Chapter 37
Kara
Asher's bedroom is three times the size of my storage room. Maybe four.
And everywhere, everywhere, his scent.
Ebony and tobacco soak into every surface. The sheets. The curtains. The very air itself. It's overwhelming. Intoxicating.
My wolf rolls in it like a dog in fresh grass, delighted.
I force myself to move to the bathroom door before I do something stupid. Like climb into his bed and bury my face in his pillows.
The bathroom is obscene.
Marble everywhere. A separate glass shower and freestanding tub. Heated floors that warm my cold feet the instant I step inside. Embedded speakers in the walls. A counter larger than my bed stacked with expensive grooming products.
And that scent. God, that scent.
I lock the door and lean against it, breathing hard.
Get it together. Shower. Leave. Don't think about whose space this is.
But as I strip off the silver dress, as hot water pounds against my shoulders, I can't help the way my traitorous mind wanders.
The steam carries Asher's pheromones, making them more active. Alive. They sink into my skin, settle in my lungs. My glands pulse with need.
I close my eyes and see him—the way he looked at the Power Stone ceremony. His long fingers pressed against obsidian. The flex of his throat when he swallowed. The golden glow in his eyes when they met mine.
My hand drifts down my stomach. Trails lower.
No. No, I can't—
But my fingers are already there, circling where I'm swollen and aching. My head tips back against the tile. A soft sound escapes my throat.
Images flash rapid-fire through my mind: Asher's hands on my waist. Blake's mouth at my ear. Cole's chest pressed against my back. The way their combined scents made me dizzy. Made me desperate.
My fingers move faster. The building pressure coils tighter.
Almost...almost...
Stop.
I yank my hand away like I've been burned. Twist the water to freezing.
The shock of cold makes me gasp, kills the arousal creeping through my system. I stand under the icy spray until my teeth chatter. Until the shameful heat between my legs subsides.
When I finally look in the fogged mirror, the girl staring back looks wrecked.
Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips from biting down. Glassy eyes. This is what they want? This mindless, needy version of me that can't even shower without getting turned on by scent?
"I won't be that." I tell my reflection. "I won't."
But my wolf whines mournfully. Liar.
---
Kara
I realize my mistake too late: I forgot to bring my change of clothes.
Standing in Asher's bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, I stare at the silver dress crumpled on the floor. I can't put that back on—it reeks of ceremony, of Power Stone magic, of my own arousal.
My only option is to ask for something to wear.
Wrapped in one of Asher's oversized bath towels (which, naturally, smells like him), I crack the bathroom door open.
"Asher?" My voice is barely audible. "I...I forgot my clothes in my room. Can you—"
"I'll get them." Cole's voice startles me.
He's in the room. They're all in the room.
My heart jackrabbits as I peek through the gap. All three Alphas are here now—Asher sitting at his desk, Blake sprawled in the leather armchair, Cole standing by the bed.
All three staring at me with that predator stillness.
"What are you doing in here?" I clutch the towel tighter. "You said you wouldn't—"
"We waited five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty." Blake's voice is strained. "Your scent was driving us fucking insane, Kara. We couldn't—" He drags a hand through his black hair. "We just needed to be closer."
"Tell me what you need from your room." Cole takes a careful step toward the bathroom. "I'll get it right now."
I should be angry. Should kick them all out.
Instead, I hear myself say: "The overnight bag. Under my bed. It has...everything."
Cole nods and disappears into the hallway.
Leaving me alone with Asher and Blake.
The silence stretches. Through the crack in the door, I watch Blake's chest rise and fall too quickly. Watch Asher's fingers drum against his desk—the only sign of his agitation.
"We're not going to hurt you." Asher says quietly. "I know you think we will. Know you have every reason to think we will. But we won't."
"You already have." The words slip out before I can stop them. "So many times."
Blake flinches like I've slapped him. "I know."
The raw honesty in those two words makes my throat tight.
"When I was fourteen," Blake continues, voice rough, "I drew you. Sketched you at the kitchen table when you'd fallen asleep over homework. Tried twenty times to get your eyelashes right. Never could." He laughs bitterly. "Tore up the whole sketchbook because I couldn't admit to myself that I liked you. That I'd been cruel to the one person who made my wolf settle."
My breath catches.
"You were wearing a pearl clip that day." Blake's eyes find mine through the gap. "Right side of your hair. I stared at it all afternoon, thinking about how to 'accidentally' knock it off so I'd have an excuse to pick it up. To touch you."
"I looked for that clip for weeks." The memory surfaces, sharp and clear. "I thought Luna threw it out because I left it in the wrong place."
"I kept it." Blake's admission is barely above a whisper. "Kept all of them."
"All...what?"
"The hair accessories we took from you." Asher stands, moving to his desk. He opens the bottom drawer.
And pulls out a jewelry box.
My heart stops.
He brings it to the bathroom door, sets it on the floor between us. Opens the lid.
Butterflies and flowers and cheap plastic gems glint under the light. Twenty, maybe thirty hair clips, elastics, ribbons. Every single one I thought I'd lost over the years.
"The pink butterfly." Asher points to a faded clip on top. "You wore it when you were twelve. I watched you wash dishes that winter morning, sunlight turning your hair to gold. I stared for ten minutes. Blake had to punch me to snap me out of it."
His pale blue eyes meet mine.
"The silver snowflake." He picks up another clip. "Three years ago, I took this from your room. Told myself it was just...a prank. But I looked at it every night before bed. Imagined it catching light in your hair. Imagined you wearing it somewhere beautiful instead of this house."
My vision blurs. "Why didn't you just—"
"Tell you we liked you?" Blake's laugh is caustic. "Because we were raised to think you were beneath us. Because admitting we wanted you meant admitting we had 'bad taste.' So we punished you instead. Punished you for making us feel things we weren't supposed to feel."