Selena.
I wake up breathing in wet woods, my cheek pressed to sheets that do not belong to me.
For a moment, I lie still, afraid to test whether this body is still mine. The ceiling above me is low and unfamiliar, wooden beams crossing it in quiet symmetry. Sunlight filters through thin curtains, painting the room in gold.
There is no pain at first. Only a slow, throbbing pressure at the base of my skull that makes me blink hard.
I inhale.
The air carries warmth and masculine scent. Their scent clings to the air, distinct yet tangled, making my chest feel tight.
My heart stutters as images of last night suddenly come rushing back.
The scene of the forest returns in flashes, the wolves hovering around me. Then, the men closing in.
I sit up too fast and regret it immediately as my head throbs in protest. I clutch the edge of the bed, breathing through the dizziness until it passes. When it does, awareness settles in pieces.
This is not my room.
This is not the pack grounds.
This is an apartment. Modest. Clean. A small space tucked deep within the woods, judging by the way the trees press close against the single window. There is a chair. A narrow table. A hearth built of stone. Everything feels intentional. Lived in.
Safe.
My wolf stirs, alert but calm. That alone unsettles me.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ready to stand, and that is when I notice the unfamiliar fabric sliding against my thighs.
I freeze.
I am not wearing the dress from last night.
I look down slowly.
A shirt hangs from my shoulders, dark and soft, far too large in the chest and far too short everywhere else. It brushes the tops of my thighs, leaving my legs bare beneath it. The scent hits me all at once. Male. Rich. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
One of theirs.
Heat creeps up my neck.
I press my thighs together instinctively, suddenly acutely aware of myself. I have never been naked in front of anyone.
The thought of walking outside like this, to face three strangers who already saw me at my weakest, makes my pulse race with a mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous.
Male voices drift in through the open window. Low. Relaxed.
I cannot make out the words, only the cadence. Quiet laughter. Warm.
They are close.
I slide off the bed, my feet barely making a sound against the floor, and move toward the door. I stop halfway there, glancing down at myself again. The shirt rides up when I move, exposing too much skin.
This feels wrong.
Before I can decide what to do, footsteps approach the door.
I panic.
I scramble back, heart hammering, and dive under the bed, dragging the duvet with me. I pull it up around my shoulders, curling tight just as the door opens.
Light spills into the room.
A man steps inside.
I see him first from the waist down.
He is wearing only pants, low on his hips. My breath catches painfully in my chest.
He is beautiful.
Not in a delicate way. In a solid, undeniable way that feels carved rather than born. His legs are strong, muscles shifting as he moves. His torso is bare, skin warm and sun kissed, lined with scars that speak of fights survived rather than beauty sought.
His abdomen is hard and defined, the kind that suggests discipline and constant motion. The kind of body that makes my fingers ache with a need I do not understand yet.
He clears his throat, as if letting me know I have been staring too long. I look away.
My face burns.
He closes the door behind him and turns, already smiling.
"Hey," he says gently. "How are you?"
I peek out from behind the duvet like a coward.
"Fine," I manage, then immediately hate how thin my voice sounds.
His smile widens, not mocking or amused. Just pleased. His eyes are a clear, startling blue, mesmerizing to stare at. I have the distinct sense that he knows exactly what he wants me to see.
He notices the duvet. Notices the way I am hiding beneath it.
Understanding flickers across his face.
"We thought you might be hungry," he says, lifting the plate in his hands slightly. "And since we were not sure what you might like, we made you soup."
The scent reaches me then. Rich broth. Herbs. My stomach betrays me with a soft, traitorous ache.
"We?" I ask.
"My brothers and I," he replies easily.
"Same parents?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Yes. And we are all at your service."
My cheeks heat further.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
He steps closer, careful not to crowd me, and sets the plate on the small table beside the bed. The movement draws my attention again, and I have to force my eyes upward.
"You can call me Ronan," he says.
"Nice to meet you," I reply automatically. "My name is…"
"Princess Selena," he finishes.
I stare at him.
"You know me?" I ask.
"More than you know," he says quietly. "Eat up. Then meet us outside. Trust me, your other mates are eagerly waiting to see you."
The word hits me like a physical thing.
Mates.
My wolf lifts her head fully now, alert and interested.
I swallow. "My clothes?"
He gestures vaguely. "Washed. There was blood on them."
Blood.
My memory crashes back. The forest. The pain blooming at the back of my head. Silas. His voice, soft and apologetic.
My fingers curl into the duvet.
Ronan notices and his expression softens further. "You have nothing to worry about," he says. "You are safe here."
I believe him. Truth be told, I already feel safe.
"What about my clothes? I mean, I cannot come out like this."
"We are your mates. And with time, you will be begging us to take off every layer of clothing from your body," he says with so much certainty that my breath stutters.
Heat pools low in my stomach, unfamiliar and intense. I have never felt attraction like this before. It feels as if my body is responding to his words before my mind can catch up.
Ronan turns and leaves before I can find words. The door closes softly behind him.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the plate of soup, my heart racing.
Hurry up, let's go meet our mates, my wolf says excitedly.
Don't be so excited. What if they turn out to be just like Silas? I ask.
Well, Silas has never made you breakfast in bed. She whines.
True.
I eat slowly, the warmth spreading through me, grounding me. When I finish, I set the plate aside and rise. The shirt still hangs too short, but the hesitation has dulled. Something inside me has shifted.
I step outside.
The forest opens around the apartment, sunlight filtering through towering trees. Two men stand near a fallen log, mirroring Rohan in build and presence, different only in subtle ways. One watches me with open curiosity. The other with quiet intensity.
Three sets of blue eyes turn toward me.
The moment stretches. Their attention settles on me like a touch I can almost feel, warm and deliberate, tracing the length of my bare legs and the curve of my hips beneath borrowed fabric. My pulse stumbles, then races.
My wolf presses forward, unafraid, and my body follows her lead. Heat blooms under my skin, sharp and disorienting, tugging me toward them with a pull that feels ancient and intimate.
Their attention weighs on me, heavy with promise. I swallow, my breath unsteady.
I do not step back.
Yet a single thought slips through the haze, sharp and unsettling.
If these men are my mates, then how am I also bound to Silas?