Chapter 85
Kara
Every curious glance. Every whispered conversation. Every wolf who approached our table to formally acknowledge me as "Luna Sterling" while carefully avoiding eye contact with my mates.
It's overwhelming.
When we finally return to the villa, I head straight for the bathroom. "I just need a minute," I tell them. "To... process."
Through the bond, I feel their worry spike. But Asher nods. "Take all the time you need."
I close the door and lean against it, staring at my reflection in the floor-length mirror.
The woman looking back at me is a stranger.
Her hair is still perfectly styled. Her dress clings to curves I didn't know I had. Three silver marks gleam on her neck like badges of honor.
She looks powerful. Desired. Chosen.
But underneath—I'm still the girl who slept in a storage closet. Who counted every penny of debt. Who was beaten and humiliated and left to freeze in the snow.
Can I really be both?
I touch the marks, tracing each crescent. Cole's at my skull base—gentle, healing. Asher's at my shoulder junction—commanding, protective. Blake's at my pulse point—wild, possessive.
They're permanent. Unbreakable.
And the terrifying truth? I don't want them gone.
My wolf purrs at the thought of being marked. Of belonging to them in every biological sense. But my human mind—scarred by ten years of trauma—keeps whispering:
What if they hurt you again?
What if this is just another way to control you?
What if you're making the biggest mistake of your life?
A knock interrupts my spiral. "Kara?" Cole's voice is soft through the door. "We're not rushing you. But... we'd like to try something. If you're willing."
I open the door. All three of them are standing in the hallway, and I notice immediately: they've changed.
Gone are the dress shirts and slacks. Now they're in simple black athletic pants, shirtless, their muscled torsos on full display.
My mouth goes dry.
"What—" I have to clear my throat. "What did you want to try?"
Asher steps forward. "A massage. To help your body adjust to the fusion period."
I blink. "A massage?"
"The marks create a deep biological bond," he explains. "But your nervous system is still calibrating. Physical touch—especially over the next few days—will help speed up the process. It'll make the sensory overload more manageable."
Blake's grin is wicked. "Plus, you've been tense as fuck all day, Princess. Let us take care of you."
Through the bond, I feel their intentions: genuine care mixed with barely restrained desire. They want to touch me—God, they need to—but they're offering comfort, not demands.
"Okay," I whisper. "But... can I change first? This dress is—"
"Keep it on," Cole says quickly. Then, softer: "Please. You look so beautiful. We just want to help you relax."
Something in his mint-scent—earnest and sweet—makes me nod.
They lead me back to the master bedroom. And I stop in my tracks.
The room has been transformed. Sheer curtains billow in the ocean breeze. Dozens of candles flicker on every surface, casting dancing shadows. The air is thick with the scent of warm coconut oil and something else—something herbal and soothing.
And in the center of it all: the massive bed, covered in silk sheets that gleam like liquid silver.
"We called the spa," Asher explains. "Had them bring everything we needed."
Blake moves behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "All you have to do is lie down. We'll handle the rest."
My heart pounds. This isn't just a massage. This is—
Foreplay.
They're not hiding it. Through the bond, their desire is a living thing—gunpowder and ebony and mint all mixing into something dark and intoxicating.
But there's patience there too. They'll stop if I ask. I know they will.
"Okay," I breathe. "Tell me what to do."
---
Blake
Watching Kara lie face-down on that bed—her golden curls spilling across the pillow, that black dress clinging to every curve—is the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.
Through the mind link: "Slow," Asher commands. "We're helping her adjust, not seducing her."
"Can't it be both?" I shoot back.
"Blake—"
"I'll behave. Mostly."
Asher moves first. He's always the one with the plan, the control. He pours warm coconut oil into his palms, rubbing them together before placing his hands on Kara's bare shoulders.
She gasps. And through the bond, I feel it: pleasure mixed with shock at how good it feels.
"Just breathe," Asher murmurs. His black ebony pulses in steady waves, wrapping around her like a weighted blanket. "Let me work out these knots."
His hands are methodical. Professional. He finds every point of tension in her shoulders, her neck, the small of her back, and breaks it down. Each press of his fingers releases a soft moan from Kara's lips.
And fuck me, those sounds go straight to my cock.
"Blake," Asher's warning comes sharp through the link. "Control yourself."
But then Cole kneels beside the bed, his hands reaching for Kara's right arm. He lifts it gently, cradling her wrist, and begins massaging from her fingertips up to her shoulder.
His mint floods the room, cool and sweet. "You're so tense, Luna. Even here." He presses his thumb into the meat of her palm, and Kara whimpers.
That's my cue.
I take position at the foot of the bed, my hands settling on her ankles. The dress has ridden up slightly, exposing her calves, and I don't waste time.
I pour oil onto her skin—warm and slick—and begin working my way up. Calves first, then the backs of her knees (she jerks at that, so I file it away for later). Then her thighs, pushing the dress higher with each stroke.
"Blake," she gasps. "That's—"
"Relax, Baby." My gunpowder-scent flares, mixing with the oil. "Just helping you adjust. Remember?"
Through the bond, I feel her body's response: arousal, sharp and sudden. Her white musk explodes into the room, sweet as sugar and twice as addictive.
Asher's hands still on her back. "Kara. Your scent just—"
"I know," she whispers into the pillow. "I can't—I can't control it."
"You don't have to." Cole's lips brush her temple, feather-light. "We love it. We love you. Every part of you, including this."
I dig my thumbs into the muscles of her thighs, working higher. Her dress is bunched at her hips now, exposing black lace panties that are already damp.
Fuck.
"Blake." Asher's voice has an edge. "Boundaries."
But Kara lifts her head, looking back at me over her shoulder. Her brown eyes are liquid gold—wolf rising to the surface.
"Don't stop," she breathes.
And the bond ignites.
All three of our pheromones surge at once—black ebony, gunpowder, mint—crashing into her white musk like a fucking hurricane. The candle flames flicker wildly. The air grows thick, almost suffocating.
"Kara," Asher's voice is strained. "If we keep going—"
"Then keep going." She pushes herself up on her elbows, and the dress slips off one shoulder, exposing more of her marked skin. "I don't want gentle anymore. I want—" She bites her lip. "I want to feel you. All of you. Like last night, but... more."
More.
That one word breaks whatever restraint we had left.