Chapter 219
Kara
"He's imprisoned," Blake corrected, his voice hard. "He helped kidnap you, Kara. He's not some innocent bystander."
"I know that," I said quickly. "I just... he was kind to me. In his own way. He tried to help."
Through the bond, I felt Blake's frustration warring with his desire to give me whatever I asked for. "He'll be tried according to pack law," Asher said from the front seat. "His fate will depend on his testimony and cooperation."
I nodded, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. "That's fair."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Through the bond, I could feel all three of them processing, worrying, trying to figure out how to help me heal.
Blake shifted in his seat, his gunpowder scent sharpening with barely suppressed anger. "Speaking of Alexei—that bastard isn't some misunderstood victim. He's got a record."
I turned to look at him, something in his tone making my stomach clench. "What do you mean?"
"Three years ago," Blake said, his voice hard, "he was involved in a home invasion in Fairbanks. Broke into a family's house—parents and three kids."
My hand moved unconsciously to my stomach, protective. "What happened?"
Cole's voice was gentle but firm as he picked up the story. "The father tried to protect his family. Alexei hit him with the butt of a gun. Hard enough to cause permanent brain damage."
The words hit me like physical blows. I felt my breath catch, my vision tunneling slightly. "Is he—did he—"
"He survived," Asher said from the driver's seat, his eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror. "But he can't work anymore. The family lost their primary income. They're struggling financially."
Through the bond, I felt their collective anger at what had been done to that family, but also something else—a careful watchfulness, like they were gauging my reaction.
"The children," I whispered, my voice breaking. "How old were they?"
"The youngest was two at the time," Cole said quietly. His mint scent wrapped around me, trying to comfort. "He's five now."
Five years old. My mind immediately conjured an image: a little boy with wide, confused eyes, trying to understand why Daddy couldn't play anymore, why Mommy was always crying, why everything had changed.
Just like I'd been a confused little girl, trying to understand why Mommy and Daddy had left me in the snow.
"Does he remember?" The question came out barely above a whisper. "The little one—does he remember what his father was like before?"
Through the bond, I felt all three of them react—a sharp spike of pain and recognition. They understood exactly why I was asking, what nerve this was touching.
Blake's arm tightened around my shoulders. "I don't know, baby. I don't know if he remembers."
My eyes burned with unshed tears. I looked down at Cole's phone as he pulled it out, his fingers moving across the screen. A moment later, he turned it toward me.
The photo showed a woman—tired-looking, with dark circles under her eyes—holding three children. The oldest looked about eight, a girl with her mother's exhausted expression. The middle child, a boy of maybe six or seven, had his arm around his younger brother protectively. And the youngest...
The youngest had huge dark eyes and messy curls, and he was smiling at the camera with the kind of innocent joy that made my heart crack.
"This is them," Cole said softly. "The photo was taken about six months ago, outside their convenience store."
I stared at the little boy's face, at that trusting smile, and felt something break inside me. "He's so small," I whispered. "He's just a baby."
"He was two when it happened," Blake said, his voice rough. "Probably doesn't remember his dad the way he was before. This is all he knows—a father who can't speak clearly, can't work, can't... can't be what he should have been."
The tears spilled over then, hot and fast. Through the bond, I felt their immediate response—concern, protectiveness, the urge to fix this somehow.
"We're helping them," Asher said firmly. "We've already made arrangements."
I looked up sharply. "What kind of arrangements?"
"All medical bills paid," Blake said. "Past and future. Including any rehabilitation therapy the father might need."
"We've also set up an education fund," Cole added. "For all three children. Full ride to any college they want to attend."
My throat was too tight to speak. Through the blur of tears, I saw Asher's eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and serious.
"And we're sending warriors to protect their store," he said. "To make sure nothing like this ever happens to them again."
"Two warriors," Blake said.
"Three," Cole corrected immediately, and despite everything, I heard the hint of a smile in his voice. "Because we're triplets. It's symbolic—the power of three."
I let out a watery laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth. "The power of three," I repeated.
Blake rolled his eyes, but through the bond, I felt his amusement. "That makes absolutely no logical sense, but fine. Three warriors it is."
"It makes perfect sense," Cole insisted. "Three of us, three warriors, three kids in that family. It's—"
"Numerology?" Asher suggested dryly.
"Fate," Cole said firmly.
Despite the tears still streaming down my face, I found myself smiling. These men—my mates—were trying so hard to make things right, not just for me but for strangers they'd never met. Because Alexei had hurt them. Because I cared.
But the smile faded as I looked back at the photo, at that little boy's innocent face. "I'm still sad for Alexei," I said quietly.
Blake stiffened beside me. "Kara—"
"I know what he did was wrong," I interrupted. "I know he hurt this family. I know he chose violence." I took a shaky breath. "But I can't help wondering... what happened to him? What made him become someone who could do this?"
Through the bond, I felt Blake's frustration spike, but Asher's voice came calm and measured from the front seat.
"Kara," he said, catching my eyes in the mirror. "You had ten years of abuse and neglect. You were treated like a servant, bullied, isolated. You could have become bitter and violent. But you didn't. Why not?"
I blinked, startled by the question. "I... I don't know. I just... couldn't. It's not who I am."
"Exactly," Asher said gently. "You chose not to hurt people, even when you had every reason to lash out. That was your choice. Just like Alexei's violence was his choice."
Blake's voice was rough when he spoke. "People always have choices, Kara. Alexei chose to break into that house. He chose to swing that gun. He chose to destroy that family's life." His arm tightened around me. "And that little boy—that five-year-old kid who doesn't remember his dad being whole—he's living with Alexei's choices."
Cole's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "We understand you want to see the good in everyone. It's one of the things that makes you who you are—one of the things that will make you an incredible Luna and an amazing mother." His mint scent wrapped around me, comforting. "But sometimes people are just... broken. And no amount of understanding will change what they've done."