Claimed By The Three Alpha Brothers

CHAPTER 4

The silence that followed the explosion was worse than the blast itself. It was heavy, ringing with the ghost of Elena’s scream and the sharp scent of ozone. Smoke curled lazily from the scorched gravel where the silver runes had been incinerated, leaving behind jagged scars in the earth that looked like weeping veins.

Elena stood trembling in the center of the wreckage. Her hands were still humming, a dull, aching heat pulsing beneath her fingernails. She stared at them in horror, watching the last faint traces of silver light dissolve into her skin.

What was that? What did I just do?

She looked at her palms as if they belonged to a stranger. Behind her, the massive stone estate groaned. It was a deep, tectonic sound that vibrated through her marrow. The low amber lights in the windows flickered erratically, and for a fleeting second, the shadows cast by the gargoyles on the roof seemed to move independently of the light.

"Elena."

Silas’s voice was uncharacteristically tight. He was the first to push himself up from the ground where the shockwave had thrown him. His tactical jacket was torn at the shoulder, and a thin line of blood ran down his temple, but he didn't look angry. He looked... unnerved.

Kael was up next, his eyes a feral, bright orange. He didn't approach; he paced the perimeter of the scorched earth like she was a ticking bomb. "What the hell was that?" he hissed, his voice a low growl. "She just cracked the primary ward. Those stones have stood for three centuries."

Jax was the last to rise, brushing dust from his knees with a clinical sort of calm that didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't looking at the damage. He was looking at the third-floor balcony. He followed the gaze of the dark silhouette still standing there, then looked back at Elena with a terrifyingly sharp clarity.

"It wasn't an attack, Kael," Jax said quietly. "It was a reaction. The estate recognized her, and she fought back."

"I didn't... I didn't mean to," Elena whispered, her voice cracking. She felt a wave of nausea hit her. The world felt too bright, too loud. Her wolf was no longer a quiet passenger; it was a frantic weight in her chest, pacing behind her ribs, howling at a frequency she could feel but not hear. "I just wanted to leave."

"You aren't leaving," Silas said, stepping closer. This time, there was a visible hesitation in his movement. He wasn't the dominant Alpha claiming his prize anymore; he was a man approaching a lightning storm. He reached out, his fingers barely grazing her arm. "You’re drained. You’re going to collapse if you stay out here."

"Don't touch me," she breathed, flinching away. "Hecate... what did she mean? Who did I kill?"

The white-haired woman was gone, melted back into the shadows of the porch, but her words hung in the air like poison.

*She’s the one who killed them.*

"Hecate talks in riddles to maintain her power," Silas said, his jaw tightening. "Ignore her."

"Ignore her?" Elena’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and rising fury. "The ground just glowed under my feet! I just threw three Alphas through the air! I’m a library assistant, Silas! I don't kill people, and I don't have... whatever this is!"

"You have the Moon’s Fever," a new voice joined them. It was smooth, cultured, and came from above.

Elena looked up. The man on the third-floor balcony had stepped into the light. He was older than the triplets, perhaps in his late thirties, with dark hair swept back and eyes that looked like cooling embers. He held his glass of dark liquid with an elegance that made the tension in the yard feel barbaric.

"Uncle Malakai," Jax murmured, his eyes narrowing.

Malakai looked down at Elena, a faint, twisted smile on his lips. "The Crescent Moon line was never extinct, Silas. It was simply erased. And for good reason."

"Go back inside, Malakai," Silas warned, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "This doesn't concern you."

"On the contrary," Malakai said, leaning over the stone railing. "When the wards of my family home are shattered by a girl who doesn't even know her own name, it concerns everyone. She isn't just a mate, boys. She’s the *Blight of Aethelgard*."

The name hit the air like a physical blow. Silas went rigid. Kael stopped pacing, his entire body tensing as if he were preparing to shift. Even Jax looked pale.

"Blight of... what?" Elena asked, her heart hammering. "What is that?"

"A story for another time," Malakai replied, raising his glass in a mock toast before stepping back into the darkness of his room.

The estate groaned again, louder this time. A sharp crack echoed through the night as a fissure opened in the stone steps of the porch. The house was reacting to her—or perhaps, it was adjusting.

"Enough," Silas commanded, his voice booming with Alpha authority. He didn't wait for her permission this time. He stepped into her space and swept her up into his arms.

Elena was too weak to fight. The surge of power had left her hollow, her muscles feeling like lead. She leaned her head against his chest, the scent of rain and pine suddenly acting as a sedative against her frayed nerves. I hate that I feel safe here, she thought bitterly as her eyes drifted shut. I hate that my body recognizes him.

Silas carried her up the steps, Kael and Jax flanking them like a royal guard. As they crossed the threshold, the massive oak doors didn't just close; they sealed. Elena heard the heavy thud of multiple deadbolts sliding into place, but there was no sound of a human hand moving them.

The foyer was a cavernous space of dark wood and flickering candlelight. But as Silas walked toward the grand staircase, the house began to shift.

Elena watched through half-closed lids as the shadows on the walls stretched and twisted. The hallway they were supposed to take seemed to lengthen, the doors rippling like water.

"Silas," Jax warned, stopping at the base of the stairs. "The house... it’s changing the floor plan."

"It’s opening the West Wing," Kael whispered, his voice full of awe and a trace of fear. "The wing that’s been sealed since the Purge."

Silas didn't stop. He followed the path the house was creating, his boots echoing on the marble. They reached a set of double doors carved with a weeping willow and a crescent moon. As they approached, the silver light that had been in Elena’s hands flared one last time.

The doors didn't just open; they dissolved into mist.

Silas carried her into a room that looked like it had been waiting for a century. It was filled with books, dried flowers, and a faint, lingering scent of jasmine—a scent that made Elena’s wolf let out a soft, heartbroken whimper.

Silas laid her down on a bed draped in heavy velvet. He stayed close, his hand lingering near her face.

"This was her room," Jax whispered from the doorway, his eyes scanning the ancient titles on the shelves. "The last High Priestess."

Elena tried to sit up, her eyes landing on a small, leather-bound journal on the nightstand. The cover was embossed with a single name in faded gold.

Elena.

She reached out a trembling hand, but before she could touch it, the house gave one final, violent shudder. The heavy double doors solidified once more, but this time, the carving had changed. The willow tree was gone. In its place was a scene of a burning village, and beneath it, a single word was etched into the wood in a language Elena shouldn't have been able to read, yet understood perfectly.

Kinslayer.

"Silas," Elena whispered, her eyes locked on the door. "Why does the house call me a murderer?"

Silas followed her gaze to the door, his face going deathly pale. He looked back at her, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of genuine fear in the future Alpha’s eyes.

"Because it remembers the night you were born," Silas said, his voice barely audible. "And it remembers whose blood you spilled to take your first breath."