Chapter 36
Kara
The blizzard howls louder as Cole carries me up the grand staircase, each step deliberate despite my trembling weight in his arms.
My body still hums from the ceremony—that silver-blue light, the way our scents braided together above the Power Stone like visible proof of something I'm not ready to accept.
Fate.
Behind us, I can hear the ballroom emptying. Guests murmuring about "perfect match" and "fate mark" as they retrieve their coats. The ceremony is over. The power transfer complete.
But the consequences are just beginning.
"Put me down." My voice comes out smaller than I intend. "I can walk."
"No." Cole's usually gentle tone carries an Alpha command I've never heard from him before. It makes my wolf whine and press against my consciousness, begging me to submit. "You're staying right here."
Asher and Blake flank us up the stairs, their massive frames blocking the view of anyone below. Asher's ebony and tobacco scent has gone from authoritative to suffocating—thick and hot, like smoke from a fire that won't go out. Blake's gunpowder smell makes the air itself feel explosive, one spark away from detonation.
The scents are wrong. Too intense. Too focused.
My wolf recognizes it before I do: Rut symptoms. All three of them.
"Where are you taking me?" I force the words past the lump in my throat.
"Your room." Asher's answer is clipped. Controlled. But I can see the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckle grip on the banister. "To get your things."
"My things?" Confusion cuts through the haze. "What things?"
Blake's laugh is harsh. "Everything in that fucking cage you've been sleeping in for ten years."
The third floor hallway stretches before us, dimly lit by sconces that cast shadows on cream-colored walls. Cole finally sets me down at the storage room door—my door—but doesn't step back. None of them do.
They form a semi-circle, trapping me against the wood. The narrow corridor feels even smaller with their bodies filling the space. Through the window at the hallway's end, I can see the blizzard intensifying, snow whipping against glass in hypnotic swirls.
"Open it." Asher's voice drops an octave. "Pack whatever you want to keep. You're not sleeping here tonight."
My hand automatically reaches for the doorknob, fingers closing around cold metal. But I don't turn it.
"This is my room." The words taste like ash. A lie I've told myself so many times it almost feels true. "I'm staying here."
"Like hell you are." Blake moves closer, his shadow falling over me. The dim lighting catches the gold flecks in his blue eyes—his wolf too close to the surface. "That room is a goddamn icebox in winter, a sauna in summer, with a mattress my mom threw out fifteen years ago."
His fist slams into the wall beside my head. The impact sends hairline cracks spreading across the plaster.
I flinch. Can't help it. My body remembers this—Blake's violence, the unpredictability of his temper. My pulse hammers against my throat.
But he doesn't hit me. He just stands there, breathing hard, fist still pressed against the broken wall.
"Jesus Christ, Kara." His voice cracks. "You're still punishing yourself."
"I'm not—" I start to protest, but Asher cuts me off.
"We prepared the lake-view guest room in the north wing." His tone is gentler than Blake's, but no less firm. "Independent bathroom. Fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Frozen River Bay. Or..." He pauses, those pale blue eyes burning into mine. "You could stay in one of our rooms."
The suggestion makes my stomach drop.
"I don't need your charity." My fingers dig into the doorknob until my knuckles ache. "This is the only space I can control. It's small, and I know you hate it, but it's mine."
"It's a prison cell." Cole's whisper feels like a knife between my ribs. "Please, Kara. You can't sleep in there anymore. We can't—" His voice breaks. "We can't let you."
My white musk spikes sharp with panic. Trampled snow. The scent of fear masquerading as defiance.
"Let me?" The laugh that escapes my throat sounds hysterical even to my own ears. "You don't get to let me do anything! I need you all to just—" My breath hitches. "—leave me alone so I can think!"
I turn, shoving the door open and trying to slip through. Trying to escape.
But Cole's hand catches my wrist. Gentle. Pleading.
"If you lock yourself in there..." His mint scent pulses with barely restrained desperation. "If you shut us out tonight...I don't know if we can handle it, Kara. I really don't."
"That's not my problem!" I wrench my arm free and stumble into the storage room, reaching for the door to slam it shut—
Asher's palm slaps against the wood, holding it open.
For three seconds, we're frozen. Me inside the tiny room, them crowding the doorway. The space between us crackles with tension.
Then Asher slowly lowers his hand.
"We're not going to force you." His words are careful. Measured. "But we're also not walking away. So we'll wait. Right here in this hallway. Until you're ready."
Blake makes a noise that's half-growl, half-laugh. "Fuck that. I'll kick the door down."
"No, you won't." Asher shoots him a look that could cut glass. "We're done breaking her. Starting now."
The words hang in the air like an accusation. A confession. A promise.
I don't say anything. Can't. Just slam the door between us and fumble for the lock with shaking fingers.
Click.
The sound feels both like victory and surrender.
---
The storage room looks exactly as it did this morning. As it has for ten years.
2.5 meters by 3 meters of my entire world.
The metal-frame bed with its thin mattress. The plastic storage bins stacked in the corner. The single overhead bulb that flickers when the wind hits the house. No window. No heating vent—just the ambient warmth that bleeds through the walls from other rooms.
And now, piled haphazardly on the bed: the obscene collection of birthday gifts from earlier. MacBook Pro. iPhone 17. iPad. Goose parkas and boots and designer clothes still in their bags. The platinum credit card catching the light.
The juxtaposition is so absurd I want to laugh. Or cry. Or scream.
The slickness between my thighs is impossible to ignore. My core clenches around emptiness, aching for something I've never had. Something I've spent the last twelve hours terrified of wanting.
This is the mate bond, my clinical mind supplies, trying to distance myself from the sensations. Biological imperative. Pheromone response. It's not real.
But it feels real. Feels like I'm being split in two—my body pulling in one direction, my traumatized mind digging in heels to go the other way.
I need to wash up. Change clothes. Get my head straight.
Except the storage room has no bathroom. Never has.
For ten years, I've crept downstairs to use the servants' bathroom at odd hours, hoping no one would see me. Timing my showers for when the family was out or asleep.
Now it's past midnight. The party is winding down, but there are still drunk Beta family members stumbling around. Can I really walk through the house in my dress, reeking of arousal and Alpha pheromones?
I crack the door open.
The three of them are exactly where they said they'd be. Asher leaning against the wall opposite my door, arms crossed. Blake sitting on the floor, back against the wall, head tilted back. Cole standing by the window at the hallway's end, watching the blizzard.
All three turn the instant my door opens.
"I..." My voice sounds pathetically small. "I need to use the bathroom."
"There are five drunk Betas using the first-floor bathroom right now." Asher's observation is matter-of-fact. "You planning to wait in line? In that dress?"
Heat floods my cheeks. He's right, of course. The thought of standing in the hallway, visible to anyone who passes, wearing this short dress while my body screams available mate...
"Use mine." Asher pushes off the wall, turning to open his bedroom door two meters down. "Bathroom's inside. I won't come in."
My wolf perks up with pathetic eagerness. Alpha's den. Safe. Protected.
My human mind screams: Trap. Obvious trap.
But my options are limited. Wait for drunk pack members to finish. Go back into my room and smell like three different Alphas all night. Or accept Asher's offer.
"You promise you won't come in?" I hate how childish I sound.
"Promise." Asher steps into the hallway, putting distance between himself and the open door. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes—American Spirits, I note—and moves to the window where Cole stands. "Take your time."
I dart past Blake, who watches me with predator-still focus, and slip into Asher's room.
The door clicks shut behind me.
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