Chapter 126
Kara
The corpse was gone. The window was sealed. The room smelled like bleach and Griffin's military-grade efficiency instead of blood and chloroform.
But I could still hear the crack.
I sat on Asher's bed—our bed now, I guess, since I was never sleeping alone again—wrapped in one of Cole's hoodies, shivering despite the roaring fireplace. Asher's black-ebony-and-tobacco scent wrapped around me like armor, but it couldn't quite erase the ghost of that wet, final sound.
Blake killed him. Just like that.
And I'm not sure if I'm horrified or grateful or both.
The door opened. Griffin entered first—six-foot-four of tactical efficiency, his dark eyes sweeping the room before nodding to someone behind him. Dr. Helena followed, a silver-haired wolf in her fifties with the kind of steady hands that had probably delivered half the pack's cubs.
"Luna." Griffin's voice was clipped, respectful. "We need a formal statement. Are you able to answer questions?"
I nodded, though my throat felt like sandpaper. Asher's hand tightened on my shoulder from where he stood behind me, solid as stone.
"Describe the intruder's scent."
I closed my eyes, and it came back too vividly—the sharp, chemical bite that wasn't pack, wasn't right. "Cold. Like... vodka left in a freezer. And machine oil. Heavy, industrial."
Griffin made a note. Dr. Helena stepped closer, her mint-green scent soothing as she checked my pulse. "Any physical contact?"
"No." My voice cracked. "Blake got there before—"
"Good." Helena's hands were gentle on my wrist. "Your heart rate's elevated, but that's expected. I'm going to check your scent glands—make sure there's no contamination."
I tilted my head, letting her examine my neck. Through the bond, I felt Blake pacing somewhere below us, his fire-and-gunpowder scent spiking with barely leashed violence. Cole was closer—maybe just outside the door—his mint-and-ozone presence wrapping around my frayed nerves like cool water.
"Clean," Helena pronounced. She hesitated. "Luna, have you considered speaking with a therapist? PTSD after an attack like this—"
"I'll think about it." I won't. But then I remembered—I'd promised Asher I'd see someone. Back when I still thought my biggest problem was forgiving them for a childhood I couldn't forget.
Funny how assassination attempts put things in perspective.
Griffin cleared his throat. "We found residual scent markers on the window frame and floor. The signature matches our database on Konstantin's known operatives—eighty-seven percent probability."
My stomach dropped. Konstantin. The name that haunted Blake's investigation. The shadow behind my parents' disappearance.
He sent someone for me.
"This was premeditated," Griffin continued. "The chloroform, the timing, the escape route—this was an extraction team. If you hadn't called for Alpha Blake through the bond—"
"But I did." Asher's voice cut through the room like black ice. "And he came. Analysis complete, Griffin. You're dismissed."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Griffin and Helena left. The door closed. I sagged against Asher, and his arms came around me immediately, his scent flooding my senses—solid, unshakable, mine.
"Breathe, Kara."
I tried. Failed. Tried again.
Through the bond, I felt Blake's rage burning hotter. Felt Cole's cold, calculating calm as he probably memorized every detail of the crime scene for later revenge.
They're not scared. They're not guilty.
They're hunting.
---
The door opened again—Blake this time, his gold eyes still edged with feral light. He carried something in his gloved hand: a black leather glove, expensive-looking, with Cyrillic embroidery along the cuff.
"Found this in the snow. Twenty meters from the broken window." He dropped it on the bed between us. "Translation: Konstantin's Hounds. His kidnapping crew."
My breath hitched. Cole slipped in behind him, sealing the window with some kind of reinforced panel. His mint scent had gone sharp, arctic.
"Tire tracks leading to the old access road," Blake continued, his voice rough. "Someone was waiting to extract him—and you. If you hadn't screamed when you did—"
"Don't." Asher's hand moved to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the mark he'd left there weeks ago in Maui. "She did scream. She called for us. She's safe."
Blake's jaw clenched. Through the bond, I tasted his self-loathing: I should've been faster. Should've known. Should've—
"Stop," I whispered.
His eyes snapped to mine.
"You killed him before he touched me. That's... that's enough."
It had to be enough. Because if I let myself think about the what-ifs—what if I'd been asleep, what if the bond hadn't worked, what if Blake had been one second slower—
Cole crossed the room, crouching at my feet. His hands settled on my knees, grounding. "Every person involved will pay. The one who hired them. The one who gave the order. The one who—"
"Planned it," Blake finished, and something in his tone made my skin prickle.
I looked up at him. "You think you know who's behind this."
His gold eyes flicked away. Just for a second.
Oh God.
"You think it's Victoria."
The room went silent.
Asher's hand stilled on my neck. Cole's grip on my knees tightened fractionally. Blake's jaw worked like he was chewing glass.
"I didn't say that," he said finally.
"You didn't have to." My voice came out flat. Detached. Like I was solving a math problem instead of accusing my future mother-in-law of trying to have me killed. "She wants me gone. She's made that clear since day one. If I disappeared—if it looked like I ran away, just like she always said I would—then you three wouldn't suspect murder. You'd just think I was like my parents. A coward. A deserter."
"No." Asher's voice was steel. "Mother knows that hurting you hurts us. She wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't she?" I twisted to face him. "She hates me, Asher. She looks at me and sees Connor's failure. Celeste's ruin. Everything that destroyed her brother. And now I'm marked to her sons. Permanently. Irrevocably. Maybe she thinks if I just... vanish... the bond will fade and you'll move on."
"The bond doesn't work like that," Cole said quietly. "If you died, we'd—"
"I know." I did know. We'd all die. Slowly. Painfully. "But maybe she thinks a kidnapping would look different. Like I chose to leave. Like I wanted to escape."
Blake made a low, dangerous sound. "She was downstairs tonight. She knew you were alone."
"Blake—" Asher started.
"She knew." Blake's hands fisted. "And when I told her what happened, you know what she asked first? Not 'Is Kara hurt?' Not 'Is she safe?' She asked if it would damage the family's reputation."
Cole closed his eyes. "That's just Mother being—"
"Being what?" I asked softly. "Concerned about appearances while someone tried to drug and kidnap me?"
Silence.
Asher's hand moved to my chin, tilting my face up. His dark blue eyes were conflicted—loyalty to his mother warring with fury on my behalf. "We can't accuse her without proof. But we'll investigate everyone. Including her."
It hurt. God, it hurt that he had to even consider it.