Chapter 66
Kara
While Cole's tongue explores my mouth, Asher moves to my neck. His lips trail down the column of my throat, teeth scraping—not biting, just threatening. Promising.
Blake's hand slides under my shirt—Cole's shirt—and palms my breast through the thin fabric of my sleep bra. His thumb brushes over my nipple.
I whimper into Cole's mouth.
"Fuck, that sound," Blake groans.
Asher's fingers trail down my stomach, hover at the waistband of my shorts. "Can I?"
I can't speak. Can't think. Just nod.
His hand slides lower—over the fabric, not under. Cups me through the cotton.
I'm soaked. We all know it. They can smell it, feel it.
"God, Kara," Cole breathes against my lips. "You're perfect."
Blake's hand on my breast becomes more insistent. Kneading, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
Asher's hand between my legs presses harder. One finger traces the seam of my shorts, right over my clit—
"Stop."
Asher's Alpha voice cuts through the haze like a blade.
Everything freezes.
Blake's hand on my breast. Cole's mouth on mine. Asher's hand between my thighs.
All of it stops.
"Why?" Blake sounds tortured. "Asher—"
"Because her first time should be her choice." Asher's jaw is tight. Every word clearly costs him. "Not because we caught her half-asleep and overwhelmed."
He slowly—carefully—removes his hand from between my legs. Sits back.
Blake groans but follows suit. Releases my breast, though his hand trembles.
Cole presses one last soft kiss to my lips, then pulls back. His eyes are sad. Understanding.
"Merry Christmas, my Luna." Cole's voice is rough. "Waking up to you here—in our bed, in our arms—that's the best Christmas gift we could ask for."
Blake's voice is gravel and smoke: "Merry Christmas, Baby."
Asher brushes a strand of damp hair off my forehead. His touch is unbearably tender. "Merry Christmas, Kara."
I'm boneless. Flushed. My white musk smells like sugar cookies—sweet and warm and happy.
My wolf is howling inside my head: Why did they STOP?! Finish! Complete the bond! NOW!
But my human mind is grateful. So incredibly grateful.
"Thank you," I whisper. My voice shakes. "For respecting my choice."
Blake's grin is sharp. Wicked. "Next time, though? If you start it, we won't stop."
---
Later, they dress me like I'm their Christmas doll.
Red cashmere cardigan, soft as sin. White dress underneath, hem hitting just above my knees. Thick wool tights. Snow boots lined with fur.
My hair is loose—Blake insisted, said he loves how it catches the light.
When we finally descend to the main living room, I stop in the doorway.
A massive spruce tree dominates the center—at least fifteen feet tall, top brushing the vaulted ceiling. Silver and ice-blue ornaments hang from every branch. White lights twinkle. A silver star crowns the top.
Presents pile beneath it—wrapped in expensive paper, topped with elaborate bows.
I can't move forward.
Just... stop.
Stare.
"Kara?" Blake's hand touches my shoulder. "You okay?"
I don't answer. Can't.
Because I'm not here anymore.
---
Nine years ago.
I'm nine years old. My hands are red from cold—I've been outside for hours, working in the shadows behind the house where the snow never melts.
Three snowmen. Small. Perfect.
I carved their names into the bases with sticks: Asher. Blake. Cole.
It took me two days. I wanted them to be perfect.
Christmas Eve. I carried them inside—so carefully, cradling them like babies—and set them by the tree with all the wrapped gifts.
Then I waited. Hiding in the shadows. Wanting to see their faces when they found them.
Eleven-year-old Asher came downstairs first.
He saw the snowmen. His nose wrinkled. "What's this? Who brought snow inside?"
Blake clomped down behind him. Didn't even pause. Just stomped on the snowman with his name on it.
"Mom's going to be pissed. Snow ruins the carpet."
Cole came last. He saw me—crouched beside the tree, hands clutched together. He hesitated.
Looked at his brothers. Looked at me.
Then—slowly—lifted his foot. Crushed his snowman too.
Asher kicked the remains of his snowman toward the door. "Don't make trouble, Charity."
Charity. Not even my name. Their mean nickname—mocking the word for "kindness" because I was anything but.
I knelt beside the tree. Watched two days of work melt into puddles on the expensive carpet.
Silent tears slid down my face.
No one noticed.
---
Five years ago.
Thirteen years old.
I overslept. Missed breakfast duty. Woke up late because I'd cried myself into exhaustion the night before. (I missed my parents. Wondered if they were still alive. If they thought of me.)
Fifteen-year-old Asher found me stumbling out of the storage room.
Grabbed my arm. Hard.
"Look at me." His voice was cold. Alpha command threading through it. "Have you forgotten what you are? What you're here for?"
Luna Victoria's voice from the kitchen, ice-cold: "No work means the cost of breakfast gets added to your debt. That's how this works."
Blake—fifteen years old, already six feet tall—grabbed my other arm. Dragged me toward the basement.
"You need to learn responsibility."
He shoved me into the storage closet. Small. Dark. No windows.
Asher appeared in the doorway. Looked at me once—expression unreadable—then closed the door.
I heard the lock click.
Spent Christmas Day in that box. Heard laughter and carols and the sounds of family through the crack under the door.
Cole snuck me out that evening. Brought me to his room, hid me under blankets. Brought me leftover turkey.
But the damage was done.
I knew what I was.
Nothing.
---
"Kara!"
Blake's voice sounds far away.
My knees buckle. I collapse.
Hands shoot out—catch me before I hit the floor.
"What's happening—" Blake's voice is panicked now.
I shove him away. Hard. "Don't touch me!"
My vision tunnels. All I see is that Christmas tree. Those perfect presents.
"You locked me in the dark!" My voice is shrill. Hysterical. "You crushed my snowmen—I spent days making them and you just—"
I can't breathe. Can't think.
My white musk turns rancid. Acidic. Like melted snow mixed with rust and blood—the scent of trauma, of old wounds ripping open.
Blake reaches for me again. I flinch so hard I nearly fall.
"You're monsters." The word tears out of my throat. "All of you."
He freezes. Goes white as the snow outside.
Asher's face loses all color. "Fuck. The tree triggered her. She's in a flashback—"
Cole drops to his knees in front of me. Doesn't touch. Just opens his arms.
"Kara. It's Cole. You're safe now. You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you."
I stare at him through tears.
Cole. Who opened that door. Who brought me food. Who hid me from punishment.
The only one who ever—
"Cole." My voice cracks. Breaks. "If I only chose you—just you—would that work?"
He carries me away from the living room. Away from the tree. From Blake and Asher's destroyed expressions.
We end up in his room. He locks the door behind us. Sits on his bed, pulls me into his lap.
I'm straddling him—not sexual, just desperate for contact. My hands frame his face.
"What if I only want you?" The words pour out in a rush. "You're different. You never really hurt me. If it's just you, I wouldn't have to be so afraid all the time—"
His body responds. I feel him harden beneath me—instant, unavoidable biology.
But his eyes stay gentle. Sad.
"Kara." His hands rest on my waist. Light. Barely there. "We're identical triplets. Same egg, same DNA. We share 99.9% of our genetic code."
I blink. Not understanding.