Chapter 71
Kara
Four in the morning. The sky outside my window is the endless black of Alaskan winter—that particular darkness that feels like it could swallow the world.
I stand in front of the pearl-white hard-shell suitcase Asher gave me, fingers trembling as I fold the white high-waisted bikini into tissue paper. The initials "K.S." are etched in silver on the lid—Kara Sterling, not Kara the debt slave, not "Carrot" the kitchen maid.
My wolf purrs at the thought. My human side wants to run.
I smooth my hands over the bikini fabric one more time, remembering Blake's reaction yesterday at Glacial Elegance. The way his eyes had flashed gold when I stepped out of that dressing room. The way his hands had gripped my waist like I was something both precious and edible.
"You look fucking edible."
Heat pools low in my belly at the memory. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the arousal.
What was I thinking, agreeing to wear this? In front of three Alphas whose Ruts are already simmering just beneath the surface?
A soft knock makes me jump. My scent—white musk and first snow—spikes with nervous bitter almond mixed with anticipation's sweet vanilla.
"Kara?" Asher's voice is low, careful. "Can I come in?"
I glance down at myself. Oversized sleep shirt, hair a wild tangle of deep gold curls. But modesty seems pointless now.
"Yeah."
---
The door opens and Asher fills the frame—six-foot-four of controlled power, black hair loose around his shoulders, wearing only gray sweatpants. His ice-cold ebony-and-tobacco scent wraps around me immediately, soothing the jagged edges of my anxiety.
His blue eyes scan the room, taking in the half-packed suitcase, the pile of summer clothes I've never owned before, the way I'm clutching that damned bikini.
"Can't sleep?" he asks gently.
"Can you?"
A small smile. "Fair point."
He crosses the room with that predatory grace all three of them share—fluid, deliberate. When he reaches me, he doesn't touch immediately. Just stands close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest.
His scent deepens, wrapping around me like a security blanket.
"What's going through your head right now?" he asks quietly.
I look down at the bikini. "I'm scared. Of the plane. Of the island. Of—" My voice drops to barely a whisper. "Of being half-naked in front of you. All three of you. Where I can't hide."
Asher's jaw tightens. Slowly—giving me every chance to pull away—his hand comes up and tips my chin until I meet his eyes.
"Kara," he says, voice dropping into that Alpha register that makes my knees weak. "Listen to me very carefully. You don't need to alter a single thing about yourself to fit some imaginary standard. Every detail of who you are right now—every curve, every insecurity, every scar—it all fits perfectly with us. With our souls. With our wolves. This isn't about changing you. It's about you finally seeing what we've always seen."
My throat closes. Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
"But what if—"
"No." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, silencing me. "No 'what ifs.' You're ours. Exactly as you are. The bikini, the curves, all of it—it's perfect because it's you."
I nod shakily, unable to speak.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise makes my wolf preen.
He takes the bikini from my trembling hands, folds it with surprising care, and tucks it into the suitcase. Then he closes the lid with a decisive click.
"Come here," he says, and pulls me into his chest.
I go willingly, burying my face against his bare skin. His ebony scent floods my senses—cold, controlled, safe. His arms wrap around me, one hand cradling the back of my head.
"We're going to take care of you," he murmurs against my hair. "Every step of the way. I promise."
I believe him.
God help me, I actually believe him.
---
Five-thirty a.m. The black GMC Yukon idles in front of Midnight Estate, exhaust puffing white clouds into the minus-thirty air.
I step onto the frozen driveway with Asher behind me, carrying my suitcase, and my breath catches.
Not from the cold.
From the two figures standing on the front steps.
Marcus and Victoria Sterling, motionless as ice sculptures, watching us prepare to leave.
Victoria's arms are crossed over her designer wool coat, her face carved from granite. Marcus stands beside her, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
They didn't come to see us off with warmth.
They came to deliver a final warning.
"Kara." Victoria's voice cuts through the pre-dawn silence like a knife. "Don't forget—the collar stays on. Every hour of every day. It might just keep you alive through this little adventure."
Her lily-and-cedar scent is so cold it burns my sinuses. The threat is unmistakable: You're not strong enough for this. You'll probably die.
My wolf snarls. My human side wants to shrink.
Instead, I lift my chin. "I'll remember."
Marcus pulls a sealed manila envelope from his coat and hands it to Asher. His oak-and-leather scent is heavy with authority.
"This contains everything you need to know about managing Ruts as joint Alphas," he says, voice flat. "From this point forward, the weight I carried is now yours to bear. If you screw this up on that island—if something happens to her because you can't control yourselves—don't expect us to fly halfway around the world to clean up the mess."
The words hang in the frozen air like a death sentence.
Asher takes the envelope, jaw tight. "Understood."
Blake appears at my side so fast I don't see him move. One moment he's by the Yukon, the next he's a wall of muscle and fury between me and Marcus and Victoria.
His gunpowder-and-leather scent explodes outward—hot, violent, protective.
"She doesn't need your approval," Blake says, voice rough with barely contained rage. "But you owe her respect. And an apology. For ten goddamn years of treating her like garbage. Like she was nothing but a tool to pay off someone else's debt."
Victoria's eyes flash with fury. "Blake Sterling, you will not speak to us—"
"He's right."
The words come from my mouth before I can stop them. I step around Blake, meeting Marcus and Victoria's gazes head-on.
My heart is hammering. My hands are shaking. But my voice is steady.
"I'll come back from Hawaii," I say quietly. "And when I do, I'll be stronger than I am now. Strong enough to stand in this house as Luna without flinching every time someone looks at me."
Silence.
Victoria's mouth opens. Closes. Her lily scent wavers—just for a second—with something that might be regret.
Marcus's expression doesn't change, but his eyes shift to Asher. There's something in that look—warning, worry, maybe even fear.
But I don't wait for a response.
I turn and walk to the Yukon, spine straight, chin up, Luna collar glinting in the dim light of the porch lamps.
Behind me, I hear Victoria's sharp intake of breath.
Behind me, Marcus says nothing.
I don't look back.
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