Chapter 9
Kara
The silence that follows my words is suffocating.
Three pairs of pale blue eyes stare at me, wide and unblinking, like I've just ripped the ground out from under them.
Good. Let them feel it. Let them choke on it.
My chest heaves. My hands are shaking. I'm still backed against the kitchen island, trapped between cold marble and three walls of muscle.
Asher's jaw works like he's chewing glass. Blake looks like I've physically struck him. Cole's smile has vanished entirely, replaced by something raw and wounded.
Don't you dare feel sorry for them. Don't you fucking dare.
But then Asher moves.
One step forward. Then another.
I press harder against the island, my spine digging into the edge. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
He stops inches from me. So close I can feel the heat radiating off his body—werewolves run hot, even before their first shift. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something I refuse to give him.
Blake circles around to my left. I catch his movement in my peripheral vision—predatory, deliberate. "You said you didn't want to make us look bad in front of the guests tomorrow."
Oh God. They actually believed it.
Cole moves to my right, completing the triangle. His voice is softer than his brothers', but no less intense. "You were embarrassed. That's why you covered your face."
They're buying it. They're actually buying it.
Relief floods through me, sharp and dizzying. But I can't let it show. Can't let them see how close I came to panic.
I force myself to nod. Just once. Small. Hesitant.
Play the part. Be what they expect.
"I just..." My voice comes out shaky. Perfect. "I didn't want to embarrass you. Tomorrow's your birthday. The whole pack will be here. I thought... if I looked better, maybe people wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't what?" Asher's hand shoots out, gripping the counter on either side of me, caging me in. His face is so close I can count the flecks of silver in his irises. "Wouldn't talk about how we've treated you?"
My throat tightens. Say something. Anything.
"I just wanted to help," I whisper. The lie tastes like ash in my mouth.
Blake makes a choked sound. When I glance at him, his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. "Fuck," he mutters. "Fuck, Kara, you—"
"You don't have to do that." Cole's voice cuts through. He's moved closer, and I can smell something faint on him—mint and ozone, crisp and clean. It makes my wolf stir, confused. Why does he smell good? Why do any of them smell good? "You don't owe us anything."
Liar. I owe you twenty-five thousand dollars and ten years of my life.
But I don't say that.
Instead, I look down at my hands. Let my shoulders curve inward. Make myself small.
Vulnerable. Compliant. Exactly what they want to see.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I didn't mean to cause a scene. I'll change and get back to—"
"No." Asher's voice is sharp. Final. "You're not changing. And you're sure as fuck not going back to work tonight."
I blink up at him. What?
Blake runs a hand through his black hair, making it stand on end. "Crystal's a bitch. She shouldn't have made you work under the table like that."
Oh, so now you care?
Asher's eyes are still locked on mine. "Tomorrow, you'll shift for the first time. It's going to hurt. A lot. Your bones will break and reform. It'll feel like dying."
Thanks for the pep talk, asshole.
"We should be there," he continues. "To help you through it."
My pulse spikes. Absolutely fucking not.
"I—I'll be fine," I stammer. "I've read about it. I know what to expect."
Liar. You know nothing. No one's told you a damn thing.
Blake frowns. "You've read about it? Kara, reading isn't the same as—"
"She's scared." Cole's voice is gentle. Too gentle. It makes my skin crawl. "Aren't you, Kara? Scared of tomorrow night?"
Don't answer that. Don't give them anything real.
But my traitorous body betrays me. My hands shake. My breathing quickens.
And they notice.
Of course they fucking notice.
Asher's expression softens—just a fraction, but I see it. "Hey." His voice drops, low and soothing. "It's okay to be scared. Every wolf is nervous before their first shift."
Shut up. Stop being nice. I can't deal with this right now.
"We were terrified," Cole admits. He takes another step closer, and suddenly the three of them are surrounding me completely. A wall of heat and muscle and those goddamn eyes. "Twelve years old, shaking like leaves. Our dad had to hold us down to keep us from hurting ourselves."
Your dad. The same man who let me sleep in a storage closet for ten years.
Blake nods. "It hurt like hell. But afterward..." He trails off, his gaze distant. "Afterward, it was worth it. Because you're whole for the first time. Complete."
I don't want to be whole. I want to be gone.
"We'll stay with you," Asher says firmly. "All night. We'll make sure you're safe."
No. No no no no.
"That's not necessary," I say quickly. Too quickly. Asher's eyes narrow.
Shit. Dial it back. Be grateful. Be sweet.
"I mean... thank you. That's really kind of you. But I don't want to ruin your birthday. You should be celebrating with your friends and—"
"You're more important than a party," Blake interrupts.
I stare at him. What the fuck did he just say?
Cole smiles. It's that slow, wicked smile that makes my stomach flip—but this time, there's something softer underneath it. "You're part of this family, Kara. Whether you believe it or not."
Family. He just called me family.
After ten years of calling me Carrot. After stealing my food and mocking my weight and locking me outside in the snow.
Now I'm family?
The anger surges back, hot and vicious. But I swallow it down. Force it back into the box where I keep all the other rage.
Not yet. Not now. Tomorrow night, you'll be free. Just hold on.
"Thank you," I whisper. My voice cracks—partly from exhaustion, partly from hunger, partly from the sheer fucking absurdity of this conversation. "That... that means a lot."
Asher straightens. His hand leaves the counter, and suddenly I can breathe again. "You should eat something. You look pale."
I'm pale because I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, you fucking idiot.
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
Blake's eyes sweep over me, lingering on my legs. "That skirt," he says slowly. "It looks good on you."
Don't react. Don't let him see how much you want to punch him in the throat.
"Thanks," I manage.
"Real good," he continues. His voice drops, taking on a rougher edge. "I'm just saying, Princess, if you showed a little more leg, every guy at that party would—"
"Blake, shut the fuck up." Cole elbows him hard in the ribs.
Princess. He called me Princess.
Yesterday, you called me Carrot. Today, I'm Princess.
Because of a skirt.
My nails dig into my palms. Breathe. Just breathe.
"I should go," I say quietly. "It's late. And I have work to finish—"
"No more work tonight." Asher's voice is firm. "Go to your room. Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."
My room. The storage closet you've kept me in for ten years.
But I nod. "Okay."
I take a step toward the door.
Blake's hand shoots out, catching my wrist.
I freeze.
His grip is gentle—surprisingly gentle—but it's still a cage. Still a reminder that he's bigger, stronger, faster than me.
Let go. Let go let go let go—
"Wait," he says. His voice is rough. "Before you go... I just want to say..." He swallows hard. "About earlier. When I called you—when I said—"
"Carrot." The word slips out before I can stop it. Cold. Flat.