CHAPTER 3

Giselle’s POV

I stared at the three identical faces in shock. Triplets. Three werewolf triplets that my mother had somehow failed to mention existed.

"These are my sons," Richard said, his voice regaining its composure. "Khuraan, Hakkan, and Zarkhan."

"The heirs to the Golden Moon pack," added the one I now knew as Khuraan, lifting his chin proudly.

Golden Moon pack? My mind was reeling. Not just any werewolf pack, but one of the most powerful packs on the East Coast. The name had come up even in Omaha—legends of their strength and wealth. And my mother had married their alpha without telling me a thing about it.

"I... I didn't know," I stammered, looking accusingly at my mother.

Valeria had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I wanted to ease you into everything gradually."

Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. "It seems we've all gotten off on the wrong foot. Boys, Giselle will be staying with us for a while. I expect you to make her feel welcome."

Khuraan crossed his arms. "She called us thieves and kicked me."

"Because you attacked me in the kitchen!" I protested.

"We were protecting our home," Hakkan countered. "How were we supposed to know who you were when no one told us you were coming?"

My mother looked between us, brow furrowed. "I did mention that my daughter would be visiting."

"Apparently not clearly enough," I muttered.

"An apology would be appropriate," Zarkhan spoke for the first time, his voice lower than his brothers', his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder rather than meeting my eyes. "For calling us thieves in our own home."

I gaped at him. "You want ME to apologize? After you three grabbed me and manhandled me into the living room?"

"Giselle," my mother said in that warning tone I remembered from childhood. "They were protecting their territory. That's what wolves do."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was the victim here, and somehow I was expected to apologize. But the four wolves staring at me made it clear I was outnumbered in more ways than one.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I apologize for calling you thieves. I didn't know who you were because no one bothered to tell me you existed."

Without waiting for their response, I turned and stormed past my mother, ignoring her calls as I raced up the stairs. I slammed my bedroom door behind me, wishing it could make a louder statement.

"Unbelievable," I fumed, pacing the plush carpet. "Absolutely unbelievable."

I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in a pillow to muffle a scream of frustration. How could my mother not tell me about them? Three giant werewolf stepbrothers seemed like a pretty significant detail to omit from her "Come stay with me" invitation.

Despite my anger, unbidden images of the triplets flashed in my mind. They were undeniably attractive, with their dark hair and chiseled features. Different enough in their expressions and mannerisms to tell apart, despite being identical. Khuraan seemed to be the bold one, Hakkan the calculating one, and Zarkhan... the quiet, intense one who wouldn't even look me in the eye.

I felt my cheeks flush and buried my face deeper in the pillow. "Stop it, Giselle," I scolded myself. "They're your stepbrothers. And they're jerks."

But something about them had stirred a strange feeling inside me—something I'd never felt before, not even with the boys I'd dated in Omaha. A pull, almost primal in nature.

"It's just werewolf pheromones or something," I rationalized. "Nothing more."

Sleep eventually claimed me, though my dreams were haunted by glowing eyes and the scent of cedar.

Morning brought no relief from the awkwardness. I dressed carefully in jeans and a simple blouse, trying to look put-together without seeming like I was trying too hard. The house was quiet as I made my way downstairs, hoping to grab breakfast before running into anyone.

A note on the kitchen counter informed me that my mother and Richard had gone out to handle some pack business and would return for dinner. Great. Alone in a mansion with three werewolves who already disliked me.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal, wondering what to do with my day, when a shadow fell across the counter.

"Morning, stepsister," Khuraan said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Sleep well?"

"Fine, thanks," I replied stiffly, keeping my eyes on my cereal.

He sauntered to the refrigerator, deliberately brushing against me as he passed. "Hope you're not afraid of spiders."

Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone. I finished my breakfast quickly and headed to the living room to find a book to read. As I settled onto the couch, I reached for the decorative throw pillow—and screamed as a large black spider tumbled into my lap.

Heart pounding, I jumped up, brushing frantically at my clothes before realizing the spider was plastic. From somewhere nearby, I heard muffled laughter.

"Very mature," I called out, tossing the fake spider aside.

The day continued in much the same vein. When I tried to use the bathroom, I found the door mysteriously locked from the inside. When I finally found another bathroom to use, the shower suddenly ran ice cold midway through. When I retreated to my room, I discovered all my clothes had been rearranged in the drawers.

Small, annoying pranks that weren't harmful but made their message clear: I wasn't welcome.

By afternoon, I was determined to confront them. I found Hakkan in the home gym, lifting weights that would have crushed a normal human.

"Can we talk?" I asked from the doorway.

He set down the barbell with a clang. "About what, stepsister?"

"About why you and Khuraan are acting like children," I said, crossing my arms. "The pranks aren't funny."

He approached me, his height forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "We're just having a little fun. Getting to know our new sister." His emphasis on the word 'sister' dripped with sarcasm.

"Look, I didn't ask for this situation either," I said. "But we're stuck with each other, so can we try to be civil?"

"Civil." He pretended to consider the word. "I suppose we could try. Eventually." With a wink that was more threatening than friendly, he walked past me.

I sighed in frustration. Two down, one to go. I hadn't seen Zarkhan all day, but a housemaid mentioned he might be in the library.

I found him there, seated in a leather armchair by the window, a thick book in his hands. Unlike his brothers, who exuded confidence bordering on arrogance, Zarkhan seemed tense, his shoulders rigid even in repose.

"Hi," I said softly. "Zarkhan, right?"

He didn't look up from his book. "Yes."

"I was hoping we could talk," I continued, moving closer. "You seem different from your brothers."

"We're identical triplets," he said flatly, still not meeting my gaze.

"You know what I mean. You haven't been playing stupid pranks on me all day."

His jaw tightened. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like what?" I asked, genuinely curious about this brooding, mysterious brother.

Instead of answering, he abruptly closed his book and stood. "I need to go."

"Wait—" I reached out, but he sidestepped my hand as if my touch might burn him and strode from the room without another word.

I stood there, stunned by the rejection and oddly hurt by it. What was his problem? At least the other two acknowledged my existence, even if only to torment me.

Frustrated and thirsty after all the confrontations, I headed to the kitchen for a drink. My mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of the mysterious Zarkhan that I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.

I collided with a solid wall of muscle as I rounded the corner.

"Watch where you're—" Khuraan's voice cut off abruptly as his hands steadied me.

We stood frozen for a moment, his hands on my upper arms, faces inches apart. Something shifted in his expression, his nostrils flaring slightly. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply near my neck.

"What are you—" I began, but my words died in my throat as his eyes darkened, pupils dilating.

"Mine," he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. "You smell like..."

Heat flooded my cheeks as his grip tightened momentarily. Then, as suddenly as it had happened, he released me with enough force that I stumbled backward, landing ungracefully on the floor.

Khuraan stared down at me, conflict written across his features. Without another word, he turned and stalked away, leaving me sitting on the cold tile.

I touched my neck where I could still feel the ghost of his breath, my heart hammering in my chest. What had just happened? And what did he mean by "mine"?