Chapter 45
Kara
I duck behind a thick pine tree, heart hammering for entirely too many reasons.
You can do this. Focus on the shift. NOT on the mental image of Blake's abs. Or Asher's shoulders. Or Cole's stupid perfect smile while he was undressing.
Fuck my life.
I shed my coat and boots, keeping my thermal underlayers on for now. The cold bites immediately, but I ignore it.
Deep breath. Focus inward.
Hey, I think at my wolf. Ready to try this again? But... easier this time?
She responds with eager anticipation. Yes. Together. Mates waiting.
Don't remind me about the mates.
Another breath. Then I reach for that space inside where she lives.
And let go.
The shift starts. Spine arching, skin burning—but this time, I don't fight. I imagine water, flowing and reshaping. I breathe through the pain instead of screaming against it.
My wolf takes the lead, and I follow.
Three minutes.
Three minutes of gritted teeth and trembling limbs, but when I open my eyes, I'm on four paws.
I did it. Holy shit, I actually did it.
Joy surges through me—pure and uncomplicated. My tail wags before I can stop it.
Three black wolves surge forward, touching their noses to my sides, rumbling low sounds of approval and pride. Their scents wash over me, and for the first time since last night, I don't flinch from it.
I lean into the closest one—Blake, I think, based on the sheer intensity of his gunpowder smell—and nuzzle back.
Thank you.
---
What follows is... play.
Real, genuine play.
One black wolf—Cole, with that distinctive bounce in his step—nips at the scruff of my neck and sends me tumbling into a snowdrift. I yip in surprise, scrambling upright, and my wolf takes over.
I chase him.
Around trees, across the frozen river, through powder that sprays up in white clouds. Cole's laugh echoes through the mind link—warm and delighted—and I find myself laughing too, my first genuine wolf-howl of joy.
The other two join in. Blake runs alongside me like a guardian, his larger frame shielding me from the worst of the wind. Asher circles back periodically, demonstrating tracking techniques—how to follow rabbit prints in the snow, how to use scent to identify territory markers.
For hours, we run. We play. We learn.
And I forget. Forget the pain, the betrayal, the years of suffering.
In wolf form, there's only now. Only the pack, the snow, the freedom.
When Asher finally signals it's time to return, I'm exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure.
---
The shift back to human takes two minutes. Still painful, but manageable.
I'm shaking as I pull my clothes back on, acutely aware that somewhere behind me, three naked Alphas are doing the same.
Don't look. Do NOT look.
I keep my eyes firmly on my boots while I lace them up.
Blake appears beside me, already dressed, and drapes his jacket over my shoulders. "You were fucking incredible out there, Baby. Cut your time in half on your second try. That's... that's Alpha-level talent."
Pride radiates from his gunpowder scent.
I accept the jacket, breathing in the leather and smoke smell clinging to the fabric. My heart is still racing—from the shift, from the run, from the vivid memory of what lies beneath that jacket.
Stop it. Just... stop.
"Thank you. For teaching me," I manage.
"That's what we're here for." Asher adjusts his own shirt, running fingers through his damp black hair. "You're our mate. Our Luna. You need to be strong. And we'll make sure you are."
Cole takes my hand, tugging me gently toward the estate. "Next time we'll teach you the mind link! It's amazing—you'll love it!"
I let them lead me inside, warmth seeping back into my frozen extremities.
But as we climb the stairs to Blake's room, the lightness begins to fade.
Reality creeping back in.
---
"I need to talk to you," I say once we're back in Blake's room. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "About... before. About everything."
The three of them tense immediately.
Blake's throat works. Asher's jaw sets. Cole's fingers twist together nervously.
"Okay," Asher says quietly. "We'll tell you whatever you need to know."
I start pacing, unable to stand still. My eyes roam Blake's space—really looking at it for the first time. Sketches pinned to the walls. Charcoal drawings of wolves, of his brothers, of landscapes. Paint-splattered canvases leaning against the dresser.
And then I see it.
The nightstand drawer, slightly ajar. A corner of photo paper peeking out.
Curiosity pulls me forward. I open the drawer fully.
A stack of photographs. Ten, maybe twelve.
All of me.
Me sitting on the front porch steps in a threadbare blanket, staring at falling snow. Me with my hair whipping around my face, brown eyes distant and lonely. Me hugging my knees to my chest, waiting in the cold.
The angles are hidden. Taken from a window, maybe, or from around a corner.
Intimate. Secretive.
"What the fuck..." My voice cracks. I hold up one photo with trembling hands. "When did you take these?"
Blake's face goes white. Then red. "Last winter. That blizzard night when... when Mom left you locked outside for two hours."
The memory slams into me. Waiting for Victoria to bring the key. Shivering so hard my teeth chattered. Frost forming on my eyelashes.
"You saw me," I whisper. "You watched me freeze out there."
"I did." Blake's voice is raw. "And I went back to my room and... I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you. So I grabbed my camera and—" He breaks off, running hands through his hair. "It wasn't right. I know. But I couldn't not capture it."
"We all saw," Cole admits softly, mint scent turning bitter. "Mom accidentally locked the porch key in her office. You waited for two hours. And we... we just closed our curtains. Pretended not to notice."
Asher's ebony scent is suffocating. "Those photographs are beautiful. But they're also evidence. Evidence that we witnessed your suffering and chose to ignore it."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, photos scattered across my lap.
"If you thought I was suffering... if you cared enough to photograph it... why didn't you help me?"
---
Blake kneels in front of me, taking my hands. "Because I was a coward. Because I didn't know how to deal with what I felt. Photography was the only way I could... could be gentle with you. Even if it was just through a lens."
His gold eyes are wet. "I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so fucking sorry."
Asher moves to sit beside me. "You're probably tense from the training. Let us help."
Before I can protest, gentle hands guide me to lie back. Blake and Cole take my arms, massaging the sore muscles. Asher works on my temples, my neck, my shoulders.
Their combined scents—ebony, gunpowder, mint—wrap around me like a blanket.
My body relaxes involuntarily. The aches fade.
But my mind stays sharp.
"I want the truth," I say quietly, staring at the ceiling. "No more excuses. No more 'we were just kids.' You were fourteen when you did the worst things. Old enough to know better."
I turn my head to look at each of them in turn.
"Tell me why. Why did you hate me so much?"
---
Blake speaks first.
"I thought you were cute when you first arrived. Really. Eight years old with your wolf plushie, eyes all red from crying. I thought you looked like... like something that needed protecting."
His hands still on my arm. "But you were always so sad. Crying in the middle of the night. Staring out windows. And I didn't know how to fix it. So I chose the easy route—make you cry on purpose. At least then I could control when you cried."
He swallows hard. "And later... when I was sixteen... I had a girlfriend. Skinny blonde Beta. We were making out and I closed my eyes and all I could see was you. Your curls, your eyes. I accidentally said your name instead of hers."
My breath catches.
"She slapped me and dumped me on the spot," Blake continues, voice breaking. "And it happened again. And again. Every girl I dated, I'd think of you. So I hated you for it. I called you 'Carrot,' made fun of your weight, tried to convince myself you weren't important."
His forehead presses against my arm. "But you were. You were so important it terrified me."