MARKED BY THE THREE ALPHAS

Lila's pov The room Darius left me in is small but surprisingly clean. A narrow bed with a thick wool blanket, a rickety wooden dresser, a single window overlooking the clearing, and a tiny attached bathroom that looks like it was added as an afterthought. No frills, no luxury, just functional. Exactly what I expected from a rogue pack that doesn't waste time on appearances. I drop my backpack on the floor and sink onto the edge of the mattress. My legs are jelly, my head spinning from hunger and exhaustion. The adrenaline from facing down three alphas is wearing off fast, leaving me shaky and raw. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the memory of their stares, Kade's cold calculation, Ronan's silent intensity, Darius's barely leashed aggression. And that nagging sense of familiarity, like my dream last night wasn't just fantasy. A soft knock at the door snaps me out of it. "Come in," I call, voice rougher than I intend. The door opens, and a woman steps inside. She

The next four days blur into a rhythm of pain and progress. Mornings start before dawn. Sarah drags me out to the training circle while the sky is still bruised purple. Jace and Cole don’t go easy anymore, they never did, but now there’s a grudging respect in the way they correct my form instead of just laughing when I hit the dirt. I’m still weak. The suppressants are finally flushing out of my system, leaving me raw and jittery, like my wolf is waking up from a long, drugged sleep. Every muscle aches. My reflexes are sluggish. But hunger isn’t the enemy anymore; Maya makes sure I eat three solid meals a day, and the venison stew starts tasting like fuel instead of charity. I compensate with my head. Silver Moon never let omegas train seriously, but they did let us sit in on strategy sessions when the alphas were too busy to notice. I used to hide in the back of the war room, memorizing maps, listening to arguments about patrol rotations, supply lines, weak points in rival border

Lila's pov The morning of the seventh day feels heavier than the rest.I wake up before the sun, ankle still tender but no longer screaming every time I put weight on it. The wrap Sarah put on yesterday is snug, the salve doing its job. I sit on the edge of the bed for a long minute, staring at the faint light creeping under the door, and let the truth settle in my chest: today decides everything.One week. One chance to prove I belong.If they say no, I walk out of here with nothing but the clothes on my back and whatever scraps of pride I can carry. If they say yes… I don’t even know what comes next. I just know I want it. Badly.Breakfast is quiet. Maya slides a plate of eggs and thick-cut bacon in front of me without a word, but her eyes linger. Jace and Cole sit across from me, unusually subdued. Even the usual chatter in the mess hall feels muted, like everyone knows what’s coming.Sarah finds me after I finish eating.“Alphas want you in the war room,” she says. “Now.”My stom

Lila's pov The forest smells different in the early lightz sharper, colder, like the air itself is holding its breath.Jace leads the patrol, moving fast but quiet through the underbrush. I’m behind him, then Cole, then two younger wolves whose names I still mix up. My ankle’s mostly healed, but I feel every uneven step. No one comments. No one slows down. That’s how it works here: you keep up or you get left.We’re checking the eastern border today—the ridge that overlooks the river cut. Jace says it’s been quiet, but quiet never lasts long in rogue territory.I like the rhythm of it. Scanning trees for broken branches, sniffing for foreign scents, marking our own posts with quick scratches. It’s simple. Physical. No room for overthinking.Until there is.Jace stops abruptly near a cluster of pines. He crouches, fingers brushing the bark.“Fresh,” he mutters.I move closer. There it is: a deliberate claw mark, three parallel lines, shallow but precise. Not deep enough to scar the tr

Ronan’s POVShe runs like someone still expecting to be chased.Not fast. Not reckless. Controlled. Every stride measured, every breath deliberate. She cuts through the pines on the north trail just before dawn, when the mist is thickest and the world is still half-asleep. She thinks no one sees her slip out of the lodge. She thinks the pack is still snoring behind closed doors.She’s wrong.I’ve watched her for weeks.Not the way Darius watches, with heat and barely-leashed want. Not the way Kade watches, with strategy and quiet possession. I watch the way shadows watch: silent, patient, collecting pieces no one else notices.The flinch when someone moves too quickly behind her. The way her hand twitches toward her pocket when she thinks no one’s looking. The faint bitter scent that clings to her even after she showers, herbal, chemical, suppressant. She’s still taking them. Small doses. Hidden. Probably tucked inside the lining of that old jacket she never takes off.She doesn’t