Chapter 108
Cole
The bond tells me Kara's asleep before I even check. Her white musk scent drifts through our connection—faint, tinged with the bitter edge of troubled dreams, but steady. Safe.
I exhale slowly, gripping the yacht's bridge railing as moonlight spills across the Pacific. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the ocean stretches endlessly, dark and unknowable. Like the truth we're about to dig up.
She's ours now, my wolf rumbles with satisfaction. Marked. Claimed. Protected.
But protection means more than biting her throat and knotting inside her. It means keeping the promises we made when she was too terrified to believe us.
Blake's gunpowder scent explodes in the confined space, sharp and restless. "I told her we'd find them or make whoever hurt them bleed. We can't just—"
"We won't." Asher's black ebony and tobacco smell rolls over Blake's volatility like cold authority. "But we also can't charge blindly into unknown territory. We don't even know if Connor and Celeste are alive."
I force my mint and ozone scent to stay calm, soothing. Someone has to be. "The only person who might know is Mother. And she won't even say Kara's name correctly."
The word Mother sits heavy between us. Through our private mental channel—the one only triplets share—I feel Blake's fury spike and Asher's carefully controlled dread.
This is going to hurt her, Asher sends grimly. Victoria.
Good, Blake snarls back. She hurt our mate for ten years.
Focus. I push calm through the link. We need information, not revenge. Yet.
Out loud, Blake paces like a caged animal. "We're Alphas. We can command her to tell us."
"No." Asher's voice drops to that Alpha register that brooks no argument. "Force will make her resist harder. We need to break through her emotional defenses, not batter them down."
I straighten, my reflection ghosting in the dark glass. The smallest triplet. The one Mother always called her baby boy. The one she tells her secrets to.
"Let me do it," I hear myself say.
Both my brothers turn.
"You?" Blake's eyes flash gold. "Cole, she'll eat you alive."
"That's exactly why it has to be me." I meet Asher's calculating stare. "I know her weaknesses. Where she's vulnerable." My stomach twists with self-loathing. "I know how to... manipulate her."
The word tastes like ash.
Through the bond, Kara's sleeping scent shivers—a ripple of unease in her dreams. As if she can sense what we're becoming to protect her.
"What's your play?" Asher asks quietly.
I lay it out, hating every word. "We don't mention revenge. We frame it as giving Kara 'closure.' Emphasize that if she keeps wondering about her parents, she'll never fully be ours—never truly become the Luna Victoria wants for the pack."
"And the kill shot?" Asher's already seeing it.
"If we don't help her, she'll go looking herself." I let that sink in. "Alone. Unprotected. And whoever Connor owed money to won't care that she's just a girl."
Blake's gunpowder scent turns acrid with rage. "Fuck. Victoria's maternal instinct will kick in."
"Exactly." I feel sick. "She'll see Kara as Connor 2.0—about to make the same fatal mistake her brother did. She'll give us information to prevent that."
Asher studies me for a long moment. Then, through the bond: You sure you can do this? She's your mother.
Kara's my mate, I send back fiercely. I'd betray God himself for her.
Blake grips my shoulder, gunpowder smell softening to something almost proud. "Then let's call the Ice Queen."
---
The video screen flickers to life. Through the camera, I'm alone—Blake and Asher hidden just outside the frame, their presence flooding our mental link with support.
Time zones align cruelly. Hawaii's midnight becomes Midnight Estate's cold pre-dawn twilight. When Victoria's face appears, I see the silver-blue shadows of the Alaskan morning behind her.
"My youngest son." Her expression softens fractionally—the only warmth she ever shows. "Calling at this hour?"
Her lily-of-the-valley and cedarwood scent can't travel through video, but I remember it. Cold. Unyielding. The smell of a Luna who loved her brother and lost him.
I let my voice crack. "Mom. I... I did something unforgivable."
Her pale green eyes sharpen. "What happened?"
"I told Kara about Uncle Connor." The lie tastes bitter. "She kept asking why you were so cold to her, and I—I couldn't control myself. I told her everything. About him. About Celeste. About..."
The screen flickers with the force of her scent's phantom pressure—lily-of-the-valley turning to frost and wormwood. Her fury is a living thing.
"You promised." Her voice could shatter ice. "All three of you swore you'd never—"
"I know!" I let genuine guilt bleed through. Because even though we'd planned to tell Kara eventually, the way it came out—the pain it caused her—that guilt is real. "I know, and I hate myself for it. She's devastated. Asking questions I can't answer."
Victoria's hand moves toward the disconnect button.
Fuck. Blake's mental curse scorches our link.
Now, Cole, Asher commands. Hit her harder.
"Mom..." I let my voice break completely. "She's your niece. Connor's daughter. His only living blood. Don't you want to know if he's even alive?"
Her hand freezes.
"Or have you already given up on him?" I drive the knife deeper. "Decided he's not worth—"
"Don't you dare." Her eyes glisten. Through the camera, I see her careful mask cracking. "Don't you dare say I gave up on Connor."
"Then help us." I lean forward. "Because Kara's going to look for them. With or without our help. And whoever Connor owed money to—the people he was running from—do you think they'll show mercy to an eighteen-year-old girl wandering into their territory asking questions?"
Through the bond, I feel Blake's visceral fear at the image. Asher's cold calculation. And deeper—Kara's sleeping scent, still troubled, still needing us to make this right.
Victoria closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're wet.
"She's going alone?" Her Luna instincts—the ones that couldn't save Connor but might save his daughter—flare to life.
"We're her mates and Alphas. We can't let her go unprotected." I keep my voice steady. "But we need a starting point. Connor and Celeste's friends. Places they frequented. Anything."
Her face works through a dozen emotions. Love. Hate. Grief. That toxic mix she's carried for a decade.
"You're asking me to relive the worst period of my life," she whispers.
"I'm asking you to keep Connor's daughter from repeating his mistakes." I gentled my tone. "Please, Mom."
The silence stretches. Through the bond, Blake's ready to explode. Asher sends calming waves of black ebony scent through our mental link.
Finally, Victoria sighs—a sound like breaking.
"What do you need to know?"
---
The information pours out like poison from a lanced wound. Victoria speaks rapidly, as if expelling something toxic:
"Celeste had two 'friends.' Both bottom-feeders." Her lip curls. "Scarlett Reeves—tall, dark skin, high cheekbones. She was in the Seattle wolf pack's social scene before moving to LA to become an actress. Vanished ten years ago. Last seen in Los Angeles."
I scribble notes, my hand shaking slightly.
"Diana Torres." Victoria's voice drips contempt. "Petite blonde, blue eyes, gossip addict. She runs a beauty salon in Anchorage now—'Northern Lights Salon.' If anyone knows Celeste's movements, it's that vicious little magpie."
"And Connor's friends?" Asher's voice—carefully neutral—filters through our link into my question.
"Friend. Singular." Victoria practically spits. "Marcus Finch. Scrawny, hunched, shifty-eyed. Calls himself an investigative journalist. Really just a tabloid hack who's good at dodging creditors."
"Where did they... go?" I ask carefully.
Victoria's face transforms into something haunted.
"They haunted three places." Her voice drops. "The Frozen Fang—underground bar in Anchorage where wolves and humans mix. Drug deals in the back rooms. The Wolf's Cage—illegal fighting club in Fairbanks where desperate low-ranking wolves bet their bodies. And..."
She stops. Swallows hard.
"And?"
"The Aurora Den." The name comes out like a curse. "On the surface, a casino. Actually the biggest drug hub in northern Alaska. The owner—Konstantin—has connections to the Russian mob."
Through the bond, Blake's gunpowder scent goes sharp with recognition. I've heard that name. He controls half the gray market in the North.
Victoria continues, voice breaking: "The last time Connor contacted me... he said he owed Konstantin money. I begged him to come home. I'd pay it. But he said it was too late. That they—whoever 'they' were—wouldn't let Celeste go." Her eyes meet mine through the screen. "Then came that blizzard night. They dumped Kara on my doorstep and vanished."
"You think Celeste is...?" I can't finish.