Bound to Two Alpha Brothers

The iron doors of the Silverfang dining hall were useless against the winter wind. Every time a guard cracked the postern gate, freezing mountain air blasted through the corridor. It carried the thick stench of roasted boar, cheap wine, and wet wolf fur. I kept my chin tucked low into my collar. My fingers were numb, clamped hard around the edge of a greasy silver tray. "Keep moving, Coreline," Martha whispered behind me, digging her elbow sharply into my ribs. She was a middle-aged she-wolf with graying fur at her temples and tired, hollow eyes. "If the High Alpha’s glass stays empty, the steward will cut our rations again." "His glass is full, Martha," I muttered back, shifting my weight on the freezing flagstones. "He’s on his fourth goblet. If he drinks any more, he won't stand for the solstice pledge." "That isn't our business," she snapped softly, tightening her coarse linen apron. "We carry trays. We clear bones. We stay invisible." Invisible. That was my golden rule. I’d lived by it for three long years—ever since my father died on the eastern border and left me with nothing but a rusted hunting knife and unpaid pack debts. In a brutal pack like Silverfang, an orphaned she-wolf with no family backing had only two choices: serve the elite, or die on the front lines. I chose the servant's tray. At the far end of the hall sat High Alpha Kaelen. He was twenty-five, broad-shouldered, and built like a war machine. His thick brown hair was tied back with a leather strip, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line. Beside him, Elder Vane—a hawk-nosed old man in velvet—leaned in close. Vane bared his yellowed teeth in a quiet, poisonous whisper. Kaelen blatantly ignored him. Kaelen didn't look like a king at a feast. He looked like a target in a room full of hungry wolves. "Coreline! Pitcher!" the head steward barked, slamming his wooden cane against the stone archway. I flinched. Hugging the heavy clay pitcher against my hip, I stepped onto the raised dais toward the head table. Heat from the fireplace blasted my left side, making my skin sweat under my scratchy wool tunic. My hands remained icy cold. I reached Kaelen’s right side and leaned in to fill his silver goblet. I kept my chin down, staring strictly at the dark wine, breathing through my mouth to block out his scent—heavy leather, pine resin, and overwhelming Alpha power. Then, he moved. Kaelen reached for his meat knife. His broad, warm knuckles brushed against my bare inner wrist where my sleeve had hitched up. A violent shockwave tore straight through my chest. It felt like someone plunged glowing iron tongs into my ribcage, seized my heart, and twisted it until my vision went completely white. The heavy clay pitcher slipped. CRASH. Shattered earthenware exploded across the dais. Dark red wine splashed across the white linen, soaking Kaelen’s leather tunic and dripping onto the stone floor like fresh blood. "Incompetent fool!" Elder Vane shrieked, jumping back to save his velvet sleeves. "Guard! Throw this wretched girl into the cells!" I couldn't move. I couldn't even drop to my knees. An agonizing, searing heat erupted directly beneath my collarbone. It melted through skin, muscle, and bone. I gasped, clutching my throat as my internal wolf—silent for years—woke up with a terrifying, deafening roar. MATE. Kaelen was already on his feet, his chair flat on its back behind him. His massive frame loomed over me. His amber eyes blazed with a furious, brilliant gold light that pinned me to the floor. His chest heaved in ragged, heavy breaths. He stared down at my neck, where a glowing golden crescent moon was burning straight through the cheap fabric of my collar. "Kaelen?" Elder Vane’s voice cracked, his rage evaporating into pure shock. "What... what is that?" "Clear the hall," Kaelen growled. His voice vibrated through the flagstones, forcing every low-ranking wolf in the room to drop their head. "High Alpha, she is a servant—" "CLEAR THE HALL!" Kaelen roared. His Alpha aura exploded outward, shattering two glass goblets on the lower table. Chaos erupted. Guards shoved panicked nobles toward the exits. Martha threw me one last, terrified look before the crowd swallowed her. Within thirty seconds, the grand hall was silent—save for the crackling torches and the two of us standing in spilled wine. Kaelen stepped forward, his boots crushing broken clay. His large, calloused fingers reached out, trembling as they stopped an inch short of my glowing skin. "Who are you?" he rasped, his golden eyes burning into mine. "Where did you get that mark?" "I'm... Coreline," I choked out, my throat raw from the heat inside my lungs. "I work in the scullery. I didn't do anything, High Alpha. I swear—" BOOM. The heavy wooden doors at the back of the hall blew completely off their iron hinges. Splintered oak flew across the stone. A dozen warriors clad in dark iron armor poured into the room. At their head stood a man as tall as Kaelen, draped in a sweeping black fur coat. He threw back his hood, revealing razor-sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and eyes as cold and silver as a blade. Alpha Ryker of the Shadow Blood Pack. "You're late for the feast, Kaelen," Ryker purred softly, a mocking smile on his lips. He dragged a bloody shortsword across the floor, leaving a red trail behind him. "And you didn't even save me a cup." "Ryker," Kaelen spat, stepping in front of me as his broadsword cleared its scabbard with a sharp hiss. "You attack my fortress during a sacred feast? This is war." "I don't care about your feast, brother," Ryker sneered. His silver eyes scanned the wreckage until they locked onto me behind Kaelen’s broad shoulder. The second Ryker’s gaze met mine, the air left my lungs. A second wave of agonizing heat slammed into my right collarbone. I let out a sharp, breathless scream, dropping to my knees as a second mark—a sharp, jagged silver crest—erupted into blinding light right beside Kaelen's golden crescent. Ryker froze. His sword slipped in his grip. His arrogant smirk vanished as he clutched his own chest, his silver eyes wide with utter horror as he stared at my neck. "What..." Ryker whispered, his voice stripped of all its smooth mockery. "What the hell is on her neck?"