The Alpha King's Secret Triplets

Chapter 2

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Noah sat dead center in the back, staring quietly at my reflection in the mirror. For a five-year-old, his gaze was unnervingly old.

"Mommy, you're scared," he stated.

"Mommy's not—"

"Your heart is beating really fast," Ethan chimed in from the side.

All three of them had inherited the wolf's heightened senses.

Heartbeats, breath rates, spikes in adrenaline—I couldn't hide anything from them.

The light turned red. I slammed the brakes and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, sucking in two ragged breaths.

"Listen to me."

Three little heads snapped to attention.

"From today on, no one is allowed to use the word smell in front of strangers."

"No one is allowed to say what someone smells like."

"No biting."

"And absolutely no running faster than the other kids on the playground."

Luca pouted, his lower lip trembling. "But that man really did—"

"Luca."

I snapped the word out. It shocked even me.

It was an Alpha's weight pressing down. The tone of a command I'd never used on them before.

Silence instantly choked the backseat.

In the rearview mirror, tears pooled in Luca's eyes.

The light turned green. I hit the gas, a heavy stone settling deep in my gut.

By the time we got back to our dingy apartment, it was already dark.

After dinner and baths, the three of them crammed into one bed. Noah had his arms wrapped around Luca, and Ethan used Noah's arm as a pillow.

I stood in the doorway, watching them breathe.

Black hair. Long lashes. Their storm-gray irises occasionally flashed with a faint, luminous glow in the dark.

Wolf glow.

Damian's eyes.

The memories from five years ago crashed over me, suffocating and sharp.

The banquet hall. The Alpha coronation.

I was just an Omega servant carrying trays of champagne. Invisible. Nameless. The absolute bottom of the Silver Moon Pack's hierarchy, an Omega so weak I couldn't even feel my inner wolf.

He sat on the throne, newly crowned. The room roared with cheers.

Victoria Morrison stood beside him in a blood-red gown, every inch the Alpha's chosen Luna.

Then, the aftermath.

The dark basement corridor.

He had been leaning against the cold stone wall, chest heaving, his pupils blown wide.

Someone had slipped wolfsbane aphrodisiac into his drink.

I should have kept walking. I should have turned a blind eye.

But his hand shot out and locked around my wrist.

His skin was burning like a brand.

"...Help me."

That entire night.

No names exchanged. No mating marks. No mate bond connecting our minds.

When I woke up before dawn, he was still asleep, the moonlight spilling over his sharp features.

On the nightstand sat three pregnancy tests I'd taken the week prior.

All positive.

I emptied the medical cabinet of every single scent-suppressant pill, threw on my clothes, and stole an unlocked, rusted pickup truck parked by the servant's exit.

I crossed the pack borders before the sun came up.

And I never looked back.

I walked into the kitchen and opened the pill organizer.

I tipped the remaining scent suppressants into my palm and counted them.

Three capsules.

Enough for exactly three days.

My phone lit up on the counter. An automated text from the underground pharmacy.

Your prescription order L-0337 has been flagged for anomalies. Please present yourself in person with valid ID to verify.

Fuck.