but devotion. The kind that would burn the world down to keep me warm.
He means it. Holy shit, he actually means it.
"Asher..."
He sat on the bed—that tiny, miserable bed that had cradled my nightmares for a decade—and pulled me onto his lap. Straddling his thighs. Face to face. Equal height for once.
"You're in control here," he said quietly. "This is your space to claim. Your pace to set. I'm just here to remind you that you're ours, and we're yours, and nothing—not my mother, not your past, not this fucking room—owns you anymore."
I looked down at him. At this man who'd once slapped me hard enough to make my ears ring. Who'd ignored me shivering outside locked doors. Who'd called me names that still echoed in my nightmares.
And who now looked at me like I was the only star in a sky full of darkness.
I should hate you. I should make you suffer like you made me suffer.
My wolf surged forward. Ours. Claim him. Make him OURS.
"I haven't marked you yet," I whispered. "Any of you."
Asher's breath stuttered. His pupils dilated, wolf rising behind his blue eyes, turning them almost black. "No. You haven't."
"Why didn't you ever ask?"
"Because..." He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Female marking is different. It's not necessary for the bond—we marked you, you're bound to us either way. But if you mark us..." His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "It's a gift, Kara. The highest gift a female can give. You're saying 'I choose you. I accept you. I claim you as mine.' And after everything we did—" His voice broke. "We have no right to ask for that gift."
But you want it.
I could feel how much he wanted it, through the bond. Could smell it in the way his scent had gone thick and heavy. Could see it in the way his hands trembled against my skin.
"Do you want it?" I cut him off. "My mark?"
"More than I've wanted anything in my life." His voice dropped to gravel. "But only if you truly want to give it."
I studied him. His throat—that vulnerable column where Alphas could be killed with one well-placed bite. He'd have to trust me completely to expose it. To let my teeth pierce the scent gland and inject my essence into his bloodstream, permanently altering his chemistry.
It was submission and trust wrapped in dominance and claim.
Power. This is what power feels like.
And I wanted it.
I wanted to mark him. Wanted to mark all three of them. Wanted to carve my claim into their skin the way they'd carved theirs into mine.
Wanted them to know what it felt like to be owned.
"I want to mark all three of you," I said clearly. "But right now, in this room where you're trying to give me heaven to replace hell—I'm marking you first."