Chapter 63
Kara
The hallway leading to my old storeroom feels colder than the rest of the house. Narrower. Like the walls are closing in even though I'm no longer trapped here.
My footsteps echo on the hardwood. Each step feels heavier than the last.
Why am I doing this? Why do I care if Asher's having a breakdown in my old prison?
But I know why. Because my wolf is screaming at me that he's hurting. That he needs us.
The door is ajar. Light spills through the crack, yellow and sickly.
Someone's in there.
I push it open—and freeze.
Asher sits on the edge of that narrow single bed, hands clasped between his knees, head bowed. His shoulders are rigid, every muscle locked tight like he's holding himself together by force of will alone.
The room looks exactly as I left it. Metal bed frame, thin mattress, bare walls, no windows. Boxes stacked in the corner collecting dust. The air smells stale. Dead.
His ebony-smoke-tobacco scent fills the space—thick and suffocating. Heavy with regret and something darker. Anguish.
"Asher?"
His head snaps up. Gold flickers in his eyes before fading. "Kara. I—" He stands abruptly, running a hand through his dark hair, making it stand on end. "I didn't expect you."
"What are you doing here?" I step inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. It clicks softly.
He looks at the bed. The walls. Back to me. His throat works like he's swallowing broken glass.
"I come here." His voice is hoarse. Wrecked. "Almost every night since you left. I sit on this bed and try to feel it. Try to understand what it was like—living in a room with no windows, no warmth, no hope."
My breath catches. What the fuck—
"Ten years." His fists clench, knuckles white. "You spent ten fucking years in this box. And we—" A bitter laugh escapes him, sharp and ugly. "We knew. Blake, Cole, and I—we knew how wrong it was. But we did nothing. Worse—we made it harder."
"Asher—"
"Do you know what kills me most?" He turns to me, eyes blazing gold now. His wolf is close. Too close. "It's that I understood. Even as a kid, I knew putting you in here was cruel. This room doesn't even have a fucking window, Kara. In winter it was like an icebox. In summer it was a goddamn oven. And you—" His voice breaks. "You were just a child."
His words hit like physical blows. Each one lands in my chest, steals my breath.
"But I let it happen because it was easier," he continues, pacing now like a caged animal. "Easier than standing up to my parents. Easier than admitting we felt something for you we didn't want to feel."
Holy shit. He's been torturing himself.
"And the worst part?" His voice cracks. He stops pacing, facing me with naked anguish in his eyes. "I liked it when you were miserable. Because if you were miserable, you couldn't leave. You'd stay where I could see you, even if I was too much of a coward to do anything about it."
Silence stretches between us.
If I walked away right now, if I rejected them—they would break. Just like I broke when my parents left. Shattered into pieces that could never be put back together.
I'm not powerless anymore. I'm not that eight-year-old girl crying in the snow.
I can hurt them. Or I can heal them.
The choice is mine.
"Asher." I cross to him, my footsteps deliberate. Push him gently until he sits back down on the bed. The springs creak. Then I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch. "You can't carry this guilt forever."
"Why not?" His voice is raw. Broken. "I deserve to carry it."
"Maybe." I take his hand. It's cold. Trembling. "But I don't need you drowning in regret. I need you to look forward. With me."
He turns to me, eyes wide. Disbelieving.
"Do you know what I love most?" The words spill out before I can stop them. "Your laugh. When you actually let yourself laugh—really laugh, not that controlled Alpha chuckle—it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard."
"Kara—"
"If you want to make up for the past?" I cup his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. His skin is warm under my palms. "Then laugh with me. Smile for me. Show me the man you want to be, not the boy you were."
For a moment, he just stares.
Then his hands grip my waist—hard—and he pulls me into his lap.
"Fuck." The word is prayer and curse together. "Fuck, Kara—"
His mouth crashes into mine.
This kiss is nothing like Cole's gentle exploration. It's desperate. Claiming. Demanding. His tongue invades my mouth, tasting, devouring. One hand fists in my hair—pulling now, hard enough to sting. The other slides down my back, pressing me against him until I feel the hard length of him beneath me.
Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ—
Heat floods my core. I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, kissing me harder. Deeper. Like he's trying to consume me.
My hips rock involuntarily—grinding against him.
He growls. The sound vibrates through his chest into mine.
In one swift motion, he shifts us—I'm straddling him now, knees bracketing his thighs on the narrow bed. My dress rides up, bunching at my waist. My thin cotton panties are the only barrier between us.
I can feel everything. The rigid line of his erection pressing against my core. The heat of him burning through the denim. The way his body responds when I move—hips jerking, breath hitching.
This is insane. This is fucking insane—
"Asher—" I'm panting. Burning. My skin feels too tight.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me to rock against him. The friction is maddening—not enough and too much all at once. My clit throbs with each roll of my hips.
"You have no idea," he rasps against my neck, teeth scraping my pulse. "How many nights I've dreamed of this. You, on my lap. Your scent in my lungs. Your taste on my tongue."
His teeth graze my pulse point—not biting, just threatening. Promising.
I whimper. Actually whimper like some pathetic—
One of his hands slides beneath my dress, palm hot against my bare thigh. Climbing higher. Higher.
This is moving too fast. I should stop him. I should—oh fuck—
But then his fingers brush the edge of my panties and my brain short-circuits.
The touch is electric. Searing. I can feel how wet I am—soaked through the thin cotton. He can feel it too. His breath hisses out.
"Asher—"
"Tell me to stop." His voice is wrecked. Barely human. "Tell me, Kara, and I will. I swear to God I will."
I open my mouth—
And what comes out surprises us both.
"I want you to smile."
He freezes. His hand stills on my thigh.
I pull back enough to meet his eyes. They're more gold than blue now, his wolf riding so close to the surface I can see the animal staring back at me.
"You said you wanted to make up for everything," I say, hands framing his face. My voice is steady even though I'm shaking. "Then do this for me. Right now. I want to see you smile. Not the guilty version. Not the controlled Alpha mask. A real smile. Happy. Free."
"Kara—"
"That's not a request, Asher." My voice firms. Hardens. "As your Luna—and yes, I said your Luna—I'm giving you a direct command. Put down the past. Look at me. And smile."
For three heartbeats, nothing happens.
His chest heaves. His hands tremble on my hips. I can see the war in his eyes—the guilt, the self-loathing, the desperate need to obey fighting against years of self-punishment.
Then—slowly, like sunrise breaking over mountains—his lips curve.
It starts tentative, almost shy. Like he's forgotten how. But it grows. Spreads. Transforms his whole face. Until he's grinning at me with his whole being—dimples flashing, eyes crinkling at the corners, white teeth on display.
He looks twenty years younger. Unburdened. Whole.
Beautiful.
"There," I whisper, my own eyes stinging. "That's the man I want to know."
His arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against his chest. "As you command, my Luna."
The title—spoken with such reverence, such awe—makes my heart stutter.
"I don't need that snow wolf anymore," I murmur into his shoulder, breathing in his ebony-smoke scent. "I think I've found what I was really looking for."
His hold tightens. "What's that?"
"Home."