Encountering The Rogues
689 Words
The twins came tumbling down the hillside like two gleaming comets set loose from heaven’s vault. Drenched in golden light, their silky white coats fluttered behind them as they bolted into the sleepy town nestled at the edge of the Northern Pack lands. It wasn’t just that they were beautiful—no, that would be an insult. They looked like they had been handcrafted by the gods during a particularly inspired tea break, as if divine fingers had sculpted them from moonlight and sugar.
Even covered in dirt, they radiated an aura that screamed: We are perfect, without uttering a single word. Every step they took seemed choreographed, every glance was effortlessly enchanting. Heads turned. Mouths hung open. Babies stopped crying just to stare. Birds adjusted their feathers in shame.
They were six. And at six years old, nothing in the world matters except playing, snacks, and which bedtime story will be told that night. Destiny could wait. Fate could take a number. The only plans that mattered were made under bridges with soggy sticks and way too much imagination.
“Let’s make mud pie soup!” Lola declared, her eyes glittering as she scooped a glop of squelching muck into an old rusty tin.
“With dead leaves for garnish!” Kole added, slicing the pie with a twig like a five-star chef unveiling a masterpiece.
They cackled, completely unbothered by the brown goo squelching between their fingers, offering each other soggy pieces of pretend dessert with the generosity of tiny saints. Their laughter echoed under the stone bridge, pure and high, like a lullaby composed by chaos itself.
“I’m gonna take care of Mommy and Daddy when they’re old,” Lola proclaimed proudly, smearing a stripe of mud across her cheek like war paint.
“Me too,” Kole nodded solemnly, handing her a lopsided leaf sandwich. “Forever and ever.”
The townsfolk, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.
Not for themselves—but for the Hopkins twins.
a group of rogue alphas had entered the town that morning, slinking in like unwanted houseguests with too many teeth and not enough manners. They were prowling, sniffing for unmated omegas, but all they found were wrinkled betas and already-claimed omegas with marked necks and no scent to tempt them.
The rogues were about to give up—until the scent hit them.
It was faint, almost ethereal. A whisper of springtime. A lullaby in pheromone form. A scent so achingly sweet and compelling it nearly knocked them off their feet.
They followed it like dogs after steak.
Then they saw the twins.
Chaos erupted.
The rogues stalked toward the source of the intoxicating scent with fevered eyes and greedy grins. Mud pies were forgotten. Lola and Kole froze, their instincts—strong even at six—tensing like drawn bows.
“Well, well, look what we have here,” one of the rogue alphas drawled, his voice thick with a false friendliness that oozed like spoiled honey. “Having fun, little ones?”
Another growled, his gaze flickering hungrily between them. “Such a pleasant aroma... rare for a town like this.”
The third alpha hissed, eyes wide and dilated with anticipation. “How lucky we are to stumble upon such young… potential.”
Lola, with a frown sharper than most adults could muster, stepped in front of her brother.
Kole, equally unshaken, shifted to guard her back, their movements as synchronized as dancers, as deliberate as wolves.
Their honey-gold eyes began to glow—not brightly, but just enough to signal that something dangerous stirred behind those sweet, cherubic faces.
They spoke in eerie unison, their small voices clear and cold like glass:
“What do you want?”
The rogue alphas faltered, caught off guard by the twins’ unnatural calm. Their pheromones swelled instinctively, testing the waters, attempting to intimidate. But the scent that came from the children… it was not one of fear. It was the scent of warning.
A heavy silence fell.
Lola tilted her head, her expression unreadable, almost eerily deadly.
Kole glared, with the intimidation of a alpha wolf.
- Writer
