MARKED BY THE THREE ALPHAS

Chapter seven

Lila’s POV

The first few days after the vote feel like walking on new ground, solid, but still unfamiliar enough that I test every step.

I’m given more freedom now. No more kid-glove training. I eat with the pack, sit wherever I want at meals, join the evening fires without anyone side-eyeing me like I might steal the firewood. Maya drags me into laundry duty one afternoon, and we spend an hour scrubbing bloodstained shirts in the cold stream while she tells me stories about the pack’s worst hangovers and dumbest bets. It’s normal. Almost domestic. And it terrifies me how quickly I’m starting to want it.

But the real shift is how I watch them now.

The three alphas.

They’re never far apart, even when they’re doing different things. Kade is always the one giving orders, quiet ones, mostly. A tilt of his head, a low word, and people move. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t need to. The pack listens because they trust him to be right.

Darius is the muscle. He’s the first one out on patrol, the last one back. When something needs breaking, wood, bone, tension, he’s the one who does it. But he never acts without checking Kade first. Not with words. Just a glance. A nod. And then he moves.

Ronan is the shadow. He’s quieter than the others, but nothing escapes him. I’ve caught him watching from corners, from rooftops, from the tree line. He doesn’t speak unless he has something worth saying, and when he does, everyone stops. Even Kade listens.

They’re not a hierarchy in the way Silver Moon was. There’s no clear second or third. They’re equals who’ve chosen to stand together. Partners. The word fits better than “subordinates.” They move around each other like they’ve done it for years, brushing shoulders without apology, finishing each other’s sentences with a look, sharing the same space without crowding. It’s seamless. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with s*x and everything to do with trust.

I notice it most at night, around the fire.

They sit in the same loose triangle every time: Kade at the head, Darius to his right, Ronan to his left. The pack fills in around them. I usually end up somewhere near Maya, close enough to hear but not close enough to be noticed.

Except they notice.

Every night, one of them looks my way. Not obvious. Just long enough that I feel it on my skin like a hand I can’t see.

And every night, I look back.

I hate that I do.

Because when I look at Kade, I see control. The kind that doesn’t need to prove itself. The way he leans forward when he speaks, the way his eyes hold yours until you’re the only thing in the world. It makes my stomach tighten in a way that’s half fear, half want.

When I look at Darius, I see heat. Raw, barely-leashed. The way his hands flex when he’s angry, the way his shoulders roll when he walks, the way he carried me like I weighed nothing and still managed to be careful. I remember the press of his chest against mine, the roughness of his thumb on my cheek, and my thighs clench before I can stop them.

And Ronan… gods, Ronan.

He’s the quiet one, but his presence is the heaviest. When he looks at me, it’s like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t know I had. I dream about him most often, his silver eyes in the dark, his voice low against my ear, asking questions no one else dares. In the dreams, he doesn’t stop at questions. His hands are slow. Deliberate. They trace scars I don’t have yet. And I let him.

I wake up flushed and guilty every time.

Tonight the fire is low, spitting embers into the dark. The pack is scattered, some laughing, some drinking, some already stumbling back to cabins. I stay because the cold feels good against my overheated skin.

Maya drops down beside me with two mugs of something that smells like honey and spice.

“Thought you might need this,” she says, handing me one. “You’ve been staring holes in the alphas all night.”

I take a sip. It’s warm, sweet, burns pleasantly on the way down. “I’m observing.”

“Sure you are.”

I glance at her. She’s smirking.

“They’re… different,” I say carefully.

“They are.” She leans back on her hands, staring into the flames. “Been together since they were barely out of their teens. Kade’s the face, Darius the fist, Ronan the mind. They don’t lead alone, they lead as three. Always have.”

I nod slowly. “They’ve shared… partners before?”

Maya’s smirk fades into something softer. “Yeah. Casual stuff. Heat companions, one-night things. Never anything serious. Never a mate.” She looks at me sideways. “Not until now, maybe.”

My heart stutters. “What?”

She shrugs. “You feel it, don’t you? The pull. We all do. The way the air changes when you’re in the same room as them. It’s not normal pack scenting. It’s deeper.”

I stare into my mug. “I’m not ready for that.”

“No one ever is.”

“I mean it, Maya. I ran from one alpha who thought he owned me. I’m not jumping into… whatever this is. Especially not three.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “They’re not Marcus.”

“I know.”

“But you’re scared anyway.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

Across the fire, Kade says something low. Darius laughs, short, rough, and Ronan’s mouth curves in that rare half-smile. For a second they’re just three men sharing a joke, and the sight of it aches in my chest. Not jealousy. Longing. For something I’ve never had.

I look away.

Later, when the fire is dying and most people have gone inside, I stay. The night is cold now, stars sharp overhead. I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them, and try to breathe through the tightness in my ribs.

Footsteps behind me.

I don’t turn. I know who it is by scent alone, cedar and smoke.

Darius stops a few feet away. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there, hands in his pockets.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says.

I snort. “You’re one to talk.”

He shifts his weight. “You’ve been watching us.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “Observing.”

“Same thing.”

I finally look at him. Firelight carves shadows across his face, makes his eyes look darker. “You’ve been watching me too.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

“I don’t want this,” I say quietly.

He tilts his head. “Want what?”

“Whatever it is you three are… offering. Or not offering. I don’t know. I just know I’m not ready.”

He considers that. Then: “No one’s asking you to be.”

“But you want me.”

It’s not a question.

He exhales through his nose. “Yeah. We do.”

The admission lands like a stone in still water.

I swallow. “All three of you?”

“Does that scare you?”

“Yes.”

He nods like he expected it. “Good. Means you’re thinking.”

I laugh despite myself—short, shaky. “I’m thinking I should run again.”

“You could,” he says. “But you won’t.”

I meet his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not running from us,” he says. “You’re running toward something. And you’re tired of running alone.”

The words hit too close.

I look back at the fire. Embers glow red, fragile.

“I need time,” I whisper.

“You’ve got it.”

He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t touch me. Just stands there, solid and patient, while the night presses in around us.

After a while he turns to go.

“Darius.”

He pauses.

“Thank you,” I say. “For not pushing.”

He glances back. “We’re not him.”

Then he’s gone.

I sit there until the fire dies to ash.

The cold seeps in, but it doesn’t reach the strange warmth blooming under my ribs.

I’m not ready.

But for the first time, I’m not sure I want to stay unready forever.