Rejected And Claimed By Her Trio Alpha Mates

chapter 47

All three men share a glance, communicating without words in that strange way they often seem to use.

Kian snatches the bottle away from Malix. Before he presses the rim to his lips, he says, “No. The shadows are new.”

Malix shrugs. “Felicity must’ve learned to control them to use against us. She can’t keep that s**t up though. She isn’t strong enough.”

I sigh. “Again, could anyone tell me who Felicity is?”

Kian gives me a narrow-eyed look, and I think he isn’t going to respond. Until he does. “Felicity is our alpha’s mate.”

Shock tingles up my spine. My alpha’s mate is Sable, and I just can’t… she’d never hurt her own people. I grab the bottle from Frost and take another sip. Smaller, this time, just to calm my nerves.

“What the hell?” I say out loud, keeping my thoughts to myself. “Why would your alpha’s mate send shadows to attack you?”

Malix leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The easy smile he often wears fades away, and there’s a hard note in his voice when he speaks. “Felicity doesn’t think we should exist.”

It’s pretty clear from the stormy expressions on all their faces that there’s a history there with Felicity, and a lot of bad blood.

It’s not like I care. Because I don’t. Felicity’s right—they shouldn’t exist. They’re the three horsemen of the apocalypse, and I’m here drinking this ridiculously expensive whiskey with them because my goal is to rid the world of them.

But still… despite myself, I can’t stop being curious about them. My life was sheltered before I left Montana, and even in the ensuing years after, it’s been nothing more than boring and monotonous. They’ve got powers I’ve never seen before, and secrets I want to pry open with a crowbar.

It’s recon, I tell myself. Soon enough, the antidote will be complete, Frost and I will drink it, and then I’ll use whatever intel I manage to get now against them.

Easy peasy.

“Why doesn’t Felicity think you should exist?” I ask.

Kian shakes his head. “None of your business.”

“Fine. Whatever,” I snap, falling back against the cushion. Trust this f*****g asshole to put a damper on my subtle attempts at interrogation.

Malix grabs a handful of chips, then looks at me. “What about you, kitty? You’re from Montana. What brought you all the way to New Mexico?”

“You,” I tell him with a wolfish, vicious grin.

Malix raises an eyebrow. “Me? Or us?”

“I’ve been tracking all of you for the better part of two and a half years, give or take.”

Frost straightens, his pale brows rising toward his hairline, while Malix and Kian exchange unreadable glances. Not surprise, not really—but definitely a reaction of some kind.

Fuck. I’ve been chasing after them for so long, I sometimes forget that it’s kind of weird for me to have devoted my whole life to this.

When Malix offers me the bottle again… I accept it.

My emotions are too raw, and I’m feeling too damn unsettled. I need to take the edge off. Maybe drinking whiskey isn’t the best way to do that, but I can’t really see a better option at the moment.

We talk some more as we keep drinking. Nothing too personal. Kian clings to his secrets like a spider to his web, and I don’t press. No use pissing him off and ruining any future chance of finding out what he’s hiding. But we discuss places we’ve seen, figuring out how close I came to finding them multiple times over the years—which makes me feel good. I thought I was the world’s worst tracker. Turns out, they were just always one step ahead of me.

When the Tullamore Dew is gone, Kian shatters the bottle on the ground, and Malix finds another bottle stashed in the cabinets. A lesser whiskey that tastes more like rubbing alcohol and cigarette ash. We talk about music and a mutual love of Written by Wolves, which Malix insists isn’t ironic. Then we shift topic to movies, and I’m not really surprised to learn Frost loves documentaries and Malix likes action flicks. Kian’s too busy brooding to bother giving his two cents.

By the end of the second bottle, I’m drunk. Not just tipsy. Not just woozy.

Drunk.

Maybe more so than I’ve ever been before.

“I think…” I say, rolling over the thick syllables on my numb tongue, “it’s time for bad. Bed. Not bad. Ha! Bad. What does that even man? Mean. Fuck.”

I look over at Frost for help, and the sudden movement of my head sends me in a slow freefall. He catches me before I end up in his lap, and across the coffee table, Malix bursts into half-drunk laughter.

“You can’t hold your alcohol, kitten,” he says. I’m thankful his words slur a little too. It makes me feel less like a lush.

Kian’s gold-ringed gaze looks like a supernova. The sun exploding, revealing the black hole beneath. He stares at me, cold, silent, observant. “Yes, I think we should all get some rest. We have work to do tomorrow.”

Malix chuckles. “Right. Tracking down a magic tree.”

I snort and toss a potato chip at him. “You make it sound so mundane.”

He catches the missile mid-air and throws it back at me. A short chip battle ensues before Kian snatches the bag off the table and out of our reach. He looms over us as we stare up at him like scolded children.

“Upstairs,” he bites out. “Now.”

Frost helps me to my feet, and I let him, even though my inner voice is screaming at me. What the hell, Amora?

The four of us make our way to the stairs. Now that I’m on my feet and my blood is pumping, I’m a little lightheaded but maybe not as drunk as I thought. More tired, I think. It’s been a long day of fighting, running, and driving. This b***h needs some sleep.

Halfway up the dark narrow stairway, Malix says, “Are we going to share a mattress tonight?”

I shoot him a look. “Uh. No? No. Absolutely not.”

But it’s too late for me to protest. The moment he spoke, I got a visual—me, naked, surrounded by the three of them beneath the sheets. Their breath on my skin, their limbs resting over me. Sleeping beside them, which is the most dangerous and deadly form of vulnerability a person can have.

Desire snakes through me, leaving a path of warmth straight through my core. My body temperature spikes, and my breath hitches in my throat.

All three men stop walking and turn to me.

I’m surrounded. Kian behind me. Malix and Frost ahead of me, one step ahead, two steps ahead, I couldn’t tell in the dark. But too close. Way too close. Their scents deepen—sunshine and whiskey, woodsmoke and spice, and it’s too much. Way too much.

I’ve managed to ignore this most of the day. This s****l tension that’s always there at a low level, always within reach.

Now it’s a boil ing, raging storm threatening to crash over us.