Chapter 137
Kara
Three minutes.
That's all I got.
My wolf's warning growl snapped my eyes open. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, every instinct screaming wrong wrong WRONG.
A scent hit me—foreign, aggressive, laced with something chemical and sweet that made my stomach roll. Chloroform. And underneath it, a masculinepheromone I didn't recognize: pine wood mixed with diesel fuel and something else. Something predatory.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Footsteps crunched through snow behind me.
Heavy. Deliberate. Not trying to hide anymore.
I spun around, my heart jackhammering so hard I thought my ribs would crack.
The man was massive—at least six-foot-five, dressed entirely in black tactical gear that made him look like a shadow with substance. A balaclava covered everything except his eyes, which were flat and cold as a shark's. Dead eyes. Killer's eyes.
On his left forearm, partially visible beneath his sleeve, I caught a flash of ink: Cyrillic letters forming a "К."
Konstantin.
No. No no no not again—
Terror spiked through me, cutting through the alcohol fog like a blade made of pure ice.
I tried to reach through the mate bond—ASHER BLAKE COLE HELP PLEASE GOD HELP—but my head was swimming, my thoughts sluggish from vodka and cold and sheer pants-shitting panic. The mental connection felt muffled, like I was shouting underwater while someone held my head down.
All that came out was a whisper: "Danger..."
"Luna Kara." His accent was thick, Russian vowels crushing the English words flat. "You make finding you very difficult for boss."
Fuck. FUCK.
I backed toward the railing, but my heel caught on a patch of ice. I stumbled, windmilling my arms.
He lunged.
Fast. Too fast for someone that size.
His gloved hand clamped over my mouth and nose before I could scream—and the world exploded into chemical sweetness that burned my sinuses. Chloroform. The white cloth pressed against my face reeked of it.
No. Not like this. NOT LIKE THIS.
I thrashed, trying to bite through the fabric, trying to rake my nails across any exposed skin. But he was too strong, too prepared, and I was drunk and scared and so fucking stupid for coming up here alone.
His other arm locked around my waist like an iron band, lifting me off my feet like I weighed nothing.
Fight. FIGHT, goddammit.
But my limbs were already going heavy. The chemicals flooding my system, turning my muscles to wet sand.
No no no NOT AGAIN—
My vision started to blur at the edges. In the dimming moonlight, I saw his tattoo clearly now: a double-headed eagle clutching Cyrillic script. Konstantin's personal enforcer squad.
The same people who'd killed Scarlett.
Who'd probably killed my parents.
Who were going to make me disappear just like them.
I'm going to die. Oh god I'm going to die and they'll never find my body.
Through the roaring in my ears, I heard him speak into a comm unit: "Поймали её."
We caught her.
A crackle of static, then: "Отлично. Везите в безопасное место."
Excellent. Take her to the safe house.
No. NO. FUCK NO.
I threw every ounce of desperate energy into the mate bond, screaming with everything I had left: ASHER BLAKE COLE SAVE ME PLEASE I'M SORRY I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T LET ME DIE ALONE—
But the chloroform was flooding my system now, dragging me down into darkness like hands pulling me underwater. My limbs went heavy. My struggles weakened to pathetic twitches.
I don't want to die. Please. I don't want to die.
The last thing I felt was being lifted, my body going limp over his shoulder like a corpse.
The last thing I saw was the aurora still dancing across the sky—beautiful and utterly indifferent to my terror, to my regret, to the fact that I'd never told them I loved them back.
I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.
Then nothing.
---
Blake
The fire in Asher's study crackled too loud in the silence, each pop making my wolf flinch like gunfire. I couldn't sit still—my body refused to obey, pacing the length of the Persian rug while Cole perched on the leather sofa and Asher stood rigid at the window, his reflection ghostly against the frost-covered glass.
The tactical map of Silver Frost territory lay spread across the mahogany desk, red pins marking patrol routes that suddenly felt inadequate. My fingers itched to tear something apart, to do anything but stand here pretending we were in control while our mate—our fucking mate—was somewhere in this frozen hellscape, hurt and scared because of us.
"We can't keep using Alpha commands on her." Asher's voice cut through my spiral, flat and careful in that way that meant he was barely holding it together. His hand rose to his wrist, fingers tracing the silver mate-mark that had appeared there the night Kara's scent first invaded our rooms. "She needs space. Time to believe we've actually changed."
The words hit like a slap. Space. The same space that had let her slip through our fingers two hours ago, that had her running into a blizzard rather than staying with us. My wolf snarled, fire-and-leather scent spiking hot enough to make Cole's mint-ozone sharpen in response.
"Space?" I couldn't keep the snarl from my voice as I spun to face him. "Asher, she said we were a tumor she wanted cut out in that car. Vivian told her everything—about the sketches, about me calling her name in bed with someone else—" My hands fisted in my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. "She's never going to forgive me for that. For any of it."
The memory of Vivian's smug face as she'd shown Kara that sketch made my stomach turn. Fourteen-year-old Kara, frozen and broken on the front steps while eighteen-year-old me had stepped over her like she was trash. I'd drawn her suffering in obsessive detail, then spent the next four years calling her a fat worthless pig to her face.
What kind of monster did that?
Cole's quiet voice drifted from the sofa, mint-and-ozone trying to cool the volatile mix of my gunpowder and Asher's ebony-tobacco. "We could prepare things she likes. Turn up the heat in her room—she's always cold. Make her favorite hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Put that old wolf plushie she hides on her pillow..."
His suggestions were so gentle, so Cole, that they made my chest ache. My youngest brother still believed we could fix this with kindness, with small gestures of care. As if hot chocolate could erase a decade of torture.
Asher's jaw tightened, his reflection in the window showing the war between his Alpha authority and the guilt eating him alive. "She told me in the car she felt like a tumor. Something to be removed." His voice cracked on the last word. "I made her feel that way. I gave the order to lock her out in the snow when she was eleven. I—"