MARKED BY THE THREE ALPHAS

Chapter Twelve

Lila’s POV

The vial is almost empty.

I sit on the edge of my bed in the dim light of the single lamp, turning the small glass bottle over in my palm. Three drops left. Maybe four if I’m careful. The bitter herbal scent clings to my fingers even after I wipe them on my shirt. I’ve been rationing for weeks, half-doses, then quarter-doses, stretching what I had until the last possible second. Tonight is that second.

I uncork it. Tilt it to my tongue. Two tiny drops hit the back of my throat. I swallow hard, wincing at the familiar burn. One left. One more night of pretending my body isn’t waking up.

I set the vial on the dresser like it’s something fragile. Like if I look away too fast it’ll disappear. My hands are shaking. Not from cold. From the knowledge that tomorrow there will be nothing left to swallow. No more buffer. No more quiet.

My wolf is already restless. She’s been pacing inside me for days, pushing, testing, whining when I try to force her down. The dreams have gotten worse. Hotter. More vivid. Hands on my skin that aren’t there when I wake up. Voices, low, commanding, familiar, telling me to let go. I wake up soaked in sweat, thighs pressed together, heart racing, ashamed of how much I want to give in.

I can’t.

Not yet.

I stand up too fast. The room tilts. I brace my hand against the wall and breathe through it. The lodge is quiet tonight, most of the pack still out from the full moon run two nights ago, or sleeping off the feast. I should be sleeping too. Instead I’m pacing like a caged animal.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze.

I know who it is before I open it.

Sarah stands in the hallway, silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders, arms folded. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t need to. Her eyes see straight through me.

“May I come in?” she asks. Quiet. No nonsense.

I step aside. She walks past me, closes the door with a soft click, and looks around the small room like she’s cataloging every detail. Her gaze lands on the vial. She doesn’t touch it. Just nods once, like she expected it.

“You’re out,” she says.

I swallow. “Almost.”

She turns to face me fully. “How long have you been stretching them?”

“Since I got here.”

Sarah exhales through her nose. Not quite a sigh. More like disappointment she’s too tired to voice. “You’re an i***t, child. A brave one. But an idiot.”

I cross my arms. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You had choices. You chose the hardest one.” She steps closer. Not threatening. Just… present. “You can’t hide what you are forever, Lila. The pack already smells it. The alphas especially. They’re not stupid.”

My stomach twists. “They haven’t said anything.”

“Because they’re waiting for you to come to them. Or for your body to force the issue.” She tilts her head. “Which it will. Soon.”

I look away. The window is dark, nothing but black trees and moonlight. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re not.” Her voice softens, but there’s steel underneath. “A suppressed heat doesn’t just go away when the drugs run out. It builds. It waits. And when it breaks, and it will break, it comes back twice as hard. Longer. Hotter. More painful. You won’t be able to hide it. You won’t be able to control it. And if you’re alone when it hits…” She trails off. Lets the silence finish the sentence.

I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “I’ll figure it out.”

Sarah studies me for a long moment. “You don’t have to do it alone. I can help. Brew something milder to ease the transition. Teach you how to ride it instead of fight it. The pack has omegas. We know what this feels like.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I mean. I force my voice lower. “I’m not ready.”

“For what? To feel? To want?” She steps closer. “Or to let someone in?”

I flinch. She sees it.

“You ran from one cage,” she says quietly. “Don’t build another one inside yourself.”

My eyes burn. I blink hard. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Sarah reaches out, slow, careful, and rests a hand on my shoulder. Warm. Steady. Not like Darius’s possessive grip or Ronan’s predatory intensity. Just… motherly. The kind of touch I haven’t felt since I was twelve.

“You start by admitting you’re scared,” she says. “Then you let someone help carry it.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“You will.” She squeezes once. Gentle. “Because you don’t have a choice anymore. The last dose is gone tomorrow. Your heat is coming. And when it does, you’ll need more than willpower.”

She lets go. Steps back.

“I’ll be here,” she says. “When you’re ready. Door’s always open.”

She turns to leave.

“Sarah.”

She pauses, hand on the knob.

“How long?” I whisper. “Until it hits?”

Her eyes meet mine. Honest. Kind. Unflinching.

“Days. Maybe less. Your wolf’s been patient long enough.”

The door closes behind her with a quiet click.

I sink onto the bed. Legs shaking. The vial sits on the dresser like an accusation. One drop left. One more night of pretending I’m in control.

I stare at it until the lamp flickers low.

Tomorrow there will be nothing between me and the heat.

Nothing between me and them.

Nothing between me and whatever I’ve been running from inside my own skin.

I lie back. Pull the blanket over my head. Try to breathe through the panic clawing up my throat.

The room is quiet.

But inside me, something is roaring.

And it’s getting louder.