The Triplet Alphas

The summons came before I had finished my breakfast.

Luna appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face unreadable. Alpha Marcus requires you in the main hall. His sons as well. You are to attend immediately.

I set down the bread I had been eating. My stomach tightened. The main hall was where contracts were signed and judgments delivered. I had not been summoned there since the night I arrived.

I followed Luna through the corridors, my heartbeat steady despite the dread coiling in my chest. My mother was not beside me. That was deliberate. Whatever this was, it was meant for me alone.

The main hall was transformed from the night of our arrival. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the marble floors, the gilded mirrors, the massive chandelier that hung like a frozen waterfall. Marcus sat in his throne-like chair, his hands resting on the arms, his grey eyes fixed on the doors as I entered.

The triplets were already there.

Theron lounged against the wall to the left, his arms crossed, his grin sharp. He wore a dark sweater that stretched across his chest, the fabric clinging to the hard planes of muscle beneath. His eyes tracked me the moment I stepped through the door, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

Lysander stood near the windows, his back to the light, his face half in shadow. He was still, unnaturally still, like a statue carved from ice. Only his eyes moved, following me with that same quiet intensity I had felt before. His hands were in his pockets, casual, but I noticed the way his fingers curled, as if he was resisting the urge to reach out.

Cassian stood apart from his brothers, near his father’s chair. He was dressed formally—black slacks, a white shirt rolled to his elbows, the fabric stretching across his shoulders. He did not look at me. He had not looked at me since the night in the locked room. I told myself I was grateful for it.

Marcus gestured to the center of the hall. Stand here.

I walked forward, my shoes clicking on the marble, and stopped where he indicated. The floor was cold beneath my feet. I kept my hands at my sides, my chin level, my eyes on Marcus. I would not look at his sons. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

You have been in this house for three days, Marcus said. In that time, you have explored corridors that were closed to you. You have entered rooms that were forbidden. You have drawn the attention of my sons.

My pulse quickened, but I did not react. I had been careful. I had thought no one saw me.

Marcus leaned forward slightly. His voice was soft, which made it more dangerous. Explain yourself.

I opened my mouth, but Theron spoke first.

She has a taste for trouble, Father. I saw her sneaking around the north corridor on her first night. Probably looking for something to steal.

My jaw tightened. I was not a thief.

Lysander’s voice came from the window, low and thoughtful. She was in Mother’s room.

The air in the hall changed. Marcus’s eyes sharpened. Theron’s grin faded. Cassian went rigid, his hands clenching at his sides, but he still did not look at me.

I forced my voice to remain steady. I found the door open. I did not know it was forbidden.

Marcus rose from his chair. He was a large man, powerful even in his middle years, and as he walked toward me, I felt the weight of his alpha presence pressing against my chest. I did not step back. I did not lower my eyes.

You are not a wolf of this pack, he said. You are not even a wolf of any pack now. You are here because your mother begged for mercy and I chose to grant it. That mercy can be revoked.

I met his eyes. I understand, Alpha Marcus.

His gaze held mine for a long, suffocating moment. Then he turned and walked back to his chair, his dismissal clear.

But I am not done, he said, settling into his seat. My sons have brought your trespass to my attention. They have also brought something else.

He looked at Cassian. Tell her.

Cassian’s jaw was tight, his hands still clenched. He did not speak for several heartbeats. When he did, his voice was flat, stripped of emotion.

The rogue pack that killed your father. They have been sighted near Blackwood territory.

The words hit me like ice water. My father. The rogues who had torn his throat open, who had scattered our pack, who had driven my mother to sell herself to a stranger. They were here.

Marcus watched my reaction. I kept my face blank, but my hands trembled slightly, and I saw him notice.

Your father was a minor alpha of a weak pack, Marcus said. His death was a message. The rogues who killed him are testing borders, seeing which packs are strong enough to defend their territory. Blackwood is not weak. But you are.

He let the words settle, heavy and deliberate.

Your presence here is a liability. If the rogues learn that the daughter of their last victim is sheltering in my house, they may see it as a provocation. Or an opportunity.

I understood then. This was not a warning. It was a threat.

What do you want from me? I asked.

Marcus’s lips curved, not quite a smile. I want you to prove that you are worth the risk of keeping. My sons will decide.

I looked at the triplets. Theron’s grin had returned, wider now, hungry. Lysander’s gaze was unreadable, but something flickered there—interest, perhaps, or anticipation. Cassian still would not look at me.

For the next week, Marcus continued, you will serve this household. You will follow every instruction my sons give you. If you succeed, you will remain under Blackwood protection. If you fail—

He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.

Theron pushed off from the wall, his boots loud on the marble. He circled me slowly, the same way he had on my first night, but this time his energy was different. Sharper. More focused.

I think we should start with something simple, he said, his voice a lazy drawl. Something to test her obedience.

He stopped behind me. Close enough that I felt the heat of his body through my thin blouse. His scent surrounded me—pine and smoke and something darker, something wild. His breath ghosted across the back of my neck, and I felt my skin prickle, my pulse quicken despite myself. He was playing. He wanted me to react.

I did not move. I would not give him the satisfaction.

His hand brushed my hair aside, his fingers grazing the nape of my neck. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it sent a shock through my entire body. My wolf stirred, restless, confused by the heat that bloomed beneath my skin. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of my neck, and I felt my breath catch.

She has a lovely neck, Theron murmured, low enough that only I could hear. I wonder what it would look like with my mark.

I hated him for the way my body responded. The heat that pooled low in my belly. The way my knees threatened to buckle.

Lysander stepped forward from the window. His movements were fluid, silent, and he stopped directly in front of me. Unlike Theron, he did not circle. He stood, and he looked.

His eyes moved over my face slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing every detail. The hollow of my cheek. The curve of my lip. The way my chest rose and fell with each quick breath. His gaze lingered on my throat, where Theron's fingers had been, and something flickered in his honey eyes.

You are afraid, he said. It was not a question.

I lifted my chin. I am not afraid of you.

His lips curved. Not of me, he said. Of what you feel when we touch you.

He reached out and took a strand of my hair between his fingers. The touch was light, almost intimate, and I felt the heat of his skin even through the strand. He rubbed the hair between his thumb and forefinger, watching me with those honey eyes that saw too much.

Soft, he said. Like silk. I have wondered.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He released the strand, but his fingers lingered near my face, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his hand radiating against my cheek.

You wonder too, he said. That is why you tremble.

Cassian’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Enough.

Theron’s breath vanished from my neck. Lysander stepped back. Cassian moved from his father’s side, crossing the hall in three strides, and stopped directly in front of me. For the first time, he looked at me.

His eyes were grey, cold, the same as his father’s. But there was something beneath the cold—a heat, a tension, that made my breath catch. His body was close enough to touch, close enough that I could see the faint scar on his jaw, the silver flecks in his irises.

She is not a toy, he said, his voice low. She is not a game for you to play with because you are bored.

Theron’s expression hardened. Since when do you care about the stray, brother?

Cassian did not answer. He was still looking at me, and I could not look away. The air between us felt thick, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. His hand rose, hovering near my face, and for a moment I thought he would touch me. His fingers were inches from my skin, close enough that I could feel the heat of them, close enough that my wolf surged forward, desperate for contact.

He did not touch me. His hand dropped.

You will serve this household, he said, his voice for me alone. You will do what is asked of you. But you will not be humiliated. Is that understood?

I nodded, my throat tight.

He turned to his brothers. Father asked us to test her. Not to break her. We will begin tomorrow. She will attend Silver Creek Academy, as agreed. She will keep her head down, do her work, and stay out of trouble. And if the rogues come, we will deal with them.

He walked back to his father’s side, and the moment shattered. Theron was glaring, his jaw tight, his hands in fists. Lysander had retreated to the window, his expression thoughtful, his eyes still on me.

Marcus rose from his chair. It is settled, then. You will be tested. You will be watched. If you prove yourself, you will remain under Blackwood protection. If you do not—

He let the silence speak for him. Then he turned and left the hall, his footsteps echoing on the marble.

Theron was the next to leave. He paused at the door, looking back at me with a smile that did not reach his eyes. His gaze dropped to my neck, where his fingers had been, and his smile sharpened.

Enjoy your first day of freedom, stray. It is the last one you will have.

He was gone. Lysander followed, silent as a ghost, but at the door he stopped and looked back. His honey eyes met mine, and he lifted his hand to his lips, touching the fingers that had held my hair.

I felt the phantom of his touch like a brand.

Then he was gone too.

I stood alone in the great hall, my legs trembling, my hands cold. My neck still burned where Theron had touched me. My skin still tingled where Lysander's fingers had lingered. And Cassian—Cassian had not touched me at all, and somehow that was the worst of all.

I should have been grateful. They had tested me, and I had not broken. But I felt the weight of three pairs of eyes even though I could not see any of them.

Theron, who wanted to claim me.

Lysander, who wanted to understand me.

Cassian, who wanted nothing to do with me.

And somewhere deep in my chest, my wolf stirred, restless, hungry, confused by the heat that their touches had left behind.

I walked back to my room, and I did not look back. But I could still feel them. Their eyes. Their hands. The promise of something that terrified me more than any rogue.

The Triplet Alphas were not a single enemy. They were three wolves with three different hungers.

And I was already caught between them.