Knotted By The Three Feral Alphas

The wagon hit another rut and my head hit against the iron side. Pain flared white-hot behind my eyes. I bit down on my tongue so I wouldn’t groan from the pain. The chains had cut deeper into my wrists overnight; blood seeped warm under the metal. I could smell it mixing with the piss and wet hay on the floorboards.

Marek rode closer, his gelding’s breath puffing clouds. "You’re quiet this morning, killer. Yesterday you had plenty to say."

I didn’t look at him. The sleet had turned to fat snowflakes that stuck to my lashes and melted down my neck. Every jolt sent fresh agony up my arms. I focused on the trees instead, black trunks sliding past like sentries that didn’t give a damn.

Inside my head the feast replayed anyway. I couldn’t stop it.

Two nights ago the longhouse had been loud with drums and roasted boar. Lanterns swung from the rafters, throwing gold across the tables. Lila wore the new dress our father had bought her, deep green wool that made her look older than seventeen. She’d spun in it once for me, laughing, the hem flaring. "Bet the alpha’s son notices me tonight."

I had smiled despite the knot in my gut. I always smiled for Lila. I poured the wine myself, the good southern red the pack saved for full moons. Handed the cup over. Watched her drink it down in three thirsty gulps.

Then she coughed. Once. Twice. The cup slipped. Red wine spilled across the dirt floor like fresh blood. Lila grabbed her throat, eyes bulging. The music died. People stood. Someone screamed.

I dropped to my knees beside her, hands pressing uselessly against her chest. "Breathe, Lila. Just breathe!"

My father shoved me aside so hard I tasted dirt. "What did you do?" he snarled.

"I gave her wine. That’s all."

But the pack had already decided. Fingers pointed. Whispers rippled. Human-tainted. Always jealous of her sister. Last one seen with the cup.

The trial came the next morning, fast and ugly. No real evidence, just their word against mine. The alpha council sat on the raised dais, furs on their shoulders, faces carved from old grudges. My father stood beside them like he belonged there.

"You poisoned your own blood," the alpha said. He didn’t even look surprised.

I kept my chin up even though my knees shook. "I did not. Someone else switched the cup. Or the wine itself was tainted. Ask the servants. Ask anyone."

My father stepped forward. "She’s always resented Lila. Human blood makes her weak. Makes her spiteful. We all saw it."

They didn’t bother with witnesses. One of the betas backhanded me across the mouth when I tried to speak again. The taste of blood filled my mouth for the second time in twenty-four hours.

They stripped the gamma’s daughter pin from my cloak, the little silver wolf I’d worn since I was twelve.

Then they beat me. Not enough to kill. Just enough to make the journey north hurt worse. Boots in my ribs. A fist to the temple. I curled on the floor and took it because fighting back would only make them enjoy it more.

By the time they dragged me to the cell I was already half-broken.

The memory cut off when Marek’s horse bumped the wagon. He leaned down, breath sour with last night’s ale. "You still think you’re innocent?"

"I am," I rasped.

He laughed. "Doesn’t matter. Blackthorns won’t care. They’ll fuck you raw and leave you for the crows."

The other two guards riding behind chuckled. One of them, a thick-necked man named Tor, spat a wad of tobacco into the snow. "Might as well get a taste before those freaks ruin her for good."

My stomach tightened. I’d heard the tone before. I kept my eyes on the horizon where the pines thinned into rocky ridges. The bond I still didn’t understand pulled harder now, a low thrum under my ribs like a second heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

Night fell early. They made camp in a shallow hollow where the wind couldn’t reach. The guards built a fire and passed a skin of cheap whiskey.

I stayed chained in the wagon, blanket thrown over me like an afterthought. My wrists had gone numb hours ago. Hunger gnawed at me, but I refused to ask for food.

Marek approached first. He climbed into the wagon bed, boots heavy on the planks. "Cold night," he said. "Figured you could use some warming up."

I scooted back until my spine hit the bars. "Touch me and I’ll scream loud enough for the Blackthorns to hear."

He grinned, teeth yellow in the firelight. "They’re still miles off. And you won’t be screaming for long."

Tor and the third guard hauled themselves up behind him. The wagon creaked under their weight. Marek grabbed my ankle and yanked. I kicked hard. My heel caught him square in the mouth. He cursed and backhanded me so hard my vision tunneled.

"Hold her," he snarled.

They pinned my arms above my head. The chains clattered. Tor’s knee drove into my stomach, knocking the air out of me. Marek fumbled with his belt. The cold air hit my thighs as he shoved my dress up. I felt the rough scrape of his callused hand and something inside me snapped clean in two.

Not fear. Rage. Pure, bright, and older than I was.

I twisted, got one hand free enough to grab Marek’s ear. I bit down hard until my teeth met. Cartilage crunched. Hot blood flooded my mouth. Marek howled. He punched me in the side of the head but I didn’t let go. I worried the ear like a dog with a rat until it tore free in my teeth.

Tor swore and slammed his fist into my ribs again. I spat the ear at him. It landed wet on his boot.

"You crazy bitch!" Marek clutched the side of his head, blood pouring between his fingers.

The third guard drew a knife. "I’ll gut her right here."

A howl cut the night open. Close this time. Three voices, braided tight, the same ones I’d heard yesterday. The sound rolled down the ridge like thunder. The horses screamed and tried to bolt. The guards froze.

Marek scrambled backward, hand still clamped to his ruined ear. "Leave her. We’re too close to their territory."

They jumped out of the wagon fast. I lay there panting, dress torn, blood on my chin that wasn’t mine. The howl came again, lower, almost pleased. The bond in my chest flared hot. For one stupid second I wanted to howl back.

The rest of the night passed in silence. The guards kept their distance. Marek wrapped his head in a bloody rag and shot me murderous looks across the fire. I curled on my side, chains rattling every time I breathed. The ear I’d bitten off lay somewhere in the snow. I hoped wolves found it.

By morning the ridges had grown steeper. Snow lay thicker on the ground. The wagon wheels crunched through it. My body ached in places I didn’t know could hurt. My lip was split. Two ribs felt cracked. But the pull inside my chest had grown stronger, almost comforting now. Like something up ahead recognized the mess I’d made of Marek and approved.

Tor muttered to the others, "We tell the Blackthorns she attacked us first. They’ll believe it."

Marek only grunted.

The trees opened up around midday. A massive stone wall rose ahead, black rock veined with ice. Frostfang gates. Two guards in heavy furs stood watch, spears taller than they were. They didn’t speak. Just swung the gates wide when the wagon approached.

I sat up as best I could. The great hall crouched at the end of a long cleared path, smoke curling from three chimneys. It looked like it had been carved from the mountain itself. Wolves carved into the doors watched me with blank stone eyes.

The wagon stopped.

The brothers were already waiting.