Marked by the Triplets-A Rogue’s Silent Struggle

Chapter 1: The Rogues’ Daughter

I gasped as Evander, one of the triplets and the future Alphas of the pack, approached me. Mid-step, he shifted, his golden-brown eyes flashing, and his hand gripped my wrist.The heat of his touch burned through me.

"Let go," I whispered.

His fingers tightened.

"No."

A shiver ran through me.

The bond pressed in.

Crushing. Demanding.

My breath quickened, uneven, my chest burning with every inhale.

I, an orphan in the pack, a rogue, had only discovered moments before I was about to leave the Alpha’s triplet sons—the future Alphas of the pack—were my mate.

Moon Goddess, what kind of cruel joke is this?

Then—

Rowan, another of the triplets, shifted last.

His expression was softer. Quieter.

But his voice?

Pained.

"Why?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Because I can’t stay here."

Because if I stayed...

I’d lose myself.

I’d lose everything.

Dorian, the last of the triplets, tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You belong with us."

"No. No, I don’t."

I wrenched my wrist free from Evander’s grip, my chest heaving.

"I belong to no one."

Dorian’s lips curled into a slow, dark smirk.

"That’s where you’re wrong, little rogue."

....

I learned to stop crying a long time ago.

Tears meant weakness, and weakness invited more pain.

The moment I stepped outside the pack house that morning, I knew it was going to be a bad day. The late autumn air was crisp, laced with the promise of an early snowfall, but there was no beauty in it for me—only the sting of another long, miserable day ahead. The scent of damp earth and pine mixed with something far more familiar: cruelty.

"Well, look who decided to crawl out of her hole."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Dorian, Evander, and Rowan—Silvercrest’s precious Alpha triplets. The future rulers of this pack.

My tormentors.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the pack house entrance, watching me like a pack of wolves circling wounded prey. Which, in their eyes, I was. I wasn’t like the others. I wasn’t one of them.

I was the rogues’ daughter.

I forced my chin up, ignoring the sharp pang in my ribs from last night’s punishment. A mistake. Dorian’s dark blue eyes—so much like his father’s—gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, studying me the way a cat studies a dying bird.

“She’s walking stiff again,” Evander murmured. His voice was softer than Dorian’s, more thoughtful, but that never made him any less dangerous.

"Think she’ll cry today?" Rowan asked, his voice edged with something unsettling—curiosity.

"She never cries," Dorian mused, stepping closer. The morning sunlight caught in the sharp angles of his face, turning his messy black hair into something almost elegant, if not for the cruel smirk curving his lips. "Isn’t that right, Calista?"

I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

Rowan’s smirk widened. "Do you think it’s because she likes it?"

The wolves standing around us—pack members who had stopped to watch the show—laughed.

Humiliation burned through me, but I knew better than to react. That was what they wanted. They fed off my pain, my helplessness. And I couldn’t afford to give them what they wanted.

Not when I was so close to escaping this nightmare.

"Leave me alone," I muttered, sidestepping them.

But Dorian blocked my path. "Now, now," he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Is that any way to speak to your future Alphas?"

"Future Alphas don’t waste time tormenting someone beneath them," I shot back.

The smirk on his lips faltered.

A mistake.

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Because Dorian’s eyes darkened, and a slow, predatory grin replaced his earlier amusement.

"You really think you're beneath us?" Evander murmured, stepping forward, his voice velvety smooth. His fingers brushed a lock of my silver-blonde hair off my shoulder, a deliberate invasion of space. I forced myself not to flinch. "No, little rogue, I think you’re something else entirely."

I swallowed hard. I hated how they did this—how they played with me like I was some kind of toy, something that only existed for their entertainment. But this was different. There was something… off about the way they were looking at me today.

Like they had discovered something about me that even I didn’t know.

"Careful, brother," Rowan said, leaning lazily against the porch railing. His light brown hair was tousled from the wind, and there was an odd gleam in his hazel eyes as he watched us. "If you break her too soon, we won’t have anything left to play with."

Another round of laughter from the gathered pack members.

I forced my breathing to remain even, my fists curling at my sides.

Not yet.

Not yet.

With sheer force of will, I stepped around Dorian and walked away.

This time, they let me go.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of chores and whispers.

As always, I scrubbed the kitchen floors while the other unmated she-wolves giggled about the upcoming Moon Festival. I hung laundry while the Beta’s daughter, Sabine, made a point to 'accidentally' knock over the clean sheets. I fetched water from the well while the pack warriors sneered at me, calling me "the rogue pet" under their breath.

By nightfall, my body ached, my ribs screamed in protest, and exhaustion clung to my bones like a second skin.

I trudged up to my small, forgotten room in the back of the pack house, wincing as I pulled my threadbare sweater over my head. The bruises from last night’s punishment had blossomed into dark patches of purple and blue, stark against my pale skin.

I exhaled shakily, running my fingers over them. The pain was familiar. Expected.

"Just a little longer," I whispered.

A few more weeks. That was all I needed.

Once my wolf awakened, I’d be strong enough to run.

Strong enough to fight if I had to.

I would be free.

I curled up on the thin mattress, ignoring the cold seeping into my bones.

I was so close.

I just had to endure a little longer.