Craved By The Alpha Triplets

Raine had not meant to stay in the forest that late.

The light had thinned into that uncertain gray that came just before night truly settled, when the world felt suspended between safety and something older, more watchful. Shadows stretched too far across the ground, pooling between the roots of towering pines, and every sound carried farther than it should have. She knew better than to linger past dusk. Everyone who lived near the edge of Blackridge Forest did.

But the restlessness had been unbearable all day.

The words in her head had refused to settle, circling endlessly, pressing against her skull until it felt like something inside her needed release. When that happened, there was only one place that ever quieted the noise.

The forest.

Raine adjusted the strap of her satchel on her shoulder and stepped carefully over a fallen branch, boots sinking slightly into damp earth. Pine and moss filled her lungs, cool and sharp, grounding her in a way nothing else ever managed. With every step deeper along the narrow trail, the tension in her shoulders eased, replaced by a familiar calm.

The forest had always listened when no one else did.

She followed the path on instinct, barely looking down as she walked. She knew every bend, every rise and dip, had traced this route dozens of times with a notebook in hand, chasing scenes and half-formed sentences that only seemed to come alive beneath the trees. Here, her thoughts slowed. Here, she could breathe.

Raine stopped near a cluster of ancient oaks, pulling her notebook free and flipping it open. The pen was already moving before she fully realized it, words spilling out in a rush as a phrase finally surfaced.

Then she heard it.

The sound was so low, so raw, that for a second her brain refused to register it. It wasn’t a growl. It wasn’t a cry. It was something in between, torn and wet, like breath dragged through pain.

Her pen stilled.

Raine lifted her head slowly, every sense sharpening.

The forest had gone silent.

The insects that had hummed endlessly moments ago were gone. No birds called from the branches above. Even the wind had stilled, leaving the air thick and expectant.

The sound came again.

Closer.

Her pulse jumped, thudding hard against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered.

She should turn around. She knew that. This forest wasn’t dangerous in the way of old myths and stories, but it was dangerous in real, tangible ways. Wild animals. Injuries. The kind of accidents that left people lost or bleeding while the forest swallowed their screams.

She took a step backward.

The sound came again, sharper this time, edged unmistakably with pain.

Raine closed her eyes and cursed under her breath.

She had always been like this. Unable to walk away when something nearby was hurting. Unable to convince herself that self-preservation mattered more than compassion.

Heart pounding, she turned toward the sound.

She moved carefully, pushing aside low-hanging branches and stepping over slick rocks half-buried in moss. The deeper she went, the heavier the air became, thick with the metallic tang of blood. Her stomach twisted.

This was bad.

Very bad.

She slowed instinctively, breath shallow, every nerve screaming at her to stop. Wolves lived in Blackridge Forest. Everyone knew that. They stayed away from humans, kept to the deeper reaches where people rarely went. Seeing one this close to the trail, injured enough to be heard from a distance, meant something had gone terribly wrong.

Then she saw him.

The wolf lay near the base of a fallen oak, massive even in stillness. Dark fur clung to a body built for power, matted and soaked through with blood along one hind leg. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a visible effort.

“Oh my God,” Raine breathed.

Fear surged through her, cold and electric. Wolves were not meant to look this big up close. This solid. This… dangerous.

Her instincts screamed at her to run.

Instead, she crouched.

“Hey,” she said softly, forcing her voice to stay low and steady. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The wolf’s eye snapped open.

Gold.

Not the dull yellow she expected. Not the unfocused glare of an animal barely clinging to consciousness. These eyes were bright, piercing, painfully aware. They locked onto her with an intensity that froze her in place.

For a terrifying heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then the wolf shifted.

Muscles bunched beneath his fur, power coiling even through injury, and Raine’s breath caught painfully in her throat. She braced herself, instinctively raising her arms as if they would protect her from something that could tear her apart in seconds.

But he didn’t lunge.

He held.

A low sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the ground beneath her boots. Not a full growl. More a warning. Controlled. Restrained.

Something about that restraint sent a strange shiver through her.

“I know,” she whispered quickly. “I know you’re scared.”

His gaze never left her face.

The longer she looked into those eyes, the stranger the sensation in her chest became. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was a pull. A sharp, disorienting tug that made her feel as though something inside her had been caught and was being slowly reeled in.

Recognition flared, sudden and unexplainable.

She swallowed hard.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured, the words feeling inadequate.

The wolf’s lip twitched, revealing the edge of a gleaming fang before he seemed to think better of it. His breathing hitched, pain rippling through his massive frame.

Raine forced herself to look away from his eyes and focus on the wound. The damage to his leg was severe, flesh torn open as if by claws or teeth. This hadn’t been an accident. This had been a fight. A vicious one.

Her hands trembled as she set her satchel down.

“Okay,” she said under her breath. “Okay. I can help. I think.”

She fumbled through her bag, pulling out bandages and antiseptic wipes meant for scraped knees and shallow cuts, not for something like this. The absurdity of it hit her all at once, a shaky laugh threatening to rise.

As she reached toward him, the wolf let out a deeper sound, this one vibrating with unmistakable warning.

Raine froze instantly, hands raised.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” she said quickly. “I swear. But you’re bleeding too much. Please.”

Those golden eyes searched her face, sharp and unsettlingly intelligent. Seconds stretched, taut and unbearable, the forest holding its breath around them.

Then, slowly, the wolf lowered his head back to the forest floor.

Raine’s breath rushed out of her lungs.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and realized only afterward how strange it was to thank an animal.

She worked carefully, every movement slow and deliberate. The moment her fingers brushed his fur, heat flared beneath her skin, startling in its intensity. His body was warm, too warm, muscles dense and powerful beneath her touch.

The scent of him wrapped around her completely. Pine. Iron. And something darker, sharper, that made her head feel light and her pulse race.

This was wrong.

She knew it even as her hands continued to move, cleaning the wound as gently as she could. Every time he tensed, she paused, murmuring soft reassurances she wasn’t sure he understood. Each breath he took brushed against her skin, sending shivers racing down her spine.

Up close, she noticed the scars beneath his fur. Old ones. Deep ones. This wolf had survived more than one brutal encounter.

“You’re not just some forest animal, are you?” she whispered.

His gaze flicked back to her face.

Something unreadable flashed there.

When she finished wrapping the wound, her knees ached and her palms were slick with sweat.

“There,” she said softly. “It’s not perfect, but it should slow the bleeding.”

She began to pull back.

The wolf shifted suddenly, muscles tightening, and a sharp sound tore from his throat as he tried to rise. His leg buckled instantly, sending him crashing back to the ground.

“Hey—” Raine dropped back to her knees without thinking, pressing her hands against his shoulders to steady him.

The instant her palms made full contact, the world tilted.

Heat surged through her, violent and consuming, stealing the air from her lungs. Her vision blurred as images slammed into her mind—moonlight cutting through trees, blood soaking into stone, a roar ripped from a throat that was not hers but felt like it was.

She gasped, yanking her hands back.

Her head spun.

“What was that?” she whispered, heart hammering.

The wolf stared at her, eyes blazing now, his chest heaving. That low rumble returned, threaded with something that sounded dangerously close to frustration.

Or fury.

Raine scrambled to her feet, panic finally breaking through.

“I—I have to go,” she said, voice shaking. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise. I won’t leave you like this.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond.

She turned and ran.

Branches clawed at her jacket as she fled, roots threatening to send her sprawling. Her breath burned by the time she burst back onto the main trail, heart pounding so hard it made her dizzy.

She didn’t stop until the trees thinned and the lights of her small cabin came into view.

Inside, she locked the door, slid down against it, and pressed trembling hands to her face.

“This is insane,” she muttered. “You helped an injured animal. That’s all.”

But when she closed her eyes, she saw gold.

Sleep came in fractured pieces. Dreams wrapped around her like smoke—running through the forest beneath a full moon, power humming beneath her skin, the sense of being watched, claimed.

Near dawn, exhaustion finally dragged her under.

When she woke, sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains.

For one blissful moment, everything felt normal.

Then she smelled it.

Pine and Iron.

Her heart stuttered.

Raine crossed the room slowly and pulled the curtain aside.

At the edge of the tree line, half-shrouded in shadow, stood a massive dark shape.

Watching.

Golden eyes met hers.

The wolf was alive.

And this time, she knew with chilling certainty—

He had followed her home.