Chapter 93
Kara
Asher's arms circle my waist from behind, and fuck, even that simple touch makes my knees weak. "Three days of prep work. We wanted you to know—" His voice drops to that dangerous Alpha rumble that goes straight between my legs. "—this place belongs to all four of us."
All four of us. Not "you can stay here sometimes." Not "this is ours and you're allowed." But ours. Together.
My throat tightens. Don't cry. Jesus Christ, don't start crying already.
Blake grabs my hand like an overexcited golden retriever who just found his favorite person. "Check out the hot tub! And wait till you see the bedroom!"
He drags me through the main cabin, and—
Oh fuck.
The bedroom is gorgeous. Silk bedding in deep blue and silver that probably costs more than my entire existence. But that's not what makes me freeze.
Above the headboard hangs a painting. Of me. Standing in snow, my profile caught in soft light, hair tumbling down my back. I look... beautiful. Peaceful. Like someone worth painting.
My hand flies to my mouth. The burn behind my eyes is instant and sharp. "Cole... when did you...?"
"I couldn't help it," he whispers, and his voice is so full of emotion it hurts. "You were so beautiful, and I was too much of a coward to tell you."
You were too busy calling me "Carrot" and stealing my food, you mean.
But I don't say it. Because the painting is too beautiful, too personal, too real for that old bitterness to stick.
Fuck. Fuck, I'm actually touched by this. What's wrong with me?
Asher guides me toward the stern, and there's a library—an actual library on a goddamn yacht—packed with advanced mathematics and astronomy texts. My fingers trail over the spines: differential equations, astrophysics, number theory.
Books I've wanted to read for years but could never afford. Never had time for, between scrubbing their floors and serving their meals.
"You said you wanted to see stars without light pollution," Asher says quietly. "Now you can."
The tears are coming. I can feel them building behind my eyes, hot and insistent. No. No, I will not cry. They'll think I'm weak. They'll think—
Why are they doing this? What if it's just—temporary? What if this is some elaborate mindfuck? What if in a month they wake up and decide I'm not worth the trouble?
Through the bond, I catch flickers of their emotion: nervousness, anticipation, something that tastes like fear.
And they're blocking me. Deliberately keeping me out of their heads on specifics.
My stomach drops. Oh God. They're hiding something.
Cole's lips brush my temple, and his mint scent goes soft and sweet—the way it does when he's trying to comfort. "Go get changed, goddess. Tonight..." His voice trembles. "Tonight we need to tell you something."
"Tell me something."
Not "we have a surprise." Not "we want to celebrate."
Tell me something.
Shit. Shit shit shit. They're going to take it back. They're going to say the marking was a mistake. They're going to—
---
The dress waiting in the cabin makes my stomach flip.
Ocean blue fading to silver at the hem, like waves caught in moonlight. Delicate straps. A neckline that dips just low enough to be elegant. And the back—
The back is completely fucking open. Cut so low it stops just above my ass. Designed specifically to showcase the three bite marks at my throat and shoulders.
They want everyone to see I'm claimed.
Or they want everyone to see what they've done to me before they undo it.
I stand there in my underwear, staring at the dress like it might bite me.
My fingers drift up to trace the marks—Cole's at my left shoulder, Blake's at my right, Asher's centered at the base of my throat. The skin is still slightly raised, still tender. Still theirs.
The bond flares the moment I touch them. Asher's controlled tension slams into me first, tight and coiled like a spring about to snap. Then Blake's restless anxiety, pacing and prowling like his wolf is trying to claw out. And Cole's gentle hope, soft and warm but fragile, like he's terrified I'll shatter it.
What the hell are they planning?
I should ask. I should use the bond to demand answers.
But I'm too fucking scared.
Coward, I think viciously. You've survived ten years of their cruelty. You survived being thrown in a freezing river. You survived being locked in a storage closet and called "Carrot" and treated like garbage. And now you're afraid of a conversation?
But this is different.
Because now I care. Now I've let them in. Now losing them would actually hurt, instead of just being a relief.
Fuck my life.
I force myself to put on the dress. It fits like it was made for me—which it probably was. The silk whispers against my skin, cool and expensive. I look at myself in the mirror.
The girl staring back is a stranger. Glossy curls cascading over bare shoulders. Eyes lined in deep blue. Lips painted dusty rose. The bite marks stand out starkly against her pale skin, three dark crescents that scream CLAIMED to anyone with eyes.
She's nothing like the broken child locked in a storage closet. Nothing like the girl they called "Carrot" while stealing her food and laughing at her tears.
Is this really me?
Or is this just what they've dressed me up to be?
My hand hovers over Cole's mark again, and I can't help it—I press down slightly.
The bond roars to life.
Cole's voice, soft in my head: "You're beautiful, Kara. Whatever decision you make, our feelings won't change."
What decision?
What fucking decision?!
My pulse hammers. My hands shake. I grip the edge of the sink and force myself to breathe.
Okay. Okay. Think.
They brought me to Hawaii. They marked me. They bought me a goddamn yacht with my name on it. And now they need to "tell me something" and I have to make a "decision."
Either they're going to ask me to choose between them—which, fuck that noise, the bond doesn't work that way—or...
Or they're going to tell me this whole thing was a mistake.
That I'm not really their mate.
That the marks were made in the heat of the moment, but now that they've had time to think...
My wolf snarls in outrage. No. NO. They SWORE. They PROMISED.
But humans lie. Alphas especially lie. I've learned that lesson over and over and over.
Fuck it, I think, straightening my spine and glaring at my reflection. If they want to hurt me... at least tonight, I'll show them exactly what they're missing. I'll make them regret it for the rest of their miserable lives.
---
The deck has been transformed into something out of a fairy tale.
Hundreds of ice-blue orbs float overhead, suspended by invisible wires, casting dancing light that mimics the aurora borealis we saw that first night. The table is draped in midnight velvet. A bouquet of glacier roses—those rare silver-edged petals that supposedly only bloom in Alaska—sits at the center, smelling like winter mornings and new snow.
No musicians. No crowd. Just the sound of waves lapping against the hull and the distant strum of Hawaiian slack-key guitar drifting from somewhere on shore.
It's perfect.
It's terrifying.
What the hell is happening?
I step onto the deck, my heels clicking against the polished wood, and three heads snap toward me in perfect unison.
For a moment, nobody breathes.
Then Blake's gunpowder scent explodes across the deck like a fucking bomb went off. His eyes flash pure gold. "Holy fuck, Kara—"
Cole staggers back a step, hand pressed to his chest like I've physically struck him. "You... you can't just..." His mint and ozone go so cloyingly sweet it's almost dizzying. "Jesus Christ, that's not fair."
Asher's ebony and tobacco intensifies until I can barely breathe through it. His jaw works, muscles ticking. When he finally speaks, even his unshakeable control is cracking at the edges. "Come here."
It's an Alpha command, but his voice breaks on the last word.
What the hell?
I force myself to walk forward on shaking legs.