The Girl Nobody Claimed

(Nova POV) "Where the hell is she?" Cole's voice carries through the whole first floor like a gunshot. I'm already on my feet before the echo dies, grabbing the cleaning caddy off the hallway floor. I already know he's talking about me. I'm the only shein this house who doesn't get a name when he's pissed. He finds me in the hallway. His hand connects with my cheek before I can blink — fast, practiced, like he's done it a thousand times. Because he has. I don't flinch. I don't make a sound. Years living in this house have trained me the way you'd train an animal: stay quiet, stay small, survive. "Alpha Travis is expecting company," Cole says, his jaw tight. "I told you to clean the office this morning. I told you." I nod, my grip tightening on the caddy handle. There's a small, dark part of me that imagines swinging it right into the side of his face. I let it go. He's stronger than me. Last time I pushed back, I spent a week locked in the cellar without food. My stomach still hasn't forgiven me for that. "Alpha Drake is coming here personally," he continues, stepping closer than he needs to. "Do you understand what that means for this pack? Do you even care?" I keep my eyes down. It's not a real question — it's a trap. Anything I say becomes a reason. Alpha Drake. I'd been hearing that name whispered around the Caldwell Estate for months. The Alpha of Black Ridge, the largest pack in the country. Ruthless. Feared. The kind of man other Alphas talked about the way people talk about bad weather — like it was coming whether you liked it or not. Cole grabs my shoulders, digs his nails in just enough to sting, and spins me toward the east wing. He kicks me forward. "Useless," he mutters, walking away. "Absolutely useless." * * * * * * * * I ease the office door shut behind me and lean against it. The room is already clean. Every surface dusted, every book straight on its shelf. Travis and Cole had nothing to complain about — not that it ever stopped them. I close my eyes and let myself slide down to the floor, just for a second. I hate this house. I turned eighteen four years ago and told myself I'd leave. That was the plan. Eighteen, and then gone. But plans don't mean much when you've got no money, no pack, no wolf. I'm twenty-two now, still scrubbing floors for my brother and his Beta, still pretending I don't hear the things they say about me when I'm in the next room. A throat clears. My eyes snap open. There's a man sitting in the leather chair tucked around the corner of the room — the one spot I couldn't see from the door. One foot propped up on his knee, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching me with an expression I can't read. Dark hair, cut short. And his eyes— Wrong. That's the only word for them. Deep red, almost crimson, like something from a story somebody told you as a kid to keep you out of the woods. Those eyes shift to me, and I scramble to my feet so fast I knock the caddy against the doorframe. "Is that how you greet all Alphas?" His voice is low, unhurried, with just the edge of something that might be amusement. "I'm sorry." My voice comes out smaller than I want it to. "I thought I was alone." I couldn't feel him. Couldn't scent him. Any wolf worth anything would have known the second they stepped into a room that someone else was already in it. I hadn't known. "Come forward." The lump in my throat forms immediately. Whatever Travis was going to do when he found out about this, it wasn't going to be pleasant. I step around the corner. I close my eyes, already bracing. "You smell strange." His voice is steady, clinical. "But you are a wolf." I nod. "I'd prefer you spoke to me. I'm not in the mood for guessing games." "Yes," I whisper. "I'm a wolf." "Then why couldn't you sense me? You should have the moment you walked in." I say nothing. "Spit it out. I don't have all day." I hated this question more than almost any other. Not because the answer was complicated — it wasn't — but because of what came after it. The look. The laugh. The follow-up questions that turned into a performance for whoever else was in the room. "Open your eyes," he says. "It's rude to talk to someone while you're looking at the floor." Slowly, I raise my gaze — not all the way, not to his face, but enough. "My abilities were bound," I say. My voice barely carries. He leans forward and sets his glass on the side table with a quiet, deliberate click. "Why would someone do that?" I choose my words carefully. Travis is about to walk through that door. Whatever I say in this room follows me back into the hallway. "It was a punishment." His jaw shifts. Something moves across his face — I can't tell if it's anger or contempt or something else entirely. The door swings open. "Nova." Travis's voice is a blade. "What the hellare you doing in here?" He turns to the man in the chair before I can answer. "I'm so sorry she's bothering you, Alpha Drake." Travis spins back to me, arm already swinging. I close my eyes. "I wouldn't." Alpha Drake's voice cuts through the room. When I open my eyes, Travis's wrist is caught in Drake's grip — one hand, effortless. Drake is on his feet now, and he's taller than I expected, broader too. Travis looks small next to him in a way I've never seen Travis look small next to anyone. "Nova was walking me to the office," Drake says evenly. "Since you weren't at the entrance when I arrived — as you promised." He lets Travis's wrist go. "I'd say she did you a favor." The silence stretches. I have no idea why he's lying for me. He owes me nothing. We've said maybe forty words to each other. But something about the way he said my name — like it was just a name, not a curse — makes my chest pull tight. Travis's eyes find mine. His expression says: later. "Go get Cole," he says through his teeth. "Tell him our guest is here." * * * * * * * * Cole is in the dining room when I find him. He looks up from his newspaper the second I step in, eyes narrowing because I spoke before he spoke to me. "Alpha Travis is in the office with Alpha Drake," I say quickly. "He sent me." Cole stands, walks past me, then stops. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back. He holds it there — not long, just long enough. Just enough to remind me. Then he lets go and walks away without a word. * * * * * * * * I try to stay out of the office. It doesn't last. Travis calls for me, and I go, arranging my face into something neutral before I open the door. "Champagne," Travis says. "We're celebrating." I find the bottle in the drinks cabinet, grab three glasses, and bring everything back into the office. I can feel Drake watching me as I set up on the side table — steady, unblinking, like he's cataloging something. Nobody watches me move through a room. Not like this. I start pouring. Drake reaches over and takes the bottle from my hands, saying he'll pour his own. My face goes hot — not from embarrassment, but because I know exactly what Travis is going to make of that later. Too slow. Not prepared. Reflecting badly on the household. "Nova is your sister?" Drake asks. Travis's expression tightens. "She is." "Why do you treat her like that?" The room goes still. I stop breathing. Nobody asks Travis that question. Not Cole, not the pack members, not any visitor who's ever passed through these doors. Because everyone here enjoys the answer too much to question it. Travis's eyes flick to me, then back to Drake. His voice is flat and ugly when he finally speaks. "Nova killed our parents." I press my eyes shut. Four years, and it still hits the same way every single time. "She served them wolfsbane."