The Triplet Alphas' Regret

The words tore through my throat, rabid and hoarse.

Rowan still looked as though he was in a daze. His eyes were slightly fogged over, and he looked at me without much thought behind those golden eyes of his. Speaking of which, his amber irises were still glowing, the light slowly pulsing as though it was alive.

It took a moment before it slowly dimmed. And when it did, I could almost see Rowan’s rationality and human consciousness slowly seep back into himself. Whatever it was before was nothing more than a shell that acted out his rawest animal desires of an Alpha werewolf― to mark and to mate with the one the Moon Goddess tied to him.

His eyes locked in on the spot on my neck. My fingers barely covered it, and from where he stood, he could probably still see the bit of blood that had appeared when he pierced through my flesh. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Do you even realize what just happened?" I asked. Frustration bled through me, and I felt the back of my eyes burn with unshed tears.

Rowan didn’t reply. That only further added to my quickly brimming anger.

"For fuck’s sake―!"

I pushed him by his shoulder, and surprisingly, he stumbled back a little before he caught his balance. Yet, he didn’t retaliate, nor did he say a word. Rowan simply kept staring at the mark on my shoulder.

"You’re insane!" I cried out. "A mark! How dare you mark me!" I yelled. "After everything that you’ve put me through... After the fact that you already have a fucking chosen mate! You―! Ugh!" I groaned.

All of a sudden, Rowan raised his hand. I instinctively flinched, thinking he was finally going to strike me back for going over the line. However, to my surprise, his thumb merely gently grazed my cheek. The rough pad of his fingertip brushed the tear away.

I didn’t realize I was crying until he did that.

I stood frozen, my hands unmoving as I stared at him. He didn’t have much expression behind his eyes. If anything, he looked like he was functioning based on pure instinct. Even though his wolf had gone dormant once more, and even though it seemed like he had gained his human rationality again, Rowan didn’t seem the same as usual.

The look in his eyes, and I truly doubted myself before coming to this conclusion, looked almost gentle.

Oddly enough, however, that didn’t bring me any bit of peace. It didn’t make my heart skip a beat, nor did it make me feel all giddy and flushed. All it did was chase away the surprise and shock that had built up within me, replacing it once more with burning, white-hot anger.

Gritting my teeth, I smacked his hand away before striking him across the face. My palm burned, and Rowan’s head was veered to one side. He stayed that way as though his neck had been nailed in place, and he couldn’t turn his head back.

"Don’t touch me!" I spat. "You disgust me. You have no right to do that―"

"I do," Rowan suddenly said.

I blinked blankly at him before my eyelids began to twitch. Before I could say anything, Rowan continued to speak.

"You are my fated mate," he said, enunciating each word clearly. Slowly, he turned his head back to face me. "Now that you’re marked, you will never leave me."

"That’s not how it works," I seethed. "I can still reject you even though you’ve marked me―"

"And what?" he asked, his face impassive. "Risk dying? You’re wolfless, not clueless. You should know what happens to a marked wolf when they attempt to reject their mate."

My words were batted straight back into my throat.

I knew what rejecting a marked mate implied. For both parties — physically marked or not — breaking the bond would be as good as driving a knife straight into the other party’s heart at the same time. Both mates would feel the same unbearable pain.

That was because the mark was merely physical. During the process, what was truly marked would be the souls of the two parties involved. Even though the mark was on my body, it was also on Rowan’s soul as well.

It was a punishment from the Moon Goddess for betraying the promise made in her name when marking a mate.

They said that the pain was the worst pain imaginable― worse than that of childbirth, worse than getting stabbed with a silver stake a hundred times all over the body. That was because upon marking, the souls would be completely tethered to each other. If any party wished to undo this, the souls would need to be torn apart.

Most people wouldn’t even survive. Even the death of a mate wouldn’t feel as painful as this. For the people who did survive a rejection after marking, they would be as good as a person with one foot in the coffin.

It was a life worse than death.

"If you think that marking me would make me stay by your side forever, you’re wrong," I seethed. "This changes nothing."

It was funny. This was something I would’ve wanted if it had just happened two months ago. Yet now, such a sacred act felt wrong and dirty. It felt as though Rowan had forcefully collared me to his side.

"What must I do to make you stay?" he asked. This question stunned me.

"What?" I asked, reeling back. The expression in his eyes was so soft and hurt that I wondered for a second if he had been possessed by Lucien’s soul instead.

Lucien...

What would he say when he realized that I was marked by someone else? By his brother, no less?

Guilt overwhelmed me.

Rowan didn’t give my mind any time to wander. He closed the distance between the two of us. Grabbing my hand, he placed it on his cheek― the very same, very red one that I had just slapped earlier.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled. "Let go, you brute―"

"What does it take for you to reject Lucien and never go looking for him again?" Rowan asked, ignoring my kicks and screams. Then, his eyes darkened. "Or do I have to kill him for that to happen?"

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. "Don’t you dare!"

"What, then?" he pressed.

His grip on my wrist was so strong that I couldn’t struggle away. I couldn’t even force it to one side to slap him once more. He simply held me there, as though relishing in the feeling of my palm against his skin.

Rowan paused for a second before it looked like something clicked in his head.

"Do you want to be the Luna of Shadowclaw?" he suddenly asked.

I felt my eyes nearly bulge out of my skull.

"Excuse me?!"

"If that’s what you want," Rowan said, "we can return to Shadowclaw right now. I will reject Violet and make you the Luna."

I was gagged. All twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and none of them would come to help me form a single word to retort to him. Truthfully, I was so stunned that my instinct was to say yes.

What would he do if I agreed just like that? Would Rowan truly just storm back to Violet and demand she give up the position of Luna for me?

That seemed almost too ridiculous to think about. If it weren’t for the searing pain in my hand from slapping Rowan, I would’ve thought that I was dreaming. After all, something so ridiculous could only happen in dreams and nowhere else.

A very spiteful and vindictive part of me wanted to agree to his terms. I was curious to see if Rowan truly would kick Violet off her pedestal just to get me to stay. But a realistic little voice kept chiming in my head, reminding me that this could be a trap. If I dared to accept his ridiculous terms, he might use this as a way to charge me with treason.

But now that I was marked, I couldn’t die either, or Rowan would also have to go through immense physical pain, possibly even trauma.

In short, this made no sense! He had essentially doomed himself by tying himself to me!

Deciding that it was useless to speak reason with him, I bit my bottom lip and mustered all the strength I could into my other hand. While he wasn’t paying attention, I quickly slapped the other side of his face to make it even.

The other half of his cheeks quickly bloomed red as his head veered to one side. As a result, he loosened his grip as well, and I could finally wriggle free from his grasp.

Without thought, I pushed him out the door before he could recover. Rowan stumbled, almost losing his balance as he was shoved out the door. He tripped over his own two feet, fumbling for something to grip for support.

I had never seen him in such a pathetic, pitiful state before.