The Triplets' Silent Mate

Ayla’s POV

Snow falls in a slow, quiet drift all around me—not in the magical way you read about. Just... endless, white, and cold.

It settles over everything—the trees, the ground, the rooftops—like it's trying to cover things up. Like if it piles high enough, no one will remember what's buried underneath. Like blood has never soaked into this ground.

The cold bites through my thin, worn hoodie. I tug it tighter anyway, more out of habit than hope. It never helps. Whatever's settled in me goes deeper than weather.

I try to shake it off, focusing on the pine-thick air instead — fresh, clean, real. But smoke drifts from the packhouse, and underneath it, as always, something else. A metallic tang that curls at the back of my throat. It always reminds me of blood, even when there isn't any.

I stop at the edge of the road, gaze drifting toward the packhouse. Its windows glow, warm and inviting, filled with laughter and light. Everything I avoid.

My eyes snap to a group standing at the entrance as laughter rings out — real laughter, easy and loud. It lands somewhere behind my ribs, unexpected. I gasp. I can't remember ever laughing like that. I shove the thought aside before it takes root. I will not pity myself. I will not let the sadness in.

I step closer, but not urgently. I’m always the last to arrive, keeping to the shadows.

My nostrils flare, and I freeze. The smell hits before I can brace for it — roasted meat, potatoes, something sweet and warm. Cinnamon. Probably pumpkin pie. My throat closes around it. I drag in a slow breath, but the numbness comes anyway.

Christmas.

The day I hate most. Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them — because of what it's supposed to mean. And I don't have that.

Family.

The word means nothing to me anymore.

A group brushes past on their way to the packhouse, their shoulders bumping mine without slowing. One of them clips me harder than the rest.

“Hey, watch it!” he yells, turning to face me. His eyes catch mine, and a sneer curls on his lips.

I steady myself and look down. It’s easier that way—avoiding all contact, keeping a low profile.

“Don’t bother,” another boy says. “It’s just the mute stray. You won’t get anything out of her.”

They laugh like it’s nothing. I was five when I stopped speaking. As if not speaking means I don’t feel.

I keep my eyes down and don’t react. I learned early: ignoring them is safer. Reacting only fuels their cruelty.

I don’t remember deciding to go silent. It just happened, like a switch was flipped off and never turned back on.

What I do remember comes in flashes.

A raging fire, consuming everything.

My body tenses as a memory surfaces: red eyes, fixed on me. I always believed rogues destroyed my pack, but some days I wonder if it was something else. Everything's blurry — it was years ago. The rest of that night is tucked away with my voice. I push it down, as always. There's no space for it here.

“Hey. Mute.”

My shoulders tense before I can stop them.

I don’t turn. I don’t need to. I know who it is.

Their footsteps are slow and purposeful, each one vibrating through the ground beneath me. My heart pounds hard enough to hurt, but I don't dare run. Running only makes it worse — I learned that years ago.

The air grows heavier as they approach—dominant and warmer, but not in a way that helps.

The triplets.

They always move together, three brothers who could pass for the same person. Same height, same dark hair, too perfect—like copies. Their blue eyes bore into you.

Kael steps into view first. He never rushes. Everything about him is deliberate—like he’s already decided how this will go.

His eyes find mine immediately. Cold, icy blue, cutting right through me.

Even before the title—Alpha—is officially his, it already sits on his shoulders like it was made for him.

Ryker comes up beside him, already smiling like this is the best part of his night. It probably is. He’ll be Kael’s Beta when they take over the pack.

Soren lingers just behind, the quiet brother who’s always watching. Keeping his distance, never taking part—not that it helps.

“Well?” Ryker tilts his head, pinning my gaze beneath the hoodie. A taunting smile tugs at his lips, his blue eyes darkening with excitement. “Did she go deaf too, or is she just ignoring you?”

Before I can step back, a hand clamps onto my shoulder and spins me toward them. Too fast. I lose my balance, but Kael holds me in place.

He doesn’t let go right away; his brows furrow, like he’s searching for something in my face. For a moment, he just stares, his body heat radiating between us even through the cold. It makes me painfully aware of how frozen I am.

“Answer him,” Ryker sneers, eyes locked on me.

Then he laughs under his breath. “Right. Forgot.”

Laughter erupts behind them. I don’t look to see who joined in. I drop my gaze—not because I can’t face them, but because I won’t give them what they want.

“Pathetic,” Kael says, scoffing as he shoves me back into a heap of snow.

“You know,” Ryker says, glancing at the crowd behind them, “it’s kind of impressive. Thirteen years and not a word.” He leans in. “Do you even remember how?”

Someone snorts from behind. “Maybe she never could.”

The remark ripples through me, sparking another round of laughter. It echoes more than it should—especially today.

I don’t react. I haven’t in years. It’s easier that way. They’ll get bored soon enough.

Soren’s gaze lingers on me longer than usual—not mocking, not kind, just... searching. His eyebrows knit in frustration. Why doesn’t he just ask? Why doesn’t he say it?

A long, loud howl cuts through the air, making everyone freeze.

Kael’s eyes flicker to me.

“Don’t wander off,” he warns. “We’re not dealing with you tonight.”

Ryker snorts. “Maybe find a new place to stay. This freeloading thing? Yeah, it’s done.”

They turn away like I’m already gone. Like I don’t matter.

Soren hesitates for a moment, gaze flicking between me and his brothers, then silently follows them.

And just like that, it’s quiet again. I push myself out of the snow, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. My hands tremble—not from cold, but fear. I press them against my hoodie until they stop.

It’s fine.

It’s always fine.

I’ve lived through worse.

The space around me feels bigger now that they’re gone—emptier, colder.

The packhouse still glows in the distance, full of warmth I’ll never touch. Laughter drifts out every time the door opens, then fades again.

I stay where I am—where I belong. Outside. I’m not welcome inside.

Something stirs — low and unfamiliar. My hand presses to my chest before I even think about it. Not pain. Just... movement. In a place that's been still for a very long time. I take a slow breath. It's probably just my nerves. For a moment, I think I'm imagining it. But I'm not.

Because deep down, I know what it means—my wolf is awakening.

She moves, sudden and startling, and I stiffen. It’s not supposed to be time yet.

The packhouse door opens, and I feel gentle eyes on me.

“Ayla,” Luna Ria calls. “Come, dear child. Everyone is waiting.”

I slowly meet her gaze and give a faint nod before moving.

But I already know something has changed, and whatever happens next—there’s no going back.

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