The Triplets' Silent Mate

Ayla's POV

Snow fell in a slow, quiet drift all around me—not in the kind of way that would make it look magical. Just endless and white and cold.

It settled over everything—the trees, the ground, and the rooftops—like it was trying to cover things up. Like if it piled high enough, no one would remember what was buried underneath. Like blood had never soaked into the ground beneath my feet.

The cold bit through my thin, worn hoodie. I tugged it tighter anyway, more out of habit than hope. It wasn't nearly enough to keep me warm. The cold in me was bone-deep—had been for years.

I tried to shake it off and turn my focus to something else. The scent of pine trees filled my nostrils, the air smelling fresh and clean. Woodsmoke drifted from the packhouse, but there was always something lurking just underneath—something sharp, something metallic that reminded me of blood, even when there wasn't any.

I stopped at the edge of the road, my gaze drifting towards the packhouse. It glowed ahead—warm, jolly, and inviting. Everything I avoided.

A group stood near the entrance, their laughter filling the night air. Real laughter—easy and loud. It hit something in my chest that I didn't have a name for. I couldn't remember if I'd ever laughed that way. I pushed the thought aside quickly.

I stepped closer—not urgently. I was always the last to arrive. I kept to the shadows mostly. It was easier that way.

My nostrils flared and I froze. Something twisted inside me. The smell hit me all at once, drifting from the packhouse—roasted meat, potatoes, and something sweet underneath it all—cinnamon, maybe pumpkin pie—rich and warm and impossible to ignore.

My chest tightened before I could stop it, and a heaviness settled in for just a moment.

Christmas.

The day I hated most. Not because I never cherished the season—I did, at one time—but because of what it was intended to signify.

Family.

The word held no meaning for me anymore. I swallowed, trying to shake the feeling, but tears pricked at my eyes anyway. Sadness had a way of finding the cracks no matter how tightly I held everything together.

A group brushed past me on their way to the packhouse, shoulders knocking into mine without slowing. One of them clipped me harder than the rest.

"Hey, watch it!" he yelled, spinning around. His gaze caught mine and a sneer pulled at his lips.

I steadied myself and looked down. It was easier like that—avoid contact, don't look up, keep a low profile.

"Don't bother," another boy said. "It's just the mute stray. You won't get anything out of her."

They laughed like it cost them nothing.

I kept my eyes down and didn't react. I'd learned early that reacting only gave them fuel.

I was five when I stopped speaking, as if not speaking meant I didn't feel. I didn't remember deciding to go silent—it just happened. It was as if a switch had been flicked off somewhere deep inside me and never turned back on.

What I did remember came in flashes—scattered and brutal and never in the right order.

A huge, angry fire consuming everything in its path.

The smell of burning fur, blood, and smoke was so thick it stuck in my throat.

My mother's hand slipping from mine, slick with blood. Her eyes were losing their light—going dim.

My father's voice calling out—and then silence.

My body tensed as the memory shifted: a pair of red eyes, fixed on me—watching.

I always believed it was rogues who had destroyed my pack. Some days I wasn't so sure. I couldn't remember clearly—it was so long ago, and the rest of that night was tucked away somewhere deep, buried with my voice.

I pushed it all down. There was no space for it here.

"Hey. Mute."

My shoulders tensed before I could stop them.

I didn't turn. I didn't need to. I already knew.

Their footsteps were slow and deliberate—like they wanted me to hear every single one. The sound vibrated through me. My heart rate climbed until it actually hurt, but I didn't run. Running only worsened it. They would chase me like prey and enjoy every second of it.

The air changed as they got closer. It became heavier, dominant, and warmer somehow—but not in any way that helped.

The triplets.

They always moved together. The three brothers could have been the same person at first glance—same height, same dark hair, same cold blue eyes that seemed to cut right through you. But up close, they were different in ways that mattered.

Kael stepped into view first. He didn't rush—he never did. Everything about him felt deliberate, like he'd already decided how the meeting would go before he'd even arrived. His eyes found mine—pale and icy and completely indifferent.

Even before the title of Alpha was officially his, it already sat on him like it belonged there.

Ryker came up besides him, already smiling like the moment was the best part of his night. For him, it probably was. He'd be Kael's Beta when they took over the pack, and something told me that day couldn't come fast enough for him.

Soren lingered just behind—the quiet one, always watching, the soon-to-be delta of the pack. He kept his distance and never directly joined in—not that it helped. His silence was its own kind of pressure.

"Well?" Ryker tilted his head slightly, trying to catch my gaze under the hood. A taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Did she go deaf too, or is she just ignoring you?"

Before I could shift back, a hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around. My balance slipped, but Kael kept me in place, his grip firm and unyielding.

He didn't let go right away. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was searching for something in my face. For a moment he just stared, his body heat filling the space between us even through the cold. It only made me more aware of how frozen I was.

"Answer him," Ryker sneered.

Then he laughed under his breath. "Right. I forgot."

Laughter erupted from somewhere behind them. I didn't look to see who had joined in. I dropped my gaze instead—not because I couldn't face them, but because I refused to give them what they were looking for.

"Pathetic," Kael said flatly, and shoved me back into a heap of snow.

"Thirteen years and not a word." Ryker shook his head slowly, almost impressed. "Do you even remember how?"

"Maybe she never could," someone behind him added.

More laughter. It echoed longer than it should have—especially tonight.

I didn't react—I hadn't in years. It was easier that way. They'd get bored and leave eventually. They always did.

Soren's gaze lingered on me longer than usual—not mocking, but not kind either—like he was working something out. His brows pulled together slightly, and for a moment it looked almost like frustration. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself. He always did.

A long, loud howl cut through the night, and everything stilled.

Kael's eyes flickered to me. "Don't wander off," he said coolly. "We're not dealing with you tonight."

Ryker snorted. "Maybe find yourself somewhere else to stay. This freeloading thing? Yeah. It's over."

They turned like I was already gone and didn't matter.

Soren hesitated for just a moment, his gaze flickering between me and his brothers. Then he followed without a word.

And just like that, it was quiet again.

I pushed myself out of the snow and let out a slow breath I hadn't known I was holding. My hands were trembling—not from cold, but from something harder to name. I pressed them against my sides until they stilled.

The space around me felt bigger, emptier, and colder now that they were gone.

The packhouse still glowed in the distance, full of warmth I wasn't allowed to touch. Laughter drifted out every time someone opened the door—bright and fleeting—before fading again into the night.

I stayed where I was. Where I belonged. Outside.

Then something shifted.

A frown pulled at my brows as my hand pressed against my chest before I even thought about it. It wasn't pain—not exactly. Just an unfamiliar stirring in a place that had been completely still for as long as I could remember.

I breathed in slowly. Just nerves, I told myself.

But the feeling came again—stronger this time—and I knew. I wasn't imagining it.

My wolf had awakened.

The packhouse door swung open before I could process it, and gentle eyes found me across the snow.

"Ayla," Luna Ria called softly. "Come, dear child. Everyone is waiting."

I lifted my gaze to meet hers and gave a small nod before I started moving.

But even as I walked towards the warmth and the light, I couldn't shake the feeling pressing against my ribs.

Something was about to change tonight—and whatever it was, there was no going back.

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