The Triplets' Silent Mate

Ayla’s POV

Snow falls in a slow, quiet drift all around me—not in the kind of way that makes it look magical.

It just looks endless, a dull color of white and cold. It settles over everything—the trees, the ground, rooftops—as if trying to cover things up. As if, if it piles high enough, no one will remember what’s buried underneath. As if blood has never soaked into the ground beneath my feet or screams don’t still echo in my mind when I close my eyes.

The cold bites through my thin, worn-out hoodie. I tug it tighter around me, more out of habit than anything else. It’s not nearly enough to keep me warm on nights like this; the cold in me is bone-deep.

I try to shake off the cold and turn my attention to something else; it’s the only way I survive it.

The faint scent of pine trees fills my lungs, and I focus on that as I inhale deeply, taking in the fresh, clean air.

The smell of woodsmoke is there too, drifting from the packhouse, yet there’s always this sharp metallic undertone that reminds me of blood, even when I know there isn’t any.

I stop at the edge of the road and hesitate about whether I should cross, my eyes drifting toward the packhouse.

It glows ahead with inviting warmth, but it’s everything I avoid.

I exhale deeply as I try to muster the courage to continue. There’s a group of teenagers standing near the packhouse entrance, already in jolly spirits. Their laughter sounds so easy and real; it bounces and echoes right inside me.

I can’t remember ever laughing that way.

I quickly push the feeling aside—I will not pity myself.

I will not react or feel sad.

I drag my feet closer to the road. I’m not in any hurry to reach my destination; besides, I’m always the last one to arrive. It’s better that way. I’ve learned to keep to the shadows and avoid interaction.

My nostrils flare as the heavenly smell of roasted meat, potatoes, and something sweet—like pumpkin pie—assaults my nose, coming from the packhouse. It smells so homely, so...

My stomach tightens before I can stop it, and my chest pinches painfully, leaving me numb for just a moment.

I can barely think the word, and my world feels like it’s breaking apart. Christmas.

It’s the day I despise the most. Not because I never loved the season or didn’t care about the decorations or celebration, but because of what it’s supposed to mean: Family.

And I don’t have that—not really, and definitely not here in this pack.

I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing it aside despite the dread rushing through me, but tears still make their way up as sadness creeps from the deepest parts of my soul.

The word ‘family’ holds no meaning for me. Not here. No one cares for me here. I’m just an outsider, an orphan who never accepted the pack bond, making me an outsider and a liability.

I’m basically a rogue living in a pack... and wolves don’t like that...

A group of teenagers brush past me, hurrying toward the packhouse, their shoulders bumping mine without slowing. One of them, a boy with blond hair and brown eyes, clips me harder than the rest.

“Hey, look where you’re going, bitch!” he yells, stopping to face me. His eyes flash as he storms toward me.

I automatically lower my eyes to avoid his gaze. It’s my survival technique, to stay small and out of reach.

“You’re wasting your breath, bro,” a passing boy says. “She’s just the mute stray; you won’t get a sound out of her.”

Another boy sneers. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging on the first boy’s sleeve. “She’s not worth the effort. She hasn’t spoken in ages.”

The group bursts out laughing like he’s said the funniest thing ever, pointing at me like I’m some kind of freak. It’s as if they think I don’t have feelings because I don’t talk.

I keep my eyes down, fixed on my feet. I don’t react to anything they say.

It’s easier to ignore than to try to explain myself or fight back. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way—reacting only fuels confrontation.

“Maybe if I pinch her hard enough, she’ll make a sound,” he says, stepping closer.

“Ryker has tried that already,” the other boy says, dragging him toward the packhouse. “It doesn’t work. Now come on, we’re going to be late. The party is starting.”

The boy glances at me one last time before he and his friends hurry off.

I sigh with relief, but adrenaline still surges through me.

I was five when I stopped talking. I can’t remember deciding to; it just... happened.

It was like a switch flicked off deep inside me, and it’s never turned back on.

What I do remember comes in horrific flashes—a huge, angry fire consuming everything in its path. The smell of burning fur, blood, and smoke so thick it stuck in my throat. My mother’s last words before her hand slipped from mine. She was lying in a pool of her own blood, deep gashes across her face and neck. I watched her die. I watched her eyes lose their spark.

My father’s voice filled the air only once before he went silent, too.

My body stiffens as the memory of red eyes flashes before me. They always follow, as if they’re a warning.

I always believed it was rogues who destroyed my pack, but some days, I wonder if it wasn’t something stronger, or someone else.

I can’t remember anything clearly; the rest of the memory is tucked away with my voice, somewhere deep inside.

A shiver runs through me, sharp enough to make me tense.

“Hey, mute!”

My shoulders tense before I can stop them, and I freeze, not turning.

I don’t need to; I already know who it is—the triplet brothers, the future alphas of the pack.

I sigh internally as their slow, deliberate footsteps approach—as if they want me to hear every step. The sound vibrates through my body like a drum, making my heart beat faster with fear.

But I stay still and don’t run—they’d only chase me like prey.

The air changes as they get closer—dominant and warmer, but not in a way that helps. They always move as one.

The three brothers could have been the same person. They’re identical, down to the last hair. They stand at 6’4”, unbelievably handsome, with dark, almost black hair—always styled to perfection—cold blue eyes that bore into your soul, and magazine-perfect bodies and faces.

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

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

Even before the title of Alpha is officially his, it already sits on him like it belongs there.

Ryker comes up beside him, 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, and I fear that’s when he’ll throw me out.

Soren, the youngest, lingers just behind them. He’s the quiet one, always watching but never saying a word. He keeps his distance and never takes part—not that it helps. It’s worse; I never know what he’s thinking.

“Well?” Ryker asks, tilting his head to find and pin my gaze hidden under my hoodie.

A taunting, cold smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his blue eyes dark with excitement.

“Did she go deaf too, brother, or is she just ignoring you today?” he asks.

Before I can slip away, a hand grips my shoulder and spins me toward them.

My balance slips, but Kael keeps me in place.

He doesn’t let go right away; his brows furrow as if searching for something in my eyes tonight.

For a moment, he just stares, his body heat filling the space between us even through the cold. It makes me more aware of how frozen I am.

“Answer him,” Ryker sneers, his eyes never leaving me. Then he laughs coldly. “Oh, right. You can’t talk. Must have slipped my mind!”

Loud, cruel laughter erupts behind them, making my heart beat faster. I don’t look to see who joined in; I already know.

I drop my gaze—not because I can’t face them, but because I won’t give them what they want: a reaction to the humiliation.

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

“You know,” Ryker says, shifting his head to the crowd, “I almost respect that—the silence. It’s been thirteen years. It must be exhausting.” He leans in slightly. “Do you even remember how to make a sound? How does your own voice sound?”

Someone behind him snorts. “Maybe she never learned to talk. Maybe she’s dumb like that.”

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

I keep my face blank and don’t react. I haven’t given them the satisfaction in years—maybe that’s why they still taunt me.

But it’s easier this way; the boys will get bored soon and leave me alone.

Soren’s gaze lingers on me longer than usual today—not mocking, but not kind either. It’s just... there—like he’s trying to figure something out. His eyebrows knit in frustration, as if he’s having an internal battle.

Why doesn’t he just ask what he wants to know? Why doesn’t he just say it?

A long, loud howl fills the air, cutting through the tension and making everyone freeze.

That’s the signal everyone’s been waiting for.

Kael’s eyes flicker to me, his brows knitting.

“Don’t wander off, mute,” he growls. “We’re not saving you tonight—it’s Christmas Eve, and we’re spending it with OUR family and friends.”

My heart pinches in my chest hearing his bitter words. I’ve never purposely ruined any celebration; it’s always them who make trouble for me.

Ryker huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe it’s time you get yourself a family, one who actually wants your petty ass. This freeloading stops tonight... tomorrow morning, you’re gone... time to move on.”

As one, they turn away like I’ve already stopped mattering.

Soren hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between me and his brothers, but then silently follows them—no glance back.

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

It’s fine. It’s always fine. I’ve lived through worse than this.

The space around me feels bigger and colder now that they’re gone.

The packhouse still glows in the distance, full of warmth I don’t get to touch.

Warm, joyful laughter drifts out every time the door opens, then fades again when it closes.

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

Something suddenly shifts inside me, and I frown, my hand pressing against my chest before I even think about it. It’s like something is moving deep inside, where nothing has moved in a long time.

I take a slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself. It’s probably just my nerves.

But before I move, the same feeling stirs again. Now I’m sure I’m not imagining it, because deep down, I already know what it means—my wolf, she’s awakened.

She moves again—stronger and almost impatient this time—and a feeling of dread and anxiety washes over me, making me stiffen on the spot. Something feels wrong.

The packhouse door abruptly opens, making me yelp, and a moment later, gentle eyes land on me.

“Ayla,” Luna Ria’s voice travels over the snow. “Come inside, dear child—it’s freezing out there. We’re about to start. Everyone is waiting.”

I slowly raise my gaze to meet hers and give a hesitant nod before moving again. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever tonight brings, it will change the rest of my life...

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