Talia and Her Three Alphas

TALIA If someone told me this morning I’d end the day pinned beneath the Warfang, the pack’s most ruthless enforcer, I would’ve called them insane. He's big. Three times my size. "Let her go, Tres," Malrik roars. Tres growls, rising to his feet, steam pouring off his skin, but his eyes stay on me. "Shift," Malrik barks. I do. Instantly, my spine breaks first, arching in before my claws retreat and fur sloughs away in a wet clump. The shift completes in a breath and I’m left human, raw-skinned, gasping, very naked and tongue lolling pink as I pant against the floor. No one offers me a shirt. No one looks me in the eye, either. I’m the omega no one cares about. Malrik crouches before me, and his hand is already at my face, pinching my jaw between finger and thumb. "Look at me," he growls. I let my gaze rise slowly, even though there’s no strength left in me. “What’s your name, omega?” “T-Talia,” I whisper. His nostrils flare. “Talia,” he repeats, and I officially hated the sound of my name coming out of his lips. “ Are you spying on us?” “N-No–” “Liar!” Tres cut me off. “ I caught her outside, eavesdropping on our plan.” “I didn’t—I didn’t know what you were planning—” Wrong. Too many words. Malrik’s grip on my jaw jerks up hard, eyes narrowing like slits of bone-split judgment. His face is too close, so close I can almost feel his breath on me. “Then what are you doing in my house, omega?” Shit. I can’t tell him why I am here or else I’m done for. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” “I—” “I didn’t mean—” “That’s not an answer.” He leans down until I can feel the scrape of his stubble across my lips, and I don’t dare pull back because Tres is behind me now, and they hunt in pairs. “You didn’t mean to what?” Malrik’s mouth touches my ear and I mewl. “You didn’t mean to trespass?” My stomach folds. My wolf claws under my skin like it wants to shift back and take the punishment wild. I could run. I could let the shift break me and bolt. But I’d never make it to the tree line. Tres is still behind me. I can hear his breathing change, like he’s tracking my heartbeat instead of my words. “I just wanted to see—” “See?” Malrik spits the word like it’s filth. “Omega eyes don’t belong in alpha rooms.” My vision fogs. “I’m sorry…please.” “Tres,” Malrik murmurs, gaze still locked on me. “What do you want to do with her?” “Torture her,” Tres grunts, and his teeth flash from behind me like knives in heat. “Then lock her. We cannot be sure if she’s a spy or not.” “I did not—” But the scream folds in half as Malrik lets go of my jaw and drives his hand into my throat instead, not choking but pressing just hard enough to claim the shape of it. “Don’t speak unless I’m asking,” Malrik says. He steps back. I stay on my knees, arms limp at my sides. My breath jerks in little pieces around the imprint of his palm. “ We proceed tomorrow–” “How about her?” Tres asked. “Are you just going to let her go?” Malrik turns slowly as his eyes drag on me. I’ve never had any interaction with him. He’s the alpha of our pack and a mere omega like me is not allowed to dwell in his life. “She’s not going anywhere,” Malrik says. “Tres said—” someone starts. Malrik doesn’t blink. “She came into my house. She stays in my house. Until I’m done.” W-What? What does that mean? Done how? Done when? "But—" Tres starts again, voice half-caught between defiance and doubt. Malrik turns. One boot grinds into the floor as he pivots back to his house. “I wasn’t asking,” Malrik says before walking away. Fuck.Fuck. f**k. It was dumb, stupid move but I crawled and held Malrik’s thighs before he could walk away. “Please, Malrik. I need to go!” Malrik stops. Just for a second. And in that second, he turns his head—only a sliver, just enough to look down to me. “Why?” I force my back straight and hug my arm to my breast to cover it. He’s not going to believe me, is he? Malrik is older by about five years and everyone knew he never found his mate. He searched for her in every pack but failed anyway. “It’s my birthday,” I whisper. “I was supposed to go home.” The words are stupid. Useless. Childish. I wish I could shove them back down my throat and choke on them. However, Malrik’s eyes only darken as if it offended him, that's my only reason. "Happy birthday," he says. “Guess the moon decided to gift you a punishment.” “You don’t understand!” I try to push back, but my knees betray me, too weak to rise, too stupid to run. “I cannot be inside your house during my birthday!” Malrik stops. For real, this time. His whole army behind him stills with him. “What did you say?” My throat locks. My fingers shake. My heat is climbing and he’s breathing in deeper now, like he’s testing something, scenting something, and I know—f**k, I know—he smells it. “I said I can’t be here!” My voice breaks, hips curling in like I could hide the truth if I just squeeze hard enough. “I can’t be inside your house during my birthday. I’m not—I didn’t mean to—” “Didn’t mean to what?” he growls. Now he turns. Now he moves. One bootstep, then another, slow as rot and twice as final. “Tres,” he says, but he’s not talking to him. “How old is she?” “Eighteen,” Tres answers before I can lie. “Today,” I choke. The room sharpens like claws. I press a hand to the floor, trying to crawl back, but my hips won’t let me. My legs are soaked with the slick of pre-shift heat, shame coiled like wire through my stomach, and I know if I say it, if I speak it aloud, it’ll be real. “You’re my mate,” I scream. It bursts out, sudden, feral, humiliating. “You’re my mate, and I didn’t know it until I walked inside and smelled you, and I can't—I can't be here! If I stay, it’ll take—it’ll start—” He stares at me. Then laughs. Low at first. A half-scoff, half-growl like something old and pissed-off just stirred in his chest and found me funny. His head tilts back and the sound sharpens, breaks clean and brutal through the pack's silence like a bone snapping. “Oh, you little s**t,” he laughs. “You think I haven’t heard that one before?” Huh? “Do you know how many she-wolves have come crawling into this house, whining about birthdays and moon signs and fate?” He drops into a crouch in front of me again, closer now, and his hand—that enormous, callused alpha hand—reaches to tip my chin up just by his knuckle. “Do you think I can’t smell a heat trick?” “I’m not lying,” I say, even though it sounds like I am. “I didn’t want this. I wasn’t trying to—” “Exactly,” he snaps. “How dare you make me a fool, omega?” “I don’t!” Malrik reaches out one finger and drags it slowly, so slow, from the inside of my knee to the edge of my hip. “You walked into my den on your eighteenth, full heat pouring down your legs, whispering mate as if you can deceive me?” I whimper, helpless at his rage. “You’re not leaving,” Malrik says.“I’m going to watch you all night—and once your lies are exposed?” His fingers trace the hollow of my throat, down to where my pulse flutters. “I’ll teach you what that word means. Mate.”