"Hey there. Didn't anyone teach you not to corner someone else's fiancée?" The man on the left, with tousled blond hair and a dangerous smile, strolled forward as if he had all the time in the world.
Rielle blinked rapidly, struggling to process what she was seeing. Three tall, intimidating men stood before her, radiating raw power. They looked like they'd stepped out of a nightmare—or a fantasy.
The one on the right had silvery-gray hair and cold blue eyes. His gaze flicked down to her—cool, sharp.
"Are you hurt?" he asked flatly.
Rielle shook her head, though her breath came in short bursts, and her body trembled. "N-no... I-I'm okay."
The man in the middle had jet-black hair, tied back loosely at the nape. His sharp eyes—dark like a wolf's in the dead of night—never left the rogues.
"Seems like they don't care about their lives anymore," he said calmly. "Coming here and stirring up trouble."
One of the rogues stepped forward, a greasy smile spreading across his face. "Hey, don't blame us. Blame the little limp-legged sweetheart who came strutting in, shaking her hips like she was begging for it."
Rielle shook her head fiercely. "I didn't! I-I was just—"
"That trick might fool Zeven," the gray-haired one muttered. "But not us."
"Hey!" the blond growled, clearly offended. "I'm standing right here."
The man in black sighed. "Let's just finish this."
He looked at the blond. "Zeven, take the girl. Get her out of the way."
Zeven rolled his eyes but stepped toward Rielle. He bent slightly, offering his hand. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe."
Rielle hesitated, glancing at the others.
"Trust me," he added, voice softening just a little. "We've got this."
She took his hand, his grip surprisingly gentle as he helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled slightly, and he steadied her.
He led her to a large outcrop of rocks and crouched behind it with her.
"Stay here. Don't move until we come back. Got it?"
She nodded silently, eyes wide with fear and confusion.
From where she crouched, she could still hear the rogues and the Alphas exchanging words.
"So the girl's your fiancée now?" one of the rogues sneered. "Guess that means she's already warmed all three of your beds, huh? How about letting us take a turn? It won't hurt to share."
A low growl rumbled through the clearing.
The black-haired Alpha's voice dropped like a blade. "Say that again. I dare you."
"You think we're scared of you?" the rogue barked, puffing out his chest. His voice rang out, loud and full of false bravado. "Bloodfangs or not, you don't scare us."
But his hand twitched near his belt, and he kept darting glances at the Alphas—at the way they stood still, unbothered, calm in the kind of way that screamed danger.
The silver-haired one took a slow step forward, and the rogue flinched—just barely—but enough to show the cracks in his act.
"Then why are your knees shaking?" the black-haired Alpha said coolly, his tone almost bored. "You picked the wrong place to act brave."
The rogue's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Tch. You're not the only strong ones out here."
"Is that so?" the silver-haired Alpha replied, his voice like ice. "Then you should've brought better backup."
The tension snapped in an instant.
The first rogue suddenly lunged, shouting, but his swing was sloppy—desperate. And it never landed. Because the black-haired Alpha was already there, faster than any of them could track His body was a blur of motion—swift, brutal, and efficient. He slammed his shoulder into the rogue's chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling to the dirt. Before the rogue could recover, the gray-haired Alpha delivered a spinning kick to his ribs that made a loud, wet crack.
Another rogue lunged toward the blond Alpha. Zeven grinned, sidestepping the attack with ease and catching the rogue's arm mid-swing. He yanked the man forward and drove his knee into the rogue's stomach. Then he slammed his elbow down on the back of the man's neck, dropping him like a ragdoll.
The third Alpha, the gray-haired one, moved with deadly precision. He didn't waste time. A punch to the throat. A knee to the jaw. Every step like it had been rehearsed a hundred times. He twisted one rogue's arm behind his back, snapped it with a sickening crack, and tossed him aside.
Rielle peeked from behind the rock, unable to look away. The sounds were deafening—grunts, growls, bones breaking, bodies thudding to the forest floor. She'd never seen werewolves fight before. It wasn't just brute strength—it was graceful, deadly, like watching dancers choreograph violence.
From where she crouched, Rielle pressed a hand over her mouth, heart hammering. She didn't know what scared her more—the rogues…
Or how easily the Alphas silenced them.
Then, two of the rogues broke off and sprinted toward her hiding place.
Rielle gasped, stumbling back. She grabbed a thick branch from the ground, heart pounding, and tried to stand.
"Don't co-come any clo-closer," she muttered, backing away.
Her bad foot caught on a root, and she went down hard, scraping her hands on the rough earth. She rolled over, watching in horror as the rogues advanced, eyes gleaming.
One of them chuckled. "Look at her. She can't even stand."
Just as he reached for her—
A massive black wolf burst from the trees, snarling with teeth bared and eyes burning like coals.
Rielle screamed, shielding her face. But the wolf leapt over her, crashing into the rogue with terrifying force. The man's scream was cut short by the sound of snapping bones. The second rogue turned and tried to run, but the wolf was faster. It pounced, pinning him with massive paws and tearing into his shoulder.
Blood splattered across the leaves.
The remaining rogues in the clearing, those not already down, froze.
One of them tried to flee but didn't make it far before the gray-haired Alpha caught him and slammed his face into a tree.
Zeven stood in the center of the chaos, grinning as he twirled a dagger between his fingers. "Anyone else? No? Good choice."
The black wolf turned to Rielle. She froze.
Its eyes were all too familiar.
Dark. Intense.
The wolf huffed and nuzzled her arm gently.
Then, footsteps approached. The black-haired Alpha returned, shirtless and scratched, dragging a rogue by the collar.
Zeven joined him, dirt-smeared but unscathed.
The gray-haired Alpha walked up last, covered in rogue blood but otherwise calm.
"Well," Zeven said with a smirk, brushing dust from his sleeves, "that was fun."
"Speak for yourself," the black-haired one muttered, kicking the rogue at his feet.
The gray-haired Alpha looked at Rielle, inspecting her bloodied knees and trembling body.
"She probably won't last long," he said bluntly.
Zeven gave him a pointed look. "Wow, comforting. Really."
The black-haired Alpha stepped toward her and crouched.
"But she's ours now," he said, voice low. "So try not to die."