MARKED BY THE THREE ALPHAS

Lila's pov

Hands. So many hands.

They're everywhere, sliding up my thighs, gripping my hips, tangling in my hair. I can't see their faces, but I don't need to. I feel them. Three of them, surrounding me, claiming me. One behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his breath hot against my neck. Another in front, his mouth trailing fire down my throat. The third watching, waiting, his presence a dark promise.

"You're ours," one of them growls, and the sound vibrates through my entire body.

I arch into their touch, shameless and desperate. Fingers trace the curve of my spine, teeth graze my shoulder, lips brush the shell of my ear. The pleasure is overwhelming, drowning me. I'm being pulled apart and put back together, marked and claimed in ways I don't understand but crave with every fiber of my being.

"Say it," another commands, his voice rough with need.

I open my mouth to answer, but...

I jolt awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. My skin is flushed, my body humming with residual heat that has nothing to do with the thin blanket I'd wrapped around myself last night. For a disorienting moment, I can still feel phantom hands on my skin, still hear those commanding voices echoing in my ears.

"Shit," I breathe, pressing my palms against my burning cheeks.

It was just a dream. A very vivid, very inappropriate dream about three faceless men who felt more real than anything I've experienced in weeks. My body clearly didn't get the memo that I'm supposed to be focused on survival, not... whatever the hell that was.

I force myself to sit up, wincing as every muscle protests. The forest floor isn't exactly a luxury mattress, and five days of sleeping rough has left me feeling like I've been trampled by a herd of deer. The early morning air is cool against my overheated skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Mist clings to the ground between the towering Douglas firs, and somewhere in the distance, a raven calls.

The Pacific Northwest wilderness is beautiful in a way that would be breathtaking if I wasn't so damn exhausted.

I run my fingers through my tangled auburn hair, trying to shake off the lingering sensations from the dream. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, confused by the phantom arousal, by the strange pull I'd felt toward those dream figures. I push her down firmly. Now is not the time.

My stomach growls, a sharp reminder that I haven't eaten anything substantial in two days. The protein bar I'd rationed yesterday is long gone, and the stream water I've been drinking isn't exactly filling. I'm running on fumes and stubbornness at this point.

Keep moving,I tell myself, forcing my aching body to stand. You're close. You have to be close.

I'd been tracking the territorial markers for the last day, subtle scratches on trees, scent posts that warned outsiders away. Bloodmoon Collective territory. The rogue pack that supposedly takes in wolves with nowhere else to go. My last hope, my only option.

Because going back to Silver Moon Pack isn't an option. Not after what my father tried to do. Not after Marcus.

I shudder, pushing away the memory of Marcus Greythorne's possessive hands, his entitled smirk, the way he'd looked at me like I was property he'd already purchased. My father had promised me to him without my consent, sealing a political alliance with my future. An omega's purpose, he'd said. To strengthen the pack through a advantageous mating.

Fuck that. Fuck all of it.

I'd run the night before the mating ceremony, taking nothing but the clothes on my back and what little cash I'd hidden away. Five days of running, hiding, pushing myself to the breaking point. Five days of freedom that might end today if I can't convince the Bloodmoon alphas to take me in.

I shoulder my small backpack, nearly empty now, and start walking. My legs are shaky, my vision occasionally swimming, but I force myself forward. One foot in front of the other. That's all I can do.

The forest grows denser as I push deeper into Bloodmoon territory. The markers are more frequent here, more aggressive. Turn back, they warn. You're not welcome.

I ignore them. I don't have anywhere else to turn back to.

I'm so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I almost don't notice when the forest goes silent. The birds stop singing. The rustle of small animals in the underbrush ceases. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

Every instinct I have screams danger.

I freeze, my wolf surging to the surface, ready to fight or flee. My heart pounds as I scan the trees, searching for the threat I know is there.

That's when I smell him.

Pine and leather and something wild, something undeniably alpha. The scent hits me like a physical force, and my knees nearly buckle. My wolf whines, caught between submission and defiance, between fear and something far more dangerous.

He steps out from behind a massive cedar tree, and my breath catches.

He's huge, easily six-three, built like he was carved from the mountains themselves. Broad shoulders, powerful frame, dark hair that falls just past his collar. But it's his eyes that pin me in place. Storm-gray and intense, they rake over me with an assessment that feels like a physical touch.

This is an alpha. A real one. Not like the soft, political alphas back at Silver Moon. This man is a predator, and I've just stumbled into his territory.

"You're trespassing," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones.

I lift my chin, refusing to show the fear coursing through me. "I'm seeking sanctuary."

His eyes narrow. "Sanctuary." He says it like it's a foreign concept. "From what?"

"Does it matter?"

He moves closer, and I force myself not to step back. He circles me slowly, and I can feel his gaze cataloging every detail, my torn jeans, my dirty jacket, the exhaustion I can't quite hide. When he leans in, scenting me, my wolf goes very still.

"Silver Moon Pack," he says, and it's not a question. "You're a long way from home, omega."

The way he says *omega* makes my spine stiffen. Not with the dismissive condescension I'm used to, but with something else. Something that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

"Not my home anymore," I say firmly.

"Runaway, then." He crosses his arms, muscles flexing beneath his worn leather jacket. "We don't harbor fugitives."

"I'm not a fugitive. I left of my own free will."

"Does your pack know that?"

I meet his gaze steadily, even though my heart is racing. "I don't owe them an explanation. And I don't owe you one either."

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or grudging respect. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Stupid, but ballsy." He jerks his head toward the deeper forest. "Come on. The alphas will want to hear this."

"The alphas?" I echo. "Plural?"

His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile. "Welcome to Bloodmoon, sweetheart. We do things differently here."

He starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow. I hesitate for only a moment before my feet move. What choice do I have? I've come this far.

As we walk, I study him from behind. The confident way he moves through the forest, the alertness in every line of his body. He's beautiful in a dangerous, untamed way that makes my mouth go dry. My wolf is far too interested, pressing against my skin like she wants to get closer.

Down, I tell her firmly. We're here for sanctuary, not... whatever you're thinking.

"What's your name?" I ask, more to distract myself than anything.

He glances back at me. "Darius."

"Lila."

He doesn't respond, just keeps walking. The silence stretches between us, heavy with tension I don't fully understand. Every time he looks at me, I feel that same pull from my dream, that same inexplicable draw. It's unsettling.

After what feels like an eternity, the trees open up into a clearing. A large lodge sits in the center, built from timber and stone, smoke curling from the chimney. It's rustic but solid, exactly what I'd expect from a rogue pack. Wolves move around the clearing, some in human form, some shifted, all of them stopping to stare as Darius leads me through.

I feel their eyes on me, assessing, judging. I keep my head high, my expression neutral. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Darius leads me up the steps and into the lodge. The interior is warm, lit by a massive fireplace and oil lamps. The furniture is worn but comfortable, the space lived-in. And standing near the fireplace, waiting, are two more men.

Two more alphas.

I know it instantly, the same way I knew Darius was an alpha. The power radiating from them is unmistakable. But where Darius is all barely contained aggression, these two are different.

The one on the left is tall and lean, with dark hair and eyes like chips of ice. He watches me with the cold calculation of a chess master, his expression giving nothing away. Everything about him screams control, strategy, danger wrapped in a civilized package.

The one on the right is harder to read. He stands in the shadows near the window, dark-haired and silent, his presence somehow both there and not there. When his eyes meet mine, I feel exposed, like he can see straight through every defense I've built.

"Found her on the eastern border," Darius says, his tone clipped. "Says she's seeking sanctuary. She's from Silver Moon."

The cold one, the strategist, steps forward. "Silver Moon Pack." His voice is smooth, cultured, at odds with the wild setting. "That's Alpha Greythorne's territory. You're a long way from home."

"So I've been told," I say, keeping my voice steady.

"What's your name?"

"Lila Thorne."

His eyes sharpen. "Thorne. As in Thomas Thorne's daughter?"

Of course he knows. Of course he'd know exactly who I am. "Yes."

"The omega promised to Marcus Greythorne," he continues, circling me the same way Darius did. "The mating that was supposed to seal an alliance between Silver Moon and the Greythorne family line. That Lila Thorne?"

I swallow hard. "That's me."

"And you ran." It's not a question.

"I ran."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not property to be traded for political gain."

Silence falls over the room. The three alphas exchange glances, some unspoken communication passing between them. I stand there, exhausted and starving, trying not to sway on my feet.

The strategist stops in front of me, studying my face. "I'm Kade Blackthorn. This is my pack." He gestures to the others. "You've met Darius. That's Ronan."

The shadow alpha, Ronan, inclines his head slightly but doesn't speak.

"You're asking for sanctuary," Kade continues. "That's not something we grant lightly. Silver Moon will come looking for you. Marcus Greythorne will come looking for you. You're a political liability."

"I know."

"So why should we risk it? Why should we risk war with a traditional pack for one runaway omega?"

This is it. My one chance. I meet Kade's cold gaze and don't flinch. "Because I'm worth it. Because I'm smart, I'm capable, and I won't be dead weight. Give me a chance to prove it."

"Prove it how?"

"However you want. Put me to work. Test me. I'll do whatever it takes."

Darius scoffs from behind me. "She's half-starved and can barely stand. What use is she?"

I turn to glare at him. "I'm standing here, aren't I? I made it through five days in the wilderness alone. I tracked your territory, evaded your patrols until I wanted to be found. I'm stronger than I look."

Something flashes in his eyes, that same grudging respect from before, mixed with something hotter. "Cocky."

"Confident," I correct.

Kade's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "You have fire. I'll give you that." He exchanges another look with his fellow alphas, then turns back to me. "One week. You have one week to prove you're worth the risk. You'll work, you'll train, you'll follow our rules. At the end of the week, we'll decide if you stay or go."

Relief floods through me so intensely I nearly collapse. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Kade says. "This pack isn't like Silver Moon. We don't coddle omegas here. You'll pull your weight or you'll leave. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Darius will show you to a room. Get cleaned up, get some food. Your trial starts tomorrow."

Darius moves to my side, his presence overwhelming. As he leads me toward the stairs, I catch Ronan watching me from the shadows, his dark eyes unreadable. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with cold.

Three alphas. Three very different, very dangerous men.

And somehow, impossibly, they feel familiar. Like I've known them before. Like I've dreamed them.

I shake off the thought as Darius opens a door to a small but clean room. "Bathroom's down the hall," he says gruffly. "Someone will bring you food."

"Thank you," I say quietly.

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at me. For a moment, something softens in his storm-gray eyes. "Don't make me regret this."

Then he's gone, and I'm alone.

I sink onto the bed, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion. One week. I have one week to prove I belong here, to convince three alpha wolves that I'm worth the trouble.

One week to figure out why they feel like the men from my dream.

One week to survive.

I close my eyes, and despite everything, I smile.

I've made it this far. I'm not giving up now.