Page 12 of Sold to the Alphas

My jaw tightened.

“You know I’m right,” Finn continued, his tone colder now. “You want her to save us—to be the answer to all our problems—but you’re too scared to admit that you’re using her just as much as I am.”

“Stop,” Marshall said, stepping between us. His gaze flicked to Finn, sharp and unyielding. “You can shut up now.”

Finn smirked but didn’t push further. He sat back down, drumming his fingers on the table.

I turned back to Elisabed, watching her sleep. She looked so small and peaceful, yet I knew the fire that burned beneath that fragile exterior. Marshall was right about one thing—she had more strength than we gave her credit for.

But strength alone wouldn’t be enough.

“She doesn’t know what’s coming,” I said quietly. “And I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive us when she finds out what we got her into.”

“She will,” Marshall said, his voice steady. “Because she’ll see the bigger picture. She’s already proven she’s willing to fight for the people she cares about. She’ll fight for us and our people, too.”

“We’ll see,” I muttered.

“You’re giving up too easily,” Finn said, his tone lighter now but no less cutting. “But then again, that’s your thing, isn’t it, August? Always planning for failure. Always waiting for the worst-case scenario. Always too scared to act.”

I didn’t rise to his bait. Instead, I turned and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Marshall asked.

“To think,” I replied without looking back.

Because that’s what I did—I thought. I planned. And right now, all my plans were crumbling around me.

I stepped out into the cool night air. The moon was high, and the forest was silent except for the distant rustle of leaves. I leaned against the porch railing, closing my eyes and letting the chill bite into my skin.

We were playing a dangerous game. And no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were already losing.

5

Finn

The house was again too damn quiet—the kind of silence that got under your skin and clawed at you. I hated it. Always had. It reminded me of the grieving quiet after an attack,the attackthat changed my life. I would always prefer the bustling of children goofing around and ignoring any and all authority, but that wasn’t the life I had now. No. Now, it was all about whispered conversations and working in the shadows.

But we would change that soon.

The quiet gave my mind too much room to wander, to focus on the wrong things—like the soft sounds of her breathing down the hall and her scent still clinging to my skin, sweet and maddening, instead of our next steps and strategy.

Elisabed.

Even her name stirred something dangerous in me. I’d never admit it to the other two, but my wolf had been restless since last night, pacing, growling, and snarling for more. He didn’t care that we’d claimed her, that we’d marked her. He wanted to own her completely, to bury himself so deep she’d never forget who she belonged to.

And hell, I wasn’t doing much better.

I grabbed the tray off the counter—coffee, eggs, toast, bacon. Simple. I wasn’t about to try too hard—she needed to see me for what I was. The stories she’d probably heard? They weren’t just tales to keep pups awake at night. They were warnings. And I wanted her to know she wasn’t safe, not even here—especially not with me.

When I shoved the door open, she was sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up, her body swallowed in one of August’s shirts. It pissed me off immediately. Not because it was his—okay, maybe alittle—but because she looked so damn small in it, like she thought hiding would protect her from us. From me.

She immediately froze when she saw me, and I could smell her nerves, sharp and bitter.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I said, kicking the door shut behind me. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Her eyes darted between the tray and my face before she straightened, trying to look braver than her scent suggested she was feeling. “I...I didn’t expect breakfast.”

I chuckled. “Didn’t think we’d let you starve, did you?” I stalked closer, setting the tray on the small table near the bed. “Thoughif it were up to me, I’d say you owe us a little gratitude after last night.”

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