A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Aidan.

I left the study without another word to my brothers, the door closing behind me with a soft but decisive thud. The tension of the room clung to me even as I walked away, but my mind was already elsewhere, no, someone else.

Maria.

In my head, I had labeled her a problem. A complication. Something that required a solution before it spiraled out of control. That was the logic I kept feeding myself, the reason I used to justify every thought that circled back to her.

And yet, beneath all of that reasoning, there was something far more dangerous.

A pull.

It was subtle at first, like a quiet tug at the back of my chest, but with every step I took away from my brothers, it grew stronger. I needed to see her. Needed to know where she was. Needed to feel her presence, even if only from a distance. It made no sense, and that only irritated me more.

I changed direction abruptly and headed toward her room.

When I got there and found it empty, irritation curled sharply in my gut. The room was neat, untouched, her scent faint but unmistakable. She hadn’t been here for a while.

I stepped back into the hallway and stopped the first servant I saw.

"I need Maria," I said coolly. "She has urgent cleaning duties."

The lie slid off my tongue easily.

I repeated the same thing to the next person I encountered, and the next. With each question, my impatience grew. I wasn’t trying to convince them, I was trying to convince myself that this was routine, that I wasn’t searching for her for reasons I refused to acknowledge.

Finally, one of the maids hesitated before answering, her eyes darting nervously. "I... I saw her earlier," she said. "She was heading toward the garden. With a male rogue."

The words hit harder than I expected.

A male rogue.

My first instinct was to dismiss it. Maria had duties. Cooperation was normal. Rogues worked together all the time. I told myself it was nothing, that I was overreacting, that this irritation clawing at my chest was unnecessary.

But my feet were already moving.

The moment I stepped into the garden and saw her, every excuse I had built crumbled into nothing.

Maria was standing there, her back partially turned to me, her head tilted slightly upward as if she were listening. And her hands—her hands—were interwoven with the hands of another man, a mere rogue.

The world narrowed.

Sound dulled and the air thickened.

All I could see was the way her fingers rested so easily in his, the way their bodies stood close enough to suggest familiarity. Something hot and violent surged through me, eclipsing thought and reason alike.

I didn’t want to understand. I didn’t want an explanation.

I only wanted one thing.

His hands off her.

"Maria, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" I shouted as I closed the distance between us.

My voice rang across the garden, sharp and unforgiving, cutting straight through whatever moment they had been sharing. She turned, eyes widening in shock, but I didn’t slow down.

I reached them in seconds.

Without hesitation, without restraint, I grabbed her arm and yanked her hand free from his grasp, pulling her toward me. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through me, electric, possessive, undeniable.

The male rogue staggered back slightly, clearly startled.

"Alpha Aidan," he greeted quickly, bowing his head in respect.

It did nothing to soothe the rage boiling inside me.

Respect meant nothing in that moment. Rank meant nothing. All I could see were his hands, hands that had dared to touch what was mine.

My mate.

The thought roared through me, fierce and absolute.

How dare he?

How dare a rogue I had allowed into my pack, a rogue beneath my authority, place his hands on her as if he had any right? As if she belonged anywhere near him?

My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Every instinct screamed at me to do more than simply pull her away, to punish, to assert, to make the boundary unmistakably clear. It took everything in me not to act on it.

I stood there, chest rising and falling heavily, my body positioned instinctively in front of Maria, blocking her from him. The garden no longer felt peaceful. It felt like a battlefield.

I didn’t look at her.

If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from doing something reckless.

Instead, my gaze remained locked on the rogue, cold and lethal, promising consequences without a single word needing to be spoken.

No one touches my mate.

Not now. Not ever.

I needed to punish him, but not in a way that would draw questions. Not in a way that would make it obvious that this was personal. Everything had to look like discipline, nothing more.

I straightened, my expression hardening into something cold and authoritative.

"Rogue four-five-four," I called out.

At the sound of his designation, his shoulders stiffened. He immediately lowered his head further, submission written clearly into his posture.

"At your command, Alpha Aidan," he said, his voice steady, though I could already sense the tension coiling inside him.

A slow, deliberate smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Not a smile of humor, one of calculation.

"I think the thorns over there..." I said, lifting my hand and pointing toward a patch of thick, wild growth some distance away, "...need to be uprooted. With immediate effect."

The words were calm. Casual.

But the meaning behind them was anything but.

I watched his face carefully as realization dawned. The color drained from it, his jaw tightening as he followed my gaze toward the thorn bushes. They were dense, sharp, and unforgiving, roots tangled deep in the soil, stems bristling with barbs strong enough to tear flesh.

He knew exactly what I meant.

No tools.

Just his hands.

"Understood, Alpha Aidan," he replied after a brief pause.

There was no protest. No hesitation beyond that single moment. He bowed again, then turned and walked toward the thorns, each step heavier than the last.

I lifted my fingers slightly and flicked my hand in dismissal, signaling for him to begin.

As he crouched and reached out, something tugged at my awareness. I glanced back, against my better judgment, and my eyes met Maria’s.

The look on her face stopped me for half a second.

Horror.

Her eyes were wide, glistening, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but didn’t dare. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides, knuckles pale. She was staring at me, not with fear, but with something far worse.

Pleading.

She was asking me to stop. To let him go. To show mercy.

The sight irritated me instantly.

My jaw tightened as something sharp twisted in my chest, not guilt, not regret, but anger. Anger that she cared. Anger that she would look at another male like that. Anger that she thought he deserved protection.

I turned my face away from her quickly, refusing to give her reaction any power over me.

My attention snapped back to the rogue.

He had already wrapped his fingers around the first cluster of thorns.

The moment he pulled, he hissed sharply.

The sound of tearing flesh followed, faint but unmistakable. Blood welled almost immediately, dark and rich against his skin. He clenched his teeth and continued, yanking the plant free from the ground with a low grunt of pain.

I inhaled slowly.

The scent of blood reached me, metallic, sharp, carried easily on the air. It curled into my senses, igniting something dark and satisfied within me.

He moved to the next cluster.

This time, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the barbs digging deep into his palm. He flinched, fingers trembling as fresh cuts opened across his skin. Blood dripped down onto the soil, staining the earth beneath him.

I felt my lips curve into a faint smile.

Very Good.

Let him remember this pain.

Let him remember what happens when he forgets his place.

He worked in silence, shoulders tense, breath uneven. Every pull earned him another wound, another sharp intake of breath. His hands were shaking now, slick with blood, thorns embedded into his skin as he ripped the plants from the ground one after the other.

I stood there, unmoving, watching it all with detached calm.

This wasn’t cruelty.

This was correction.

He needed to learn.

I caught myself glancing briefly toward Maria again, just long enough to see her turn her face away, unable to watch anymore. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and something hot stirred in my chest.

Possessiveness.

She was mine to protect, mine to discipline, mine to decide for.

Not his.

Never his.

I shifted my stance, folding my arms as the rogue uprooted another thorn bush, a low groan escaping him as blood streamed freely now. The satisfaction settled deeper, colder.

Next time, he wouldn’t be touching thorns.

Next time, I would make sure he never touched anything again.

Especially her.