Claimed by My Stepbrothers

Wild Thing

Saoirse

My eighteenth birthday?

It’s not what I expected. Not even close.

I didn’t wish for roses. Or a cake. Or even peace. But I definitely didn’t expect to kiss my stepbrother. And like it.

My heart stuttered as I stared at myself in the mirror, fingers trembling as they brushed against the swollen skin of my neck.

The mark.

His mark.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I got my mate before I even got my wolf.” I let out a breathless, panicked laugh. “That’s gotta be illegal.”

I kept shaking my head, pacing the floor like a caged animal. My hands were in my hair, tugging, desperate to pull the memory out with the strands.

“I kissed him back,” I breathed.

Cain.

The arrogant, cold-blooded bastard who treats me like gum on his boot.

The same boy who humiliated me and wants me to stay away from anyone in the academy, and of course his life and his brother.

The one who looked at me like I was nothing—until last night, when he claimed me like I was everything.

And the worst part?

I let him.

No, I wanted it.

"f*****g hell," I muttered, scanning the room like I’d suddenly catch fire from the shame. I spotted the sleek black box on my bed—the one Cyrus left.

Mr. Devil-May-Care.

Golden smile, filthy eyes, and lips made for sin. Cain's twin, and somehow worse because he doesn't hate me. I mean he does but he plays with me.

“s**t,” I whispered, grabbing the box. “This better be good enough to bleach my brain.”

I tore the lid open—and froze.

Deep crimson lace panties.

Not cheap.

The kind you wear when you want to get caught. When you hope someone will peel them off you. Slowly. Teeth optional.

I stared.

And then I saw the note. Black card. Gold ink.

His handwriting was art and arrogance at the same time.

“Figured you’d need something to feel a little more… like yourself today.

Happy 18th, Wild Thing.”

My entire body flushed. My thighs pressed together on instinct.

God, I hate him.

I chucked the whole box across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud.

“No. Nope. Absolutely not—”

My breath caught when I heard knocking.

“Saoirse, honey?” my mother’s voice sliced through the door.

Shit.

I lunged for the box and shoved it under the bed like it was a damn crime scene.

“f*****g trash,” I hissed under my breath, yanking the door open.

She was beaming like it was her birthday.

I raised a brow. “What?”

“You know today’s a special day. A lot of visitors are coming. You will get to see our neighboring packs. And maybe… your first shift?”

I blinked. “Oh. Actually, I don’t have a wolf yet.”

She smiled softly, trying not to look too concerned. “That’s alright, delay happens in this pack all the time—”

“Who knows?” I cut her off, eyes flicking away. “Maybe I’m too weak for the Moon Goddess to even bother.”

I subtly adjusted my hair to cover the mark.

She sniffed the air and narrowed her eyes.

“You smell like—”

“Yeah, I haven’t showered yet.”

Liar, liar, throat on fire.

She looked at me like she didn’t believe a damn word.

Goddamned Cain.

What did he do to me? Why do I still feel him like he’s inside me?

Mark or not, he’s gotten under my skin like poison. Slow, addictive poison.

“Honey, everything is being prepared. My stylist’s coming soon—she’ll help you pick your dress. Something elegant for tonight’s ball. It’s going to be beautiful.”

“Ball?” I echoed. “Isn’t that a little… intense? I’ve been here, what, five minutes?”

She ignored my tone and smiled anyway. “You deserve to feel special, darling. Don’t worry about the Academy. Shifts are delayed there all the time.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

I turned my back, ready to shut the door on her.

“I love you, baby,” she said, and her voice cracked. “I hope you know how much I miss you.”

My throat tightened.

She misses me?

The same woman who told her lover I was a burden? Who said I was just like my father—a mistake?

I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t.

“Yeah,” I said softly.

I know she smiled at that. Like it meant something.

“I can’t wait to see you in your dress,” she added before walking away.

As the door clicked shut behind her, I stood there, breathing like I’d run a marathon.

A ball. A mate mark. Crimson lace from the other brother.

And no damn wolf to guide me through any of it.

But I knew one thing for sure.

That mark on my neck?

It doesn’t own me. Not yet.

And if Cain thinks he has me now—

He’s not ready for what I become when my wolf finally wakes up.

***

A swarm of Omegas were working on me like I was a glass doll that might shatter if they breathed too hard. One was curling strands of my hair with such intensity I wondered if she was exorcising her feelings into it. Another dabbed at my cheeks like she was trying to erase my entire identity. I sat stiff in the chair, watching myself in the mirror, feeling… weirdly like an outsider in my own reflection.

They were chattering behind me like I was invisible.

Like I wasn’t the girl Cain freaking Blackthorne had just marked.

Yeah. Marked. As in teeth-on-neck, permanent bond-level messed up.

Did I ask for that? Nope.

Did I already cover it with three layers of foundation and a silent prayer to the Moon Goddess? Hell yes.

I wasn’t about to explain to these giggling she-wolves why my pulse still jumped every time someone said Cain’s name. Or why I wanted to launch myself out the window.

“I wonder if the hot Academy boys are gonna show up tonight,” one of them said, her voice dripping with fake innocence as she adjusted a curl near my ear.

Another Omega leaned in closer, breath smelling like bubblegum and bad decisions. “Cyrus would be enough for me,” she sighed. “He called me sweetheart last night.”

She bit her lip like she just admitted to a sin. Girl, please. If Cyrus called her ‘sweetheart,’ I’m the Moon Goddess herself.

“Oh my God, really?” Another burst into laughter. “Ugh, I just wanna know who the lucky b***h was in Cain’s bed last night. I’d literally die. Like, he could snap my spine and I’d say thank you.”

Excuse me? Are we talking about the same Cain? The one who gifted me a bruised neck like it was some twisted welcome package? And of course Cyrus who likes to play with every living thing.

My left eye twitched.

I coughed—loudly and theatrically.

Crickets.

I could feel the silence crawl across the room like smoke. Slowly, I turned to face them with the kind of smile that belonged in a villain’s origin story.

“So… y’all just casually lusting after my stepbrothers now?” I said sweetly. “Or do you all forget the family tree every time you see abs?”

They froze like I’d dunked their heads in ice water.

The girl with the curler forced a shaky laugh, then clapped her hands together. “And… we’re done!”

I blinked at the mirror.

Not bad.

Actually? I looked expensive. Dangerous. Like a girl with secrets and sharp opinions.

“I look like someone who gives a damn,” I muttered.

“You look like royalty,” one of them said.

I raised a brow. “I look like I’m about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder in some freaky masquerade.” I casually said.

Another Omega giggled nervously. “Well, it is your 18th birthday. You’re special. Too bad we’re not even allowed in the main venue.” She sighs.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

The girl fixing my lipstick pouted. “We’re Omegas. We serve the guests. We cook. We clean. We whisper about people behind their backs and pretend we don’t exist. That kind of thing.” She calmly responded.

“The main ballroom’s for the elite,” another added. “The rich, the heirs, the powerful. You know.”

I stared at them like they’d just told me they were planning to join a cult.

“You mean I’m the birthday girl,” I said slowly, “and none of you are even allowed to be there?” My voice went lower and I gulped after that.

They all nodded.

Like it was normal.

Like I wasn’t supposed to be pissed.

I laughed. It came out dry and sharp.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard today. And I received hurtful messages from the two brothers, so trust me—the bar was already in hell.”

Every single Omega froze.

One choked on air.

Another went completely pale.

I smiled wider.

“I’m serious,” I said, crossing my legs. “Y’all are invited.”

They blinked.

“What?” one of them whispered.

“I said: you’re coming. All of you. I don’t care if you’re Omega, Beta, or someone’s pet hamster. If you spent the last hour sticking pins in my skull, you deserve to drink champagne and judge people’s outfits like royalty.”

They stared at me like I’d just announced free mansions.

“I don’t even know the people who are invited,” I continued. I inhaled deeply, then smiled. “So yeah. You’re going.”

“You’re serious?” one of them breathed.

“You’re the best!” another cried, flinging her arms around me.

And yeah… I let them squeal and bounce and lose their minds for a minute.

Because the truth was, I didn’t care about this party.

I didn’t care about cake or gowns or being the center of attention.

I needed them distracted. I needed them gone.

Because I had no intention of playing pretty princess tonight.

Not when I had secrets to keep.

After all the forced smiles, polite curtsies, and compliments that tasted like dust, I finally made my way down the west corridor—where silence wrapped around the walls like velvet, and the light dimmed just enough to feel forbidden.

I turned a corner, aiming for the chamber I was supposed to use to change into my official party gown, when I froze.

Right in front of the door, Cyrus Blackthorne—glorious, half-wild, and always infuriating—was leaning against the frame, lips tilted in a smirk that could ruin lives.

A girl was on him.

Her hands fumbled at the collar of his blazer, desperate. Starving.

She had one knee pressed between his thighs, her voice breathy as she whispered, “Come on, not here—don’t make me wait.”

She tugged the blazer off his shoulder like she owned him. Like she had a right to.

Cyrus chuckled low, a sound so deep and careless it rippled down my spine.

“I said—” his voice dropped to something darker, more dominant, “—not here.”

But she didn’t listen.

She grabbed his face and kissed him, wet and messy, like she was trying to devour him whole.

And that’s when his eyes snapped open.

And landed on me.

Everything slowed.

That gold-ringed stare locked onto mine like a god catching a mortal in a place they didn’t belong.

His lips stopped moving.

His hand—midway to her waist—went still.

For a second, none of us breathed.

Then, like she was made of glass, Cyrus shoved the girl off him.

She gasped, stumbling backward, lips parted in confusion.

“Get out,” he said—calm, dangerous, final.

The girl blinked, following his line of sight until she saw me. Her cheeks flushed deep red, and she scurried down the hall without a word, heels clicking like an alarm fading into the dark.

And now it was just me and him.

I swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the curve of my dress, the way my breath hitched. My pulse fluttered like it wanted to crawl up my throat.

Cyrus didn’t move.

He just stared at me.

Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Like I’d caught something sacred and obscene all at once.

Then he smiled.

Slow. Lethal. Lazily seductive.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin.