Chapter 41
Kara
I almost drift back to sleep. Almost.
Then Blake's hand moves.
It's not deliberate at first—just a shift as he adjusts his position. But his palm ends up pressed against my breast, fingers splaying over the thin fabric of my sleep shirt.
My nipple hardens instantly. Traitorously.
I freeze. Stop breathing. Pray he doesn't notice.
"Fuck." Blake's voice is a low rasp against my ear. "Kara..."
"Don't." I try to pull away, but Asher's arm tightens across my waist, holding me in place. "Blake, move your hand."
"I'm not doing anything." But his thumb brushes over my nipple—just once, barely there—and my core clenches so hard I have to bite back a whimper. "You're the one pressing into me, Princess."
Lies. I'm not moving at all. But my body betrays me anyway, arching slightly into his touch. Seeking more.
"Blake." Asher's warning is sharp. "Stop."
"Why?" Blake's hand flexes, cupping my breast more fully. His gunpowder scent thickens, becomes edged with arousal. "She likes it. Can't you smell her?"
Shame burns through me. Because he's right. My scent has shifted—gone sweet and musky with need. My white musk is mixing with their darker notes, creating something headier. Intoxicating.
"I don't—" My voice cracks. "Please don't—"
"Don't what?" Blake's lips brush my temple. "Don't touch you? Don't make you feel good?" His thumb circles my nipple again, slow and deliberate this time. "Or don't point out how wet you're getting from this?"
"Blake!" Cole's voice cuts through the tension, sharp with disapproval. "That's enough."
But Blake doesn't stop. If anything, his touch becomes more confident. He palms my breast fully now, kneading gently. Teasingly. "Tell me to stop, Kara. Say the word and I will."
I should. I should.
Instead, a small sound escapes me—half gasp, half moan—and my hips shift involuntarily. Seeking friction. Relief.
"That's my girl." Blake's voice drops to a purr. Predatory. Pleased. "See? Your body knows what it wants even if your brain won't admit it."
Heat floods my face. Tears prick my eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer humiliation of how easily he's unraveling me. How quickly my body responds despite everything he's done.
"Blake, I'm warning you—" Asher starts.
"What?" Blake's tone turns defensive. "I'm just proving a point. She wants this. She wants us. Her body is screaming for it."
"That doesn't give you the right to—"
"To what? Touch my own mate?" Blake's hand stills on my breast, but he doesn't remove it. "Come on, Ash. We all felt how she reacted at the ceremony. She's ready."
"No." My voice is small. Broken. "I'm not."
Silence.
Blake's hand finally—finally—lifts away. Cool air rushes over my heated skin where his palm was.
"Shit." He exhales hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
But the damage is done. My body is humming with unfulfilled need, my glands pulsing hot, my core slick with arousal I didn't ask for and don't want.
And suddenly, a memory crashes over me with devastating clarity.
"You're getting fat, Carrot."
Blake's voice from two days ago. Casual. Cruel. Thrown over his shoulder as he grabbed the last waffle from the breakfast platter—my waffle, the one I'd been reaching for—and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Maybe if you ate less, you wouldn't look like a sausage in those jeans."
I didn't eat that day. Because he was right, wasn't he? I was disgusting. Unworthy. Too much.
The memory slams into me like a physical blow.
"You..." My voice comes out strangled. "You think I'm beautiful?"
Blake blinks, clearly thrown by the question. "What?"
"Two days ago." My hands are shaking. "You called me Carrot. You said I was fat. You took my food and told me I looked like a sausage."
His face goes white. Genuinely white. "Kara—"
"So which is it, Blake?" My voice is rising now, cracking with a decade of suppressed rage. "Am I your 'beautiful mate' or am I the fat, disgusting Carrot you've been tormenting for ten years?"
"That's not—" He reaches for me.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The words tear out of me in a scream. A real one. The kind I haven't let myself make since I was ten years old.
All three of them freeze.
I scramble off the bed, my snow wolf clutched to my chest like a shield. My legs are shaking so hard I can barely stand. "You took my waffle. It was the last one. I hadn't eaten since the night before because there was a pack dinner and I wasn't allowed to have any leftovers. "
"Jesus Christ." Blake's face crumples. "Kara, I'm so sorry. I was being a dick. I didn't think—"
"YOU NEVER THINK!" My voice cracks completely. Tears pour down my face. "You never think about how your words feel like knives. Because you're Alphas and I'm nothing and none of it matters!"
"You matter." Asher is off the bed now too, hands raised like he's approaching a wounded animal. "Kara, you matter more than anything—"
"Then why did you let me starve?" The question comes out raw. Broken. "Why did you watch me do all the work while you slept? WHY DID YOU HATE ME SO MUCH?"
The room goes silent. Utterly, devastatingly silent.
Then Cole whispers: "We didn't hate you."
"LIAR!" I'm screaming now. Full-throated. Unhinged. "You all hated me! You made sure I knew every single day that I was garbage! That I was unwanted! That I didn't deserve to eat or sleep or breathe in the same house as you!"
The door flies open with a bang that makes us all jump.
Marcus and Victoria storm inside. Their combined scents hit like a physical wall—heavy oak-and-leather from him, sharp lily-and-cedar from her—choking out the oxygen in the room.
Victoria's eyes sweep across the scene with surgical precision: me standing barefoot in the middle of Blake's bedroom, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and shorts. My face wet with tears. My chest heaving. Three half-dressed Alphas surrounding me like criminals caught red-handed.
Her lily scent turns glacial.
"What is going on in here?" Her voice could cut glass. Each word drips with accusation. "Why is she in Blake's bedroom ?"
The way she says "she"—not my name, never my name—makes my stomach twist with familiar shame.
Marcus's oak scent carries a different weight. Resigned. Tired. Like he already knows the answer and wishes he didn't have to hear it.
"She has a name." Blake's voice comes out rough. Protective. He steps closer to me—not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel his heat. "It's Kara. And she's here because we asked her to be."