Chapter 43
Kara
The absurdity of it crashes over me like a wave. This is insane. I'm losing my goddamn mind. Stockholm syndrome or mate bond or whatever the fuck this is—it's warping my reality.
"I..." My voice comes out hoarse. "I should go prepare breakfast. It's nearly six."
I turn toward the door, desperate to escape back into the familiar rhythm of servitude. Back to the role I understand. The one that doesn't require me to navigate these impossible emotional labyrinths.
Back to where I know the rules. Where I can just exist without feeling like my chest is being ripped open.
Blake moves with werewolf speed.
His hand slams the door shut before my fingers can touch the handle. Then his massive body blocks the exit, forming an impenetrable barrier.
"I'll admit I fucked up this morning." His voice drops to a dangerous rumble. "But unless you plan to walk over my dead body, Princess, you're not leaving this room."
His eyes have gone completely gold. His wolf is in control.
The gunpowder scent intensifies, but it's not threatening. It's protective. Possessive in a way that makes my knees weak and my wolf purr with satisfaction.
Traitor, I think at her viciously. He's the same asshole who took our food. Who called us fat. Who—
But she's not listening. She's too busy basking in his dominance, in the raw Alpha energy rolling off him.
"Blake—" Asher warns.
But Blake turns to face me fully. His Alpha authority rolls off him in waves. "I don't care if you're willing to accept me right now or not—I'm still one of the leaders of Silver Frost Pack. And effective immediately, you are forbidden from doing any household labor in this estate."
My breath catches. My heart hammers against my ribs.
This is real. Holy shit, this is actually real.
He pivots to address his parents near the doorway. "Hire new housekeepers and cooks. Today. If one person can't handle it, hire two. Money is not an issue."
Marcus and Victoria's expressions mirror each other—clear displeasure at being ordered around by their son.
But Blake is a fully recognized Alpha now. He has every right to make this decision.
The power shift crystallizes in that moment, undeniable and absolute.
And I'm caught in the middle of it, watching the world I knew for ten years crumble into dust.
"Blake is right." Asher's deep voice cuts through the tension. His ebony scent solidifies with unwavering authority. "I fully support this arrangement."
Cole nods firmly. "Same here." Then he shoots Victoria a pleading look—trying to soften the blow with his trademark gentle approach. His mint scent works to diffuse the thick atmosphere.
Victoria draws a deep breath. Her hand reaches up to stroke Cole's hair—a rare moment of maternal tenderness. The gesture reveals the complex emotional bond between them: despite her displeasure with her sons' decisions, her love for them runs deep.
But she says nothing. Just turns and walks out, her icy lily scent trailing behind her like frost.
Good fucking riddance, I think viciously, even as guilt immediately follows. She's still their mother. Still the woman who took me in when my parents abandoned me.
Even if she made me pay for it every single day since.
Blake holds the door open for her. She leaves without a word.
Marcus lingers at the threshold. "Before nightfall, finalize the bedroom arrangements. Choose an appropriate guest room to serve as Kara's official quarters." He pauses, his gaze settling on me. "Of course, if she wishes, she may choose to room with any or all of you. But remember—that must be her decision. Not yours."
The door closes behind him with a decisive thud.
Now it's just the four of us.
The silence feels suffocating. Like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, leaving only their combined scents and my racing heartbeat.
The three brothers settle back on the bed while I remain standing several feet away, arms wrapped protectively around my chest. Defensive posture. Defensive everything.
Because if I drop my guard for even a second, I might completely fall apart.
Blake runs his hands through his hair, looking genuinely uncomfortable. "Baby, about me calling you Carrot and saying you were... f-fat... I'm really sorry. I was being a dick." He fumbles for words, his usual cocky confidence nowhere to be found. "What I meant to say was... your ass is beautiful. Really. So fucking sexy."
His gunpowder scent carries a rare note of embarrassment.
A laugh escapes me—short, startled, completely involuntary.
It's the first time I've laughed all morning. Blake's apology is so blunt, so awkward, so perfectly him that I can't help my reaction. It's like watching a bull try to arrange flowers. Clumsy and endearing and utterly ridiculous.
Jesus Christ, he really doesn't know how to talk to girls, does he?
Asher shakes his head with exasperation. "What my inarticulate brother is trying to express is: Kara, you are beautiful. Your figure is absolutely perfect and... difficult to look away from."
His ebony scent softens with genuine warmth.
Heat floods my cheeks. I stare down at my bare feet, completely unprepared for these compliments. My mind spins uselessly, unable to process the words. Beautiful. Perfect. Difficult to look away from.
These are the same boys who told me I looked like a sausage. Who grabbed my stomach and jiggled it while laughing. Who made pig noises when I walked past.
And now they're calling me beautiful?
What the actual fuck is my life right now?
My mental assessment shifts involuntarily: Cole might be the easiest to forgive. Blake, despite being the worst offender in the past, is now the most direct in expressing remorse and affection. And Asher maintains a controlled tenderness that feels... safe, somehow.
The defensive walls around my heart develop hairline fractures. Small, barely visible, but undeniably there.
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Then I do something that surprises even me.
I take a deep breath. Drop my arms. And walk toward Blake.
This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. He's going to hurt you again. They all will.
But my wolf is screaming inside me to do this. Demanding I accept this connection. And for once—just this once—I'm too tired to fight her.
My arms spread slightly—tentative but clear in their intention.
I climb onto the bed. Settle myself on Blake's lap. My arms loop around his neck.
Please don't make me regret this. Please, please, please don't make me regret this.
Asher and Cole look completely stunned. They clearly didn't expect me to initiate contact with Blake—especially not after everything that just happened.
Blake freezes. Like any movement might shatter this fragile moment. Like I'm a wild deer that might bolt at the slightest provocation.
Then he recovers. My lips brush his cheek—the werewolf gesture of affection and respect. His gunpowder scent transforms, becoming warm and almost sweet, as if my white musk has completely tamed it.
And I finally understand: Blake's wolf has been calling to mine all along.
And my wolf... has decided to answer.