A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Maria.

"Arrrrrrrrrghhhh!" The scream tore out of me the moment I stepped out of Davian’s room and the door shut behind me.

I didn’t care who heard.

I didn’t care if it echoed down the corridor.

The frustration had been building for too long, his questions, his arrogance, the kiss, the command, and it exploded out of my chest before I could swallow it back down.

I was irritated.

No.

I was furious.

And beneath that fury was something worse, helplessness.

Of all the people in this pack to retrieve that shawl, it had to be me.

Me.

The rogue.

The easy target.

The one they could send on an errand that required clearance, distance, and risk, because if something went wrong, who would they blame?

"Do they plan on getting me killed?" I muttered under my breath as I stormed down the hallway.

The eastern vault wasn’t nearby. It was positioned at the farthest controlled edge of the pack’s territory, almost a mile out, bordering terrain that was less guarded and more unpredictable. On horseback, it would take hours.

On foot?

Three days, at least.

And I had not been offered a horse.

Not even mentioned.

The message was clear enough.

Struggle.

Endure.

Prove yourself—or fail.

I clenched the document in my hand so tightly the parchment crumpled slightly under my grip. Davian’s signature stared back at me like a mark of ownership.

Retrieve it.

As if it were that simple.

As if I were disposable.

I turned toward my quarters, my steps quick and heated. My room was small, modest, but it was the only space that felt remotely mine. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately moving toward the small chest near my bed.

If I was going to survive three days on foot, I needed supplies.

A cloak.

Dried provisions.

A waterskin.

I gathered them with efficient, tight movements, my mind still replaying the moment in Davian’s room.

His test.

His accusation.

His kiss.

The audacity.

I shook the thoughts away sharply.

Focus.

Survival first.

Emotions later.

After packing what little I could carry, I stepped back into the corridor, adjusting the strap of the small satchel across my shoulder.

And then...I walked straight into someone.

The impact was light but unexpected, and I stumbled slightly before steadying myself.

"Whoa there!"

The words broke through the fog in my mind, sharp and unexpected.

I looked up.

Vincent stood directly in front of me, close enough that I nearly collided with him. A bright, boyish smile was already spreading across his face, effortless and warm. His dark hair had fallen slightly over his forehead, and he pushed it back with exaggerated flair, as though we were on a stage and he was playing the charming lead.

For a brief moment... I forgot.

Forgot the shawl.

Forgot the threat.

Forgot the humiliation still sitting heavy in my chest.

His smile had that effect on people. It softened the edges. It blurred sharp thoughts. It made everything feel lighter than it truly was.

"Hi, Maria," he said cheerfully, lifting his hand in an overly dramatic wave, his grin widening as if he had just accomplished something impressive by blocking my path.

I blinked, forcing my expression to respond in kind. Forcing the tension out of my shoulders. Forcing the tightness from my jaw.

"Hi, Vincent," I replied, careful with my tone, smoothing it until it sounded almost normal. Almost relaxed. As though nothing was coiled inside me.

His eyes, sharp despite his playful demeanor, flicked to the satchel hanging from my shoulder. The movement was quick, subtle, but I caught it. His smile shifted—just slightly—curiosity slipping in.

"Going somewhere?" he asked casually, tilting his head. "I’d like to tag along."

My stomach tightened instantly.

No.

Absolutely not.

The word screamed in my mind, immediate and unyielding.

Vincent was kind.

Too kind.

Too open.

He carried himself without suspicion, without calculation. The world had not hardened him the way it had hardened others. And I refused to let my problems be the reason it did.

He didn’t deserve to be dragged into something that could turn dangerous.

The eastern territory wasn’t a simple stroll through the gardens. It wasn’t laughter beneath open skies. It bordered areas that were unpredictable, unsettled. And if something happened...If something went wrong...I couldn’t risk my friend.

Not for a shawl.

Not for pride.

Not for anything.

So I forced a small shrug, letting it roll off my shoulders as if his offer meant nothing at all. As if my pulse wasn’t hammering. As if I hadn’t already decided he would not be stepping one foot beside me.

"No," I said lightly, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. "I just want to get some tasks done in the kitchen."

The lie tasted bitter.

Vincent’s smile didn’t falter. "Alright then... I am more than willing to assist."

I froze.

Panic fluttered in my chest.

He stepped closer slightly, earnest as ever. "You look like you could use help."

I opened my mouth immediately.

"No, you can’t..." I blurted, the urgency slipping out before I could stop it.

My voice trailed off.

Too sharp.

Too revealing.

I lowered my head instantly, pretending to adjust the satchel strap again.

"I mean... it’s nothing complicated," I added quickly, softer now. "Just routine work."

Vincent tilted his head slightly, studying me.

"You sure?" he asked gently.

That kindness almost broke me.

If he knew.

If he knew I was about to walk three days alone toward the eastern vault without protection, without a horse, carrying nothing but a signed paper and stubborn pride....he would insist.

And I couldn’t let him.

"I’m sure," I said firmly, though I kept my gaze lowered to avoid his searching eyes.

There was a pause, a quiet, lingering moment.

"Maria... is there something going on?"

His voice changed instantly.

The playful brightness was gone, replaced by something heavier, something observant. Concern.

I froze.

For a moment, I considered brushing it off again. Smiling. Laughing. Pretending.

But Vincent although he didn’t know me too well, I was sure he could tell.

He stepped closer, searching my face.

"I need to go to the eastern wing of the pack," I finally managed to say, keeping my tone as steady as possible. "To get the silver-thread ceremonial shawl for Luna Vanessa."

The words felt heavy on my tongue.

Vincent didn’t react immediately.

Then his expression shifted.

His hand came up gently, lifting my chin so I had no choice but to look at him. His fingers were warm against my skin, careful, almost protective.

And in his eyes...I saw it, worry, not a mild concern, real worry.

"That place has been deserted for a long time," he said quietly, his brows drawing together. "From the few lessons we were given as rogues... we rogues definitely can’t go there."

His voice lowered at the last part. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

We rogues.

The reminder stung.

We were trained to survive, yes. But we were also taught where not to step. The eastern wing had been off-limits for years, partially abandoned storage grounds near unstable terrain, rarely patrolled unless necessary.

"I know," I admitted softly. "But Alpha Davian has given his orders. And I have the signed document already."

I lifted the parchment slightly as proof, though it felt more like a burden than protection.

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t like it.

I could see it.

I took a slow breath and gently removed his hands from my shoulders, careful not to appear shaken.

"See you around, Vincent," I said lightly, forcing composure into my voice. "I have to start going."

If I left now, I could avoid this.

Avoid his questions.

Avoid dragging him into something that wasn’t his responsibility.

I turned and began walking down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.

I hadn’t made it far when I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

"Maria!"

His voice echoed sharply.

I stopped, I closed my eyes briefly and then turned around.

Vincent came running toward me, slightly breathless when he reached my side. His usually carefree expression was gone entirely now.

He stepped close, closer than before, and stared directly into my eyes.

"I am coming with you."

The words hit me like a physical force.

"What?" I breathed.

He didn’t hesitate.

"I’m coming with you, Maria," he repeated firmly. "And you aren’t going to convince me into going back."

For a second, I simply stared at him.

Is he insane?

Does he even understand what he’s saying?

"This isn’t a stroll through the gardens, Vincent," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice from rising. "It’s the eastern wing. It’s far. It’s not safe."

"And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t go alone," he shot back immediately.

My chest tightened.

"You don’t understand," I whispered. "This isn’t optional."

"Then neither is this," he replied just as quickly.

His stubbornness mirrored mine in that moment.

I hated it.

I appreciated it.

I feared it.

All at once.

"You could get into trouble," I pressed. "They didn’t order you. They ordered me."

"And you think that makes it better?" he asked, frustration creeping into his tone. "You think I’m going to stand here knowing you’re walking three days alone into abandoned territory just because someone signed a paper?"

His words landed harder than I expected.

Three days.

Alone.

When he said it out loud, it sounded even worse.

"You don’t owe me this," I said softly.

His eyes flashed.

"Owe you?" he repeated. "This isn’t about owing you. It’s about not letting you walk into something dangerous alone."

I swallowed.