Chapter 17
Kara
I wake at 5:30 AM to pain and the smell of them everywhere.
Every muscle in my body screams. My spine feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it, cracking each vertebra and letting them resettle wrong. My joints—knees, elbows, wrists, shoulders—throb with a deep, bone-deep ache that makes even the simple act of breathing hurt.
This is what they don't tell you about first shifts, I think distantly. The morning after feels like death warmed over and served on a shit platter.
But the physical pain is nothing—nothing—compared to what's happening in my head.
Go back, my wolf howls. They're waiting! Our mates are waiting! That's our HOME!
"Home?" I rasp out loud, my voice like sandpaper. "That's not home. That's never been home. That's a fucking prison with central heating."
I sit up slowly on the thin foam mattress, one hand pressed against the wall for support. The room spins. My stomach churns with nausea.
And their scents—God, their scents are everywhere.
Black ebony and tobacco. Gunpowder and leather. Mint and ozone.
Well, fuck the mate bond, I think viciously. And fuck biology. My body doesn't get a vote in this.
I force myself to stand, ignoring how my legs shake like a newborn fawn's. I need routine. Need normal. Need to pretend that last night never happened and that my entire world isn't currently imploding.
I pull on my usual work clothes—baggy jeans that are two sizes too big, a faded thermal shirt that used to belong to someone else, thick wool socks with holes in the heels. The familiar fabric helps ground me. These are my clothes. My scent. Not theirs.
Fuck them and their scents.
But as I tie my hair back into a messy ponytail, I catch another wave of their combined scent and nearly double over.
I head for the door, keeping my head down, trying to breathe through my mouth so I don't have to smell them—
But it doesn't work.
Wolf senses don't have an off switch. And their scents are so strong, so overwhelming, that breathing through my mouth just means I can taste them on my tongue.
I'm so fucked.
---
The hallway is dark and silent. Dawn won't break for another hour, but I can see perfectly now. Every detail sharp and clear in my new wolf vision.
And I can smell them even stronger out here.
The scent trail leads from my door toward their wing of the house. Three distinct paths, overlapping, weaving together like they stood outside my room for God knows how long. Probably debating whether to kick down the door and drag me out—
GO BACK, my wolf screams, so loud it makes my head pound. FOLLOW THE TRAIL! FIND THEM!
My feet actually take a step in that direction before I catch myself.
"No. Hell no. Absolutely fucking not."
I turn away from their wing—away from those three closed doors that my wolf is trying to drag me toward like a dog on a leash—and head downstairs instead.
Work. I'll do my work. Clean the kitchen. Prep breakfast. Pretend I'm still just the debt-slave who doesn't know any better.
Just for today. Just until I can think of a way out of this nightmare.
But with every step away from them, the pain in my chest gets worse. Like someone's tightening a vice around my heart with each foot of distance I put between us.
This is what rejection sickness feels like, I realize. This is what happens when you fight the mate bond.
Good, I think viciously, even though tears are pricking at my eyes from the pain. Let it hurt. Pain means I'm still fighting. Pain means I haven't given up.
---
The kitchen is supposed to be my refuge. The one place in this house where I have a purpose, a routine, something to focus on besides the chaos in my head and the wolf trying to claw her way out of my skin.
But when I push through the door sharp, I'm not alone.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up."
Fuck my life.
Crystal.
She's sitting at the island counter like she owns the place, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of espresso in her manicured hand. Her red hair is teased into aggressive waves that probably took an hour to achieve. Her black dress is so tight I'm amazed she can breathe, the hem riding up to expose most of her thighs in what I'm sure she thinks is seductive but mostly just looks uncomfortable.
And her scent—cheap perfume layered over aggressive female pheromones and something that smells like desperation—makes my new wolf nose want to sneeze.
Not Luna, my wolf observes with disdain. Wrong scent. Wrong everything. Not pack.
Well, at least we agree on something, I think back.
I ignore Crystal and head for the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and butter with hands that are steadier than I feel. "I could say the same thing. Hasn't the party started yet?"
"I stayed to help." Crystal's voice drips with false sweetness, like honey laced with arsenic. "Someone has to maintain standards around here. Speaking of which—"
She stands, setting down her cup with a deliberate clink that makes me grit my teeth.
"—you look like absolute shit, Carrot. Where were you all night? I looked for you after midnight and you'd completely vanished. Off screwing the help in some closet?"
I pull out eggs, butter, English muffins. Keep my hands busy. Keep my face neutral. Don't react. Don't give her the satisfaction.
"I needed some air."
"Air." She laughs, sharp and brittle as breaking glass. "Right. Of course. Definitely not sneaking around trying to get into the birthday boys' rooms while they were drunk and vulnerable."
My hands still on the egg carton.
Bitch.
"I wasn't—"
"Oh please." Crystal circles around the island toward me, her heels clicking on the tile like a countdown. "I've seen the way you look at them. Those pathetic puppy-dog eyes. The desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll notice you're female and not just the trash their parents took in out of pity."
She stops right in front of me, invading my space, her perfume cloying and overwhelming.
"Let me save you some embarrassment, sweetie. Girls like you don't end up with Alphas like them. You're debt-trash. Your parents were addicts and gamblers who dumped you here like garbage on someone's doorstep. You're only still around because Luna Victoria was too soft-hearted to throw you out on the street where you belong."
Each word is a knife between my ribs, sharp and precise and aimed to kill.
My wolf snarls, pushing forward with sudden fury. Make her SUBMIT. Show her we're LUNA. Show her who's REALLY trash here—
But my human voice stays steady. Quiet. Deadly.
"At least I'm not throwing myself at men who clearly aren't interested."
Crystal's face flushes red, splotchy with rage. "What did you just—"
"You heard me." I meet her eyes for the first time, and I let her see exactly what I think of her. "They're not interested, Crystal. They've never been interested. And dressing like a cheap hooker—" I gesture at her outfit with one hand "—isn't going to change their minds. If anything, it's just embarrassing. For you."
"You little bitch—"
She raises her hand like she's going to slap me, and for a second I'm eleven years old again, Blake's hand coming toward my face, the sharp crack of impact—
And that's when I hear them.
Footsteps on the stairs. Multiple sets. Heavy. Male.
No. No no no—
My wolf surges forward with a joyful howl that nearly knocks me off my feet. MATES! They're coming! FINALLY!
And then their scents hit me.