Chapter 2: The Pack’s Punching Bag
The morning air was sharp, cutting through my threadbare clothes and sinking deep into my bruised skin. Each step across the damp grass sent a dull ache rippling through my ribs, a cruel reminder of yesterday’s torment.
I kept my head down, moving quickly across the training grounds, ignoring the lingering stares. The whispers. The amused glances from passing pack members who found entertainment in my suffering.
I had learned long ago—acknowledging them only made it worse.
But I wasn’t fast enough to avoid her.
"Move, rogue."
The voice slithered down my spine, icy and laced with venom.
Sabine.
The Beta’s daughter. The pack’s golden girl. The one who had everything—except, perhaps, the one thing she truly wanted.
Before I could react, pain exploded in my side. A sharp kick to my ribs sent me sprawling onto the frozen dirt, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My scraped palms stung as I caught myself just before my face hit the ground.
Laughter rippled around us—not as loud as when the triplets toyed with me, but enough to make my stomach churn.
Sabine crouched beside me, her honey-blonde hair shining in the morning light, her hazel eyes gleaming with something more than cruelty.
Jealousy.
But I stayed silent.
That only seemed to anger her more. She clicked her tongue, fingers twisting into my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to meet her gaze.
"What? No smart mouth today?" she taunted, her nails digging into my scalp. "No pathetic little attempts at defiance?"
I said nothing.
Her grip tightened, her lips curling into a sneer. "You think you're better than me, don't you? You think just because they look at you, it means something?"
The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.
Something inside me settled with quiet understanding.
This wasn’t just about me. This was about them.
The triplets.
Even when they tormented me, even when they mocked me, they noticed me. Their attention—no matter how cruel—lingered.
And that infuriated Sabine.
Before I could react, she shoved me back down, dust kicking up in my face.
"Sabine… maybe you shouldn’t."
The voice was hesitant, uncertain.
Mira. A lower-ranked omega.
She wasn’t brave, but she wasn’t cruel either.
Sabine turned sharply, her glare cutting. "What?"
Mira shifted, glancing around uneasily. "The triplets… if they see you doing this—"
Sabine scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. They don’t care about this mutt."
But there was something in her voice. A flicker of doubt.
She turned back to me, eyes scanning my face, searching for… something. Some kind of confirmation that she was right. That I meant nothing.
I gave her nothing.
Her lips curled in disgust. "You’re so boring."
With a final glare, she turned and stalked off, her entourage trailing behind.
Mira lingered for a moment before kneeling beside me.
"You should rinse your hands," she murmured, her gaze flicking toward the cuts on my palms. "Before they get worse."
I stared at her, unmoving.
She shifted, embarrassed. "I just mean—" She sighed. "Never mind."
And then she was gone.
I sat there for a moment, waiting for the burning behind my eyes to fade.
Not here.
Not where they could see.
The dining hall was warm, thick with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread. Warriors laughed over half-finished plates, omegas moved in seamless rhythm, but the heat of the fire did nothing to thaw the cold in my bones.
I worked quietly, clearing tables with steady hands, ignoring the dull ache in my ribs. Every movement sent pain flickering through my body, but I didn’t falter.
I never did.
And then—
A shift in the air.
A presence—threefold. Heavy. Inescapable.
I felt them before I saw them.
The triplets.
Their attention wrapped around me like an unseen leash, invisible but impossible to ignore. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin, not in fear—but in something far more dangerous.
A chair scraped against the wooden floor.
I didn’t need to look up to know Dorian had taken the seat closest to me.
"You’re limping," he noted casually. "Rough morning?"
His voice was light, amused—but his sharp gaze flicked over me, assessing.
"She always looks like that," Rowan mused, propping an elbow on the table, his expression lazy, but his eyes sharp. "A walking bruise."
Evander swirled a drink in his hand, watching me with vague interest. "You’d think she’d get tired of being everyone’s favorite punching bag." He took a slow sip before adding, "Maybe she likes it."
I stilled, my fingers gripping the damp cloth just a little tighter.
Dorian leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, coaxing. "Is that it, Calista? Do you like it?"
A slow heat crept up my neck, but I kept my head down, kept scrubbing the table.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Dorian tsked, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Still so stubborn."
Rowan sighed dramatically. "You really don’t make this easy on yourself, you know."
"She never does," Evander agreed, watching me with a lazy sort of amusement.
I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, fingers wrapped around my wrist.
Not tight. Just enough to still me.
A flicker of warmth spread through my skin before I jerked away, my pulse kicking up. "Don’t touch me."
Dorian smirked, but this time, it was softer. Almost thoughtful. "You always say that."
Rowan chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. "And yet, here we are. Again."
Evander studied me, tilting his head slightly. "It’s cute that you still think you have a choice."
I sucked in a breath, my heart thudding against my ribs.
Dorian’s gaze flickered to my wrist, where my sleeve had ridden up slightly. His expression didn’t change, but something shifted—his amusement dimming for the briefest moment before he murmured,
"You should’ve told us."
I laughed, cold and hollow. "Told you?" I shook my head. "You act like you’re different. You torment me just like they do. You—"
I broke off, suddenly too aware of how close they were.
Too close to their heat.
Too close to the way they were looking at me.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Something else entirely.
Dorian exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Only we have the right to do this to you."
The words settled over me like a slow, curling fog.
Possessiveness.
My breath locked in my chest, my body reacting before my mind could. I stepped back—once, twice—my wolf pressing against my skin, restless.
I didn’t understand them.
I didn’t want to.
"Stay away from me," I forced out.
And then I turned and left, ignoring the way their stares burned into my back.
Ignoring the way my wolf didn’t protest.
Ignoring the way something had shifted—something dark. Something undeniable.
But most of all, I ignored the way I almost didn’t hate it.