Chapter 132
Kara
The drive to North Ridge took twenty minutes through falling snow. Blake white-knuckled the steering wheel, Asher sat rigid in the passenger seat, and Cole kept his hand on my knee in the back—his "mint and ozone" scent pulsing calming waves that barely made a dent in my anxiety.
When we pulled up to Natalie's sprawling modern cabin, my stomach plummeted.
At least fifty people milled around the front porch—drinking, smoking, laughing in the minus-twenty-degree night like the cold didn't exist. Every head turned as our armored SUV rolled to a stop.
"I can't do this," I whispered.
Blake's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "You can. And you will. Because you're ours, and we're going to make damn sure everyone knows it."
He got out first, moving to my door with predatory grace. When he opened it, arctic wind hit my bare legs like knives. I wobbled in the stupid heels, but Blake caught my elbow, steadying me with one hand while the other settled possessively on my lower back.
Asher flanked my right side. Cole took my left.
And together, we walked through a parting crowd toward the music thumping from inside.
---
This is Hell in a different outfit, I thought, accepting my fourth vodka-Red Bull from a girl whose name I'd already forgotten.
An hour in, and the world had started to pleasantly blur. The bass pounded through the floorboards. Bodies pressed too close. And I sat on Blake's lap while he talked baseball strategy with Devon Cross and half the team, his arm locked around my waist like I might evaporate if he let go.
"—and that's when I stole third base even though Coach was screaming at me to hold—"
Laughter. Backslapping. War stories I'd never been part of.
Not one person asked me about the state championship I'd won. Not one person cared that I'd tutored half the senior class through calculus.
You're not Kara the biology genius anymore. You're Blake Sterling's accessory.
I drained my drink.
Through the bond, I felt Blake's attention snap to me even as he kept talking. Felt his concern probe at my bitterness like a tongue worrying a sore tooth.
I'm fine, I lied through our connection.
Bullshit, he fired back.
But he didn't stop me when I reached for drink number five.
---
The room tilted pleasantly as I excused myself to find the bathroom. Blake's hand tightened on my wrist.
"Where are you going?"
"To pee. Unless you want to hold my hand for that too."
His jaw clenched, but he let me go.
I wobbled toward the stairs on these ridiculous heels, one hand on the wall for balance. The noise fell away as I climbed—or maybe the vodka just muffled it. My head felt stuffed with cotton.
The second-floor hallway was blessedly empty. I spotted the bathroom at the far end, its automatic light flickering on like a beacon.
Almost there.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the future Luna fucking Carrot."
I froze.
Three girls stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path. I recognized them instantly—Lillian Hayes in a skintight red dress, Jade Sullivan in shimmering blue sequins, Nina Foster in deep emerald velvet. The three most recent ex-girlfriends of my mates.
And all three had eyes gone pure black with barely controlled rage.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
"Congratulations on bagging all three Sterling boys," Lillian purred, examining her manicured nails. "That's quite the accomplishment for a charity case. Tell me—did you practice on your knees, or were you just naturally talented at sucking dick?"
Jade giggled—a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, Lil, be nice. Carrot here worked so hard for this. Ten years scrubbing toilets and playing pathetic orphan. I'd fuck three guys at once too if it meant upgrading from a storage closet."
My stomach churned. The alcohol sloshed unpleasantly.
Don't engage. Just get past them.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to squeeze by.
Nina's hand shot out, slamming against the wall to block me. Her rose-and-musk scent mixed with the others until I could barely breathe.
"Not so fast, debt-slave." Her voice dripped poison-sweet venom. "We've been dying to have a little chat with the pack bicycle. You know—girl to girl."
Pack bicycle. The words hit like a punch.
Through the bond, I felt Blake's alarm spike. Felt Asher's ice-cold fury and Cole's protective rage building like a storm.
Stay calm, I told myself. You're Luna. You outrank these bitches.
But my drunk, traumatized brain couldn't summon the authority. And my wolf was too buried under vodka to help.
"Remember when you swore up and down you had no idea who their mate was?" Jade leaned in, her vanilla-and-cedar scent cloying. "God, you're an even better liar than your junkie whore of a mother. Did she teach you that? How to manipulate men by playing victim?"
The mention of my mother made my vision go white at the edges.
Don't. Don't give them the satisfaction.
"That's—that's not—" My tongue felt thick. Stupid. "I didn't know. Not until—"
"Bullshit." Lillian's laugh was razor blades. "You've been planning this since you were eight years old, haven't you? Poor little abandoned Carrot, oh boo-fucking-hoo, waiting for the big bad Alphas to feel sorry enough to dick you down. Well congratulations, honey—you finally whored your way into a title."
"I didn't—I never—" The words wouldn't come. My throat closed.
Why can't I defend myself? Why am I just standing here taking this?
Nina circled behind me like a predator. I could feel her breath on my neck. "You want to know what Cole told me? He said you were so fucking desperate for attention, you'd probably spread your legs for the entire baseball team if it meant someone would notice you. Said you were a pity fuck waiting to happen."
No. No, that's not true. Cole wouldn't—
But a traitorous voice in my head whispered: Wouldn't he? You remember the things they said. You remember how they looked at you.
Jade picked up the thread, her voice saccharine. "And Blake—oh, Blake. He used to rant about how disgusting your cooking was. Said watching you eat made him want to vomit. Called you a fat, worthless sow who should've been put down for mercy."
Each word was a nail in my chest.
Fat. Worthless. Sow.
I'd heard those exact words before. Seven years ago, through a cracked door, I'd heard Blake telling his friends—
No. Stop. Don't remember that.