Chapter 1: The Rogues’ Daughter

I gasped as Evander, one of the triplets and the future Alphas of the pack, approached me. Mid-step, he shifted, his golden-brown eyes flashing, and his hand gripped my wrist.The heat of his touch burned through me.

"Let go," I whispered.

His fingers tightened.

"No."

A shiver ran through me.

The bond pressed in.

Crushing. Demanding.

My breath quickened, uneven, my chest burning with every inhale.

I, an orphan in the pack, a rogue, had only discovered moments before I was about to leave the Alpha’s triplet sons—the future Alphas of the pack—were my mate.

Moon Goddess, what kind of cruel joke is this?

Then—

Rowan, another of the triplets, shifted last.

His expression was softer. Quieter.

But his voice?

Pained.

"Why?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Because I can’t stay here."

Because if I stayed...

I’d lose myself.

I’d lose everything.

Dorian, the last of the triplets, tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You belong with us."

"No. No, I don’t."

I wrenched my wrist free from Evander’s grip, my chest heaving.

"I belong to no one."

Dorian’s lips curled into a slow, dark smirk.

"That’s where you’re wrong, little rogue."

....

I learned to stop crying a long time ago.

Tears meant weakness, and weakness invited more pain.

The moment I stepped outside the pack house that morning, I knew it was going to be a bad day. The late autumn air was crisp, laced with the promise of an early snowfall, but there was no beauty in it for me—only the sting of another long, miserable day ahead. The scent of damp earth and pine mixed with something far more familiar: cruelty.

"Well, look who decided to crawl out of her hole."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Dorian, Evander, and Rowan—Silvercrest’s precious Alpha triplets. The future rulers of this pack.

My tormentors.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the pack house entrance, watching me like a pack of wolves circling wounded prey. Which, in their eyes, I was. I wasn’t like the others. I wasn’t one of them.

I was the rogues’ daughter.

I forced my chin up, ignoring the sharp pang in my ribs from last night’s punishment. A mistake. Dorian’s dark blue eyes—so much like his father’s—gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, studying me the way a cat studies a dying bird.

“She’s walking stiff again,” Evander murmured. His voice was softer than Dorian’s, more thoughtful, but that never made him any less dangerous.

"Think she’ll cry today?" Rowan asked, his voice edged with something unsettling—curiosity.

"She never cries," Dorian mused, stepping closer. The morning sunlight caught in the sharp angles of his face, turning his messy black hair into something almost elegant, if not for the cruel smirk curving his lips. "Isn’t that right, Calista?"

I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

Rowan’s smirk widened. "Do you think it’s because she likes it?"

The wolves standing around us—pack members who had stopped to watch the show—laughed.

Humiliation burned through me, but I knew better than to react. That was what they wanted. They fed off my pain, my helplessness. And I couldn’t afford to give them what they wanted.

Not when I was so close to escaping this nightmare.

"Leave me alone," I muttered, sidestepping them.

But Dorian blocked my path. "Now, now," he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Is that any way to speak to your future Alphas?"

"Future Alphas don’t waste time tormenting someone beneath them," I shot back.

The smirk on his lips faltered.

A mistake.

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Because Dorian’s eyes darkened, and a slow, predatory grin replaced his earlier amusement.

"You really think you're beneath us?" Evander murmured, stepping forward, his voice velvety smooth. His fingers brushed a lock of my silver-blonde hair off my shoulder, a deliberate invasion of space. I forced myself not to flinch. "No, little rogue, I think you’re something else entirely."

I swallowed hard. I hated how they did this—how they played with me like I was some kind of toy, something that only existed for their entertainment. But this was different. There was something… off about the way they were looking at me today.

Like they had discovered something about me that even I didn’t know.

"Careful, brother," Rowan said, leaning lazily against the porch railing. His light brown hair was tousled from the wind, and there was an odd gleam in his hazel eyes as he watched us. "If you break her too soon, we won’t have anything left to play with."

Another round of laughter from the gathered pack members.

I forced my breathing to remain even, my fists curling at my sides.

Not yet.

Not yet.

With sheer force of will, I stepped around Dorian and walked away.

This time, they let me go.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of chores and whispers.

As always, I scrubbed the kitchen floors while the other unmated she-wolves giggled about the upcoming Moon Festival. I hung laundry while the Beta’s daughter, Sabine, made a point to 'accidentally' knock over the clean sheets. I fetched water from the well while the pack warriors sneered at me, calling me "the rogue pet" under their breath.

By nightfall, my body ached, my ribs screamed in protest, and exhaustion clung to my bones like a second skin.

I trudged up to my small, forgotten room in the back of the pack house, wincing as I pulled my threadbare sweater over my head. The bruises from last night’s punishment had blossomed into dark patches of purple and blue, stark against my pale skin.

I exhaled shakily, running my fingers over them. The pain was familiar. Expected.

"Just a little longer," I whispered.

A few more weeks. That was all I needed.

Once my wolf awakened, I’d be strong enough to run.

Strong enough to fight if I had to.

I would be free.

I curled up on the thin mattress, ignoring the cold seeping into my bones.

I was so close.

I just had to endure a little longer.

Chapter 2: The Pack’s Punching Bag

The morning air was sharp, cutting through my threadbare clothes and sinking deep into my bruised skin. Each step across the damp grass sent a dull ache rippling through my ribs, a cruel reminder of yesterday’s torment.

I kept my head down, moving quickly across the training grounds, ignoring the lingering stares. The whispers. The amused glances from passing pack members who found entertainment in my suffering.

I had learned long ago—acknowledging them only made it worse.

But I wasn’t fast enough to avoid her.

"Move, rogue."

The voice slithered down my spine, icy and laced with venom.

Sabine.

The Beta’s daughter. The pack’s golden girl. The one who had everything—except, perhaps, the one thing she truly wanted.

Before I could react, pain exploded in my side. A sharp kick to my ribs sent me sprawling onto the frozen dirt, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My scraped palms stung as I caught myself just before my face hit the ground.

Laughter rippled around us—not as loud as when the triplets toyed with me, but enough to make my stomach churn.

Sabine crouched beside me, her honey-blonde hair shining in the morning light, her hazel eyes gleaming with something more than cruelty.

Jealousy.

But I stayed silent.

That only seemed to anger her more. She clicked her tongue, fingers twisting into my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to meet her gaze.

"What? No smart mouth today?" she taunted, her nails digging into my scalp. "No pathetic little attempts at defiance?"

I said nothing.

Her grip tightened, her lips curling into a sneer. "You think you're better than me, don't you? You think just because they look at you, it means something?"

The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.

Something inside me settled with quiet understanding.

This wasn’t just about me. This was about them.

The triplets.

Even when they tormented me, even when they mocked me, they noticed me. Their attention—no matter how cruel—lingered.

And that infuriated Sabine.

Before I could react, she shoved me back down, dust kicking up in my face.

"Sabine… maybe you shouldn’t."

The voice was hesitant, uncertain.

Mira. A lower-ranked omega.

She wasn’t brave, but she wasn’t cruel either.

Sabine turned sharply, her glare cutting. "What?"

Mira shifted, glancing around uneasily. "The triplets… if they see you doing this—"

Sabine scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. They don’t care about this mutt."

But there was something in her voice. A flicker of doubt.

She turned back to me, eyes scanning my face, searching for… something. Some kind of confirmation that she was right. That I meant nothing.

I gave her nothing.

Her lips curled in disgust. "You’re so boring."

With a final glare, she turned and stalked off, her entourage trailing behind.

Mira lingered for a moment before kneeling beside me.

"You should rinse your hands," she murmured, her gaze flicking toward the cuts on my palms. "Before they get worse."

I stared at her, unmoving.

She shifted, embarrassed. "I just mean—" She sighed. "Never mind."

And then she was gone.

I sat there for a moment, waiting for the burning behind my eyes to fade.

Not here.

Not where they could see.

The dining hall was warm, thick with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread. Warriors laughed over half-finished plates, omegas moved in seamless rhythm, but the heat of the fire did nothing to thaw the cold in my bones.

I worked quietly, clearing tables with steady hands, ignoring the dull ache in my ribs. Every movement sent pain flickering through my body, but I didn’t falter.

I never did.

And then—

A shift in the air.

A presence—threefold. Heavy. Inescapable.

I felt them before I saw them.

The triplets.

Their attention wrapped around me like an unseen leash, invisible but impossible to ignore. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin, not in fear—but in something far more dangerous.

A chair scraped against the wooden floor.

I didn’t need to look up to know Dorian had taken the seat closest to me.

"You’re limping," he noted casually. "Rough morning?"

His voice was light, amused—but his sharp gaze flicked over me, assessing.

"She always looks like that," Rowan mused, propping an elbow on the table, his expression lazy, but his eyes sharp. "A walking bruise."

Evander swirled a drink in his hand, watching me with vague interest. "You’d think she’d get tired of being everyone’s favorite punching bag." He took a slow sip before adding, "Maybe she likes it."

I stilled, my fingers gripping the damp cloth just a little tighter.

Dorian leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, coaxing. "Is that it, Calista? Do you like it?"

A slow heat crept up my neck, but I kept my head down, kept scrubbing the table.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Dorian tsked, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Still so stubborn."

Rowan sighed dramatically. "You really don’t make this easy on yourself, you know."

"She never does," Evander agreed, watching me with a lazy sort of amusement.

I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, fingers wrapped around my wrist.

Not tight. Just enough to still me.

A flicker of warmth spread through my skin before I jerked away, my pulse kicking up. "Don’t touch me."

Dorian smirked, but this time, it was softer. Almost thoughtful. "You always say that."

Rowan chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. "And yet, here we are. Again."

Evander studied me, tilting his head slightly. "It’s cute that you still think you have a choice."

I sucked in a breath, my heart thudding against my ribs.

Dorian’s gaze flickered to my wrist, where my sleeve had ridden up slightly. His expression didn’t change, but something shifted—his amusement dimming for the briefest moment before he murmured,

"You should’ve told us."

I laughed, cold and hollow. "Told you?" I shook my head. "You act like you’re different. You torment me just like they do. You—"

I broke off, suddenly too aware of how close they were.

Too close to their heat.

Too close to the way they were looking at me.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Something else entirely.

Dorian exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Only we have the right to do this to you."

The words settled over me like a slow, curling fog.

Possessiveness.

My breath locked in my chest, my body reacting before my mind could. I stepped back—once, twice—my wolf pressing against my skin, restless.

I didn’t understand them.

I didn’t want to.

"Stay away from me," I forced out.

And then I turned and left, ignoring the way their stares burned into my back.

Ignoring the way my wolf didn’t protest.

Ignoring the way something had shifted—something dark. Something undeniable.

But most of all, I ignored the way I almost didn’t hate it.