Chapter 25
Cole
7:15 PM — Third Floor Hallway
I take the stairs two at a time, still damp from the world's fastest shower.
My black suit jacket hangs open over a pale blue shirt—Mom's choice, coordinated with my brothers so we look like a matching set. We're supposed to look united tonight. Strong. Powerful. Ready to lead.
What we actually look like is three idiots who just destroyed their ex-girlfriends and are about to face the girl we've tortured for a decade.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I reach Kara's old storage room and push the door open without thinking.
Empty.
The bed's made with hospital corners. Window half-open, letting in the cold. Her scent—white musk and fresh snow—lingers faintly but she's been gone for hours.
Of course she's not here, Asher sends through the bond, and I can feel his frustration matching mine. Mom has her working the party, remember?
Right. Because what better way to celebrate your eighteenth birthday than serving champagne to people who've watched you be abused for ten years?
We need to find her, I send urgently. Before we do anything else—before we greet more guests or deal with Mom or Dad or any of this bullshit—we talk to her. We tell her we're sorry and we mean it and we're not going to let anyone hurt her again.
Agreed, Blake sends immediately, his support fierce and absolute.
Asher's response takes longer. I can feel him weighing options, calculating risks like he always does.
We have to be careful, he finally sends. If we corner her at the party, if Mom sees us causing a scene in front of the whole pack—
Fuck Mom, Blake interrupts, his mental voice sharp as broken glass. Kara comes first. That's the new rule. She comes first or we're no better than Dad.
Through the bond, I feel Asher's surprise. Then something that might be pride.
Alright, he agrees. Kara first.
I close the door to her empty room—then pause. Turn back.
Lock it.
For the first time in ten years, I lock Kara's door. Protecting her space even when she's not here to see it.
She deserves privacy, I think. She always deserved it.
I head back downstairs, my dress shoes clicking against hardwood.
We meet at the second floor landing. Three Alphas in matching black suits, hair still damp, trying to look like we have our shit together.
We don't.
But then—
A scent drifts up from the main hall. Familiar and devastating and right in a way that makes my wolf howl with recognition.
White musk. Fresh snow. Home.
"She's here," Blake breathes, his pupils dilating.
Asher's eyes are locked on the grand staircase. "Downstairs. Main hall."
I close my eyes, sorting through the chaos of smells—champagne and perfume and candle wax and two hundred different pack members—until I find her thread and follow it down.
There.
Standing near the coat check area. Silver dress catching the light like starlight. Hair loose in waves down her back. Looking like she's about to shatter into a thousand pieces.
And her scent—
God, her scent is laced with fear.
No, I send urgently. She's afraid. We can't—
"We go slow," Asher orders, and his Alpha voice brooks no argument. "We greet the guests. We let her settle. Then we find a private moment and we talk. No pressure. No demands. No cornering her. Just... honesty."
It's the right call.
It's also going to kill me to wait.
Through the bond, I feel Blake struggling with the same desperate need to go to her now. To pull her close and never let go and promise her that everything will be different.
But Asher's right.
We've fucked up enough already. We can't afford to fuck this up too.
The chandelier lights dim. A spotlight hits the top of the grand staircase.
Mom and Dad stand there in their formal wear—picture-perfect Alpha and Luna, the image of pack unity and strength.
Behind them—us.
And below, somewhere in the crowd I can't quite see through the glare of lights—
Kara.
My mate.
Afraid of me.
I'm so sorry, I send, even though she can't hear it yet through the bond we haven't completed. I'm so fucking sorry for everything.
---
Kara
The silver tray weighs approximately eight pounds.
I know because I've been holding it for fifteen minutes and my arms are screaming. My shoulders burn. My fingers are going numb where they grip the edges.
Twenty-three crystal champagne flutes arranged in perfect circles. Each one filled with golden bubbles that catch the light and make everything look expensive and important and definitely not meant for girls who sleep in storage closets.
Former storage closets, I correct myself viciously. You don't live there anymore. You live in a real room with a real bed and wolves who want to fuck you.
A Beta male—the pack's finance officer, I think—takes one and actually meets my gaze. His expression is kind.
"Thank you for your service tonight, young lady," he says. "You've worked very hard these past years. We all appreciate it."
Worked. Like it was a choice. Like I wasn't an eight-year-old child forced into servitude to pay off debts I didn't create.
But his tone is gentle, so I nod and murmur something appropriate and move on before the burning behind my eyes can turn into actual tears.
The chandeliers go dark.
Spotlight hits the grand staircase with theatrical precision.
And there they are.
Alpha Marcus and Luna Victoria at the top, regal and cold and perfect. Behind them—
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck—
Three figures in black suits and pale blue shirts. Black hair still damp from showers. Faces carved from ice and sin and every bad decision I've ever made.
Asher. Blake. Cole.
The Alphas.
My... my...
No. Not mates. Never mates. Don't even fucking think it.
But my body doesn't care what my brain thinks. The bond yanks tight, pulling at something deep in my chest that feels like it might tear free if I don't—
The tray tilts.
Champagne flutes clink together, high and sharp and loud in the sudden quiet.
Someone nearby glances at me. Frowns.
Steady. Fucking STEADY.
I lock my knees. Force my hands to stop shaking. Paste that customer-service smile back on even though I can feel it cracking at the edges.
And then—
Their eyes find me.
All three of them, at once. Like they've been scanning the crowd specifically looking for—
For you, my wolf purrs, satisfied and smug. They're looking for us. They came here for us.
Shut the fuck up.
But it's true. I see it in the way Asher's expression shifts—that careful neutral mask cracking just slightly, revealing something raw underneath. The way Blake's breath catches, visible even from here, his chest stuttering. The way Cole's lips part like he wants to say something but can't because there are two hundred people watching.
Through the spotlight glare, across the crowd, our eyes meet.
And I feel it—the pull. The bond. The mate connection slamming into me like a freight train made of pheromones and inevitability and biology that doesn't give a shit about logic or reason or the fact that I hate them.
Mine, my wolf howls triumphantly. OURS. Pack. Home.
No, I snarl back at her. They're nothing. They're the enemy. They hurt us. They—
Alpha Marcus begins speaking. His voice deep and authoritative, carrying across the ballroom.
"Twenty years ago today, the moon goddess blessed me with three sons..."
I can't hear any of it over the roar in my ears.
Because all three Alphas are still staring at me.
And my body is responding—neck heating, hands trembling, that deep ache in my core spreading like wildfire through my veins.
No no no—
"—raise your glasses," Alpha Marcus says.
Everyone lifts their champagne. Including me, automatically, even though my tray is empty now and my hands feel like they're about to drop it.
And in that moment—
Blake's eyes lock on mine.