Chapter 32
Kara
The ballroom is utterly silent now. Even the staff have stopped moving.
Luna Victoria stands near the back, her face a mask of ice. Alpha Marcus beside her looks... resigned. Like he saw this coming.
Asher doesn't release my hand. Instead, he raises it slightly, presenting me to the crowd.
"Members of Silver Frost Pack," his voice carries across the vast space with Alpha resonance, "we have an announcement to make."
My pulse is a roar in my ears. My body is trembling—from fear, from anger, from the goddamn arousal I can't shut down.
"As of tonight," Blake continues, his gunpowder scent flaring hot and possessive, "Kara is no longer a ward of this household. She is no longer bound by any debt or obligation."
Cole steps closer, his mint scent wrapping around me like a shield. But even that can't stop my body's reaction. My nipples are tight, my breathing shallow, and I'm praying to God nobody can scent what I'm feeling. "From this moment forward, anyone who addresses her as anything other than her given name will answer to us directly."
The crowd murmurs. Confusion. Speculation. A few knowing looks.
Asher's grip on my hand tightens minutely. When he speaks again, his voice is absolute.
"Kara is our mate."
Gasps ripple through the ballroom.
My vision swims. My knees go weak.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—
"She is our bonded partner," Blake adds, his eyes scanning the crowd with unmistakable challenge. "Chosen by fate and claimed by us."
His hand finds my lower back and the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress makes me sway.
"And as our mate," Cole's voice carries a note of finality, "she is your future Luna."
The silence that follows is deafening.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process what's happening.
They just—in front of the entire pack—they just claimed me.
Publicly.
Irrevocably.
"Any disrespect shown to her," Asher continues, his blue eyes hard as diamonds, "is disrespect shown to us. Any harm done to her is harm done to this pack's leadership. Let there be no confusion on this point."
Blake's hand moves from my lower back to my waist, pulling me slightly against his side. The full-body contact makes me gasp—audibly—and I see several heads turn toward the sound.
"She is family," Cole adds softly, stepping closer so I'm completely surrounded by them. By their scents. By their heat. "She always should have been."
Asher finally releases my hand, only to slip his arm around my shoulders instead. The gesture is unmistakably possessive, unmistakably claiming.
"Welcome her," he says, and it's not a request. It's an Alpha command. "Your future Luna. Kara Sterling."
They gave me their name.
The crowd erupts. Some in applause—genuine, from pack members like Dr. Harrison who I can see beaming near the front. Some in shocked whispers. Some in barely concealed hostility.
But it doesn't matter.
Because the three Alphas standing with me on this stage have just burned every bridge, shattered every old rule, and proclaimed to the entire pack that I am theirs.
And they are mine.
My knees threaten to buckle.
Blake's arm tightens around my waist, keeping me upright. His mouth is at my ear and I feel his breath hot against my skin. "We've got you," he murmurs. "Always."
The words shouldn't affect me like this. Shouldn't make my core pulse with need.
---
Victoria
The applause is wrong.
It's scattered, uneven—some genuine, most performative. I can smell the confusion rolling off the crowd in waves, mixed with jealousy, speculation, and barely concealed hostility.
My sons have just committed social suicide.
"Marcus." I don't raise my voice. I don't need to. Thirty years as Luna has taught me that power whispers. "Bring them to the conference room. Now."
My mate's jaw tightens, but he nods. He understands what I'm doing. What I have to do.
The triplets are still on stage, forming a protective triangle around her. The girl—Connor's daughter, the thought burns like acid—sways between them, her face pale, her breathing shallow. Blake's hand remains at her waist, Asher's arm across her shoulders, Cole pressed close to her back.
They're scent-marking her in public.
The realization makes my lily and cedar scent spike cold with fury. Every wolf in this ballroom can see it, smell it. My sons, the future Alphas of Silver Frost Pack, claiming a debt slave as their mate.
The girl my brother abandoned.
Marcus moves first, his oak and leather scent heavy with resignation as he walks toward the stage. The crowd parts for him automatically. Even after tonight's transfer of power, they still recognize the weight of his authority.
"Boys." His voice carries Alpha resonance, but it's tired. "Your mother wishes to speak with you. Privately."
Asher's blue eyes meet mine across the ballroom. For a moment, I see the obedient son I raised. The responsible one. The heir I shaped.
Then his gaze hardens.
"Of course, Father." His tone is perfectly respectful. Perfectly defiant.
Through the mind link that still connects me to my sons—faint now, more echo than bond—I catch fragments of their silent communication.
Asher: Stay calm. Don't let her provoke us.
Blake: If she insults Kara, I swear to fucking God—
Cole: Together. We protect her together. Remember?
The conference room is on the second floor, down a corridor lined with portraits of past Alphas. The heavy oak door closes behind us with a decisive thunk, and the soundproofing runes carved into the frame flicker to life with pale blue light.
No one will hear what happens in this room.
I move to stand behind the long mahogany table, Marcus at my side. A unified front. The way we've always presented ourselves to our sons.
The triplets enter formation—Asher first, Blake and Cole flanking the girl between them. She's trying to make herself small, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.
Good. She should know her place.
But Blake's hand tightens on her waist, preventing her retreat. His gunpowder scent flares hot, possessive. Protective.
I've lost them.
The realization hits me like a physical blow, but I keep my expression neutral. Thirty years of practice.
"You three." I let my voice carry the full weight of my disapproval. Let my lily and cedar scent roll out in waves of Luna authority. "When exactly did you and Carrot become so... intimately acquainted?"
I use the nickname deliberately. The one the household staff whisper. The one that reminds everyone—reminds her—that she's nothing more than the vegetable her pathetic parents couldn't afford to feed her.
Blake explodes.
"It's Kara." His voice drops to that dangerous register I've only heard a handful times. The Alpha beneath the playboy surface. "Her name is Kara, Mother."
His gunpowder scent intensifies, hot enough to make my eyes water. I see his hands curl into fists.
Disgusting.