Chapter 31
Kara
An hour later, I force myself to venture downstairs.
The gifts are still spread across my bed, but I've washed my face and fixed my makeup. Put on armor in the form of composure.
The party is in full swing. Music pulses. Laughter echoes.
I slip through the servants' corridor toward the kitchen, stomach growling. Maybe I can grab something quick and disappear back to my room before anyone notices.
But I should have known better.
The moment I reach the bottom of the main staircase, I hear her voice.
"Kara."
I freeze.
Luna Victoria stands at the base of the stairs, surrounded by several Beta family matrons. Their conversation cuts off abruptly as they turn to look at me.
The Luna's lily and cedar scent washes over me—cold, controlled, utterly unreadable.
"You're looking... recovered." Her tone is perfectly pleasant. Perfectly false. "My sons informed me you were feeling unwell."
"I'm better now, Luna." I keep my voice respectful, my eyes lowered.
Old habits die hard.
She studies me for a long moment. The Beta women watch with undisguised curiosity.
"Well, since you're feeling better," Luna Victoria says smoothly, "the party is still in progress and we're running low on refreshments. Go to the kitchen and tell Margaret to prepare another tray of wine. Then make a circuit of the guests—ensure everyone's glass is full."
The words land like a slap.
She's doing this deliberately. In front of witnesses. Reminding everyone—reminding me—of my place.
"After all," she continues, her smile sharp as glass, "that is your job, isn't it?"
My wolf snarls inside me. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Fuck this. Fuck her. Fuck all of this.
But before I can respond—before I can decide whether to obey or refuse—I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
Crystal, the party planner, emerges from the kitchen corridor. She's holding a silver tray loaded with crystal wine glasses, her red lips curved in a triumphant smile.
"Kara," she purrs, saccharine-sweet malice dripping from every syllable. "Luna's right. The guests are waiting."
She extends the tray toward me, eyebrows arched in challenge.
See? No matter how pretty you dress up, you're still just the help.
My body moves automatically. Ten years of conditioning. Ten years of obey or suffer.
I reach for the tray.
My fingers are an inch from the polished silver when a hand closes around my wrist.
Firm. Warm. Unmistakable.
Blake.
"Stop."
The single word carries enough Alpha command to make the Beta women flinch. Even Crystal takes an involuntary step back.
The contact of his skin on mine sends that same traitorous heat flooding through me. My pulse jumps and I know—goddamn—I know he can feel it.
I look up, startled, to find all three of them there. Asher, Blake, and Cole, forming a protective triangle around me.
When did they—?
"Kara isn't taking that tray." Blake's voice is low, dangerous. His gunpowder scent spikes hot with barely controlled fury.
Before Crystal can respond, Asher reaches out and takes the tray from her hands. The movement is smooth, effortless—and utterly dismissive.
He doesn't even look at her.
Instead, he sets the tray down on the nearby marble table with a decisive click that echoes through the suddenly silent foyer.
Then he turns to face Luna Victoria.
"Mother." His blue eyes are ice. "Kara is not serving tonight. She's not serving tomorrow. She's not serving ever again."
Luna Victoria's expression doesn't change, but I can smell the spike of anger in her scent. "Asher, this is hardly the time—"
"It's exactly the time." Blake cuts her off. His hand is still on my wrist, thumb brushing over my racing pulse. The touch is making my skin burn and my breath come shallow and I want to jerk away but I'm frozen. "Since apparently the message wasn't clear enough when we spoke earlier."
Cole moves to my other side, his mint scent washing over me in cooling waves. But even that can't calm my body's reaction to Blake's continued touch. "Kara isn't household staff, Mother. She never should have been."
"Her debt—" Luna Victoria begins.
"Is paid." Asher's voice cracks like a whip. "In full. With interest. She doesn't owe this family a single penny. She doesn't owe us a single moment of labor."
The Beta women are staring now. I can feel the weight of their gazes, hear the rustle of whispers starting.
Luna Victoria's lips thin. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately—"
"No." Blake's voice is flat. "We're done with private. We're done with letting anyone—anyone—treat her like she's less than what she is."
He turns to look at me, and something in his eyes makes my breath catch. Makes my core clench.
Shit.
"Kara," he says softly, "will you come with us?"
It's phrased as a question. But his hand on my wrist is gentle, and Asher and Cole are already moving to flank us.
I nod, too stunned to speak. Too aware of the heat pooling between my thighs to form words.
They guide me through the gathered crowd. People part before us like water, their eyes wide, their scents spiking with shock and curiosity.
Blake's hand slides from my wrist to lace his fingers through mine. The new contact makes my pulse spike again and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
Get. It. Together.
We don't stop until we reach the ballroom entrance.
The massive double doors stand open. Inside, the party is in full swing—hundreds of pack members, all dressed in their finest, all celebrating the Sterling triplets' ascension to Alpha status.
The music stutters to a halt as we enter.
Conversations die mid-sentence.
Every eye in the room turns to us.
Asher walks forward first, his ebony and tobacco scent rolling out in waves of pure authority. Blake and Cole stay at my sides, effectively bracketing me as we move through the crowd toward the raised platform at the front of the room.
My heart is hammering so hard I think it might break through my ribs. The combined scent of all three of them is making me lightheaded, making my wolf practically beg for something I absolutely cannot give.
What are they doing?
We reach the stage. Asher climbs the steps first, then turns and extends his hand to me.
I stare at it.
"Trust us," he murmurs. "Please."
Against every instinct screaming at me to run—and every instinct screaming at me to press myself against them—I place my hand in his.
His fingers close around mine—warm, steady, anchoring. And sending another wave of arousal through me that makes my thighs clench.
Fucking hell.
He draws me up onto the platform. Blake and Cole follow immediately, forming a semicircle around me.