Chapter 37
Kara
"Every hair clip we took," Asher says softly, "was us trying to own a piece of you. The only way we knew how."
A sob builds in my chest. I swallow it down.
"I'll return them all." Asher closes the box. "But I hope...I hope from now on, when you wear them, you'll know. We've been watching. Been wanting. Been falling, inch by inch, for years."
The bathroom door between us feels impossibly thin.
These are my abusers, I remind myself desperately. The boys who pushed me into freezing water. Who stole my food. Who called me Carrot and made me cry.
But they're also...this.
Boys who kept my hair clips like treasures. Who remembered which ones I wore and when. Who are looking at me now like I'm something precious instead of disposable.
Cole returns, holding my small overnight bag. "Got it."
I reach through the gap to take it. Our fingers brush. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Then I close the door between us and try to remember how to breathe.
I change quickly—oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, because I'll be damned if I'm wearing anything revealing around them tonight.
When I emerge, all three are standing.
Blake takes one look at me and groans. "That's worse."
"What?" I glance down at myself. The shirt hangs off one shoulder. The shorts are...admittedly short. But it's sleepwear. Not seduction.
"You look like you're wearing my clothes." Blake's voice drops an octave. "Even though you're not. And my wolf is losing its fucking mind over the idea of you in my shirt. In my scent."
"Ignore him." Asher steps between us. "We're taking you to the north wing guest room now. Blake and I will stay with you tonight. Cole tomorrow. That's—"
"Why are you deciding this without asking me?" I demand.
"Because if we ask," Cole says gently, "you'll say no. You'll lock yourself in that storage room and we'll spend all night listening to you cry through the walls like we have for years. And Kara..." His voice cracks. "We can't do that anymore. Our Ruts are too close. If we're separated from you tonight, we might—"
He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
I see it in their faces: the red-rimmed eyes. The trembling tension in their muscles. The way their scents pulse with barely contained need.
They're not lying. They're not manipulating. They're at the edge of their control.
And some terrible, soft part of me can't stand to see them in pain.
"Fine." The word feels like surrender. "But if any of you tries anything—"
"We won't." Asher's promise is iron-clad. "You have our word."
Blake moves first. He closes the distance between us in two strides and just...picks me up.
I yelp, grabbing his shoulders for balance. "What are you—"
"Carrying my mate." Blake's grin is all teeth as he adjusts his grip, one arm under my knees, one around my back. The short dress rides up dangerously high. "Deal with it, Princess."
"Blake—"
But he's already moving, striding out of Asher's room with me pressed against his chest. His gunpowder-and-leather scent surrounds me, overwhelming.
And despite everything—the fear, the anger, the bone-deep exhaustion—my wolf purrs.
We pass the storage room door. It gets smaller in my peripheral vision as Blake carries me down the hall. That tiny space that's been my whole world for ten years, receding with every step.
It should feel like losing something.
Instead, it feels like letting go.
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Kara
Blake's bedroom looks exactly like I'd imagine: organized chaos.
A massive king-sized bed with black sheets. Weights and a punching bag in one corner. Football and hockey posters on the walls.
My wolf rolls in it, shameless and eager.
Blake deposits me on the bed. I immediately scramble to the headboard, putting distance between us.
"Jesus Christ." Blake runs both hands through his hair. "You don't have to look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm about to attack you."
"You did attack me." The words come out flat. Clinical. "Multiple times. For years. So forgive me if I'm not ready to cuddle."
The reminder sits heavy in the air between us.
Then Asher and Cole enter. Asher looks around with a critical eye. "We need to decide—"
"I'm calling first shift." Blake drops into the leather chair by his desk. "My Rut's worse than both of yours combined."
"That's not how we agreed—" Cole starts.
"Fuck your agreements." Blake's eyes flash gold. "I need to be close to her right now or I'm going to lose my mind."
Asher sighs. Looks at me. "Kara, are you more afraid of any of us than the others?"
The question catches me off guard.
Am I?
Blake's violence is the most obvious. The most physical. But Asher's cold control might be more dangerous. And Cole...Cole's gentleness could be the most insidious trap of all.
"I..." My voice fails. "I don't know."
"Then it's me and Blake tonight." Asher's tone brooks no argument. "Cole, you'll take tomorrow."
"Bullshit." Cole's mint scent spikes with frustration. "Why do you get every night?"
"Because I'm the oldest and I said so."
They might actually start fighting.
"Stop." My voice cuts through their argument. "Just...stop."
Three pairs of blue eyes lock on me.
"If I agree to this..." I swallow hard. "If I let you stay in here with me tonight, I need something first."
"Anything." Blake's answer is immediate.
"My snow wolf."
Silence.
"Your...what?" Blake looks genuinely confused.
"The white wolf plushie." My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "On my bed. It's the only thing my parents left me. I've slept with it since I was eight, but you all used to make fun of me for it. Called me childish and—"
"I'll get it." Cole is already moving toward the door.
"Wait." Blake's voice stops him. "The white wolf? Small, kind of ratty?"
I nod mutely.
"Fuck." Blake's face crumples with something that looks like genuine remorse. "I remember that. I tried to throw it away once when we were thirteen. You..." He stops. Swallows. "You cried so hard you made yourself sick."
"Because it's all I have left of them." My voice breaks. "It's the only proof they loved me before they left me."
Cole doesn't wait for more explanation. He vanishes into the hallway.
Blake stares at me for a long moment. Then: "I'm sorry. For that and...for everything. For not understanding what it meant to you. For being a dick about the one thing that made you feel safe."
The apology sits there, raw and sincere.
I don't know what to do with it.
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