Riley's POV
I barely sleep that night, the guest room too silent after the attack, the shadows on the walls shifting with every creak of the old house. Every sound makes me sit up, my heart pounding in my chest, expecting another wolf to burst through the door or a rogue to climb through the window. When morning finally creeps in, the rain has stopped, but the air's still cold, seeping through the thin panes and chilling my skin. I pull on my green fleece, the fabric soft and familiar against me, and head downstairs, my boots soft on the wooden steps. The smell of bacon hits me as I reach the kitchen, rich and warm, pulling me forward. Sarah's at the stove, flipping pancakes with quick, practiced movements, the sizzle filling the room, while Daniel talks quietly with a few pack members, their faces serious, their voices hushed. The triplets sit at the long table, their bowls piled high with cereal, the clinking of spoons against ceramic breaking the quiet. Caleb looks up as I walk in, his blue eyes soft, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches me. "Morning," he says, pushing a plate of pancakes toward me, the steam rising in little curls. "Hungry?"
I nod, sliding into a seat, the wood cold under me, but my stomach's too twisted with nerves to eat much. Silas watches me from across the table, his face hard, his jaw tight, his blue eyes unyielding, while Ethan gives a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he cuts into his food. "You did good last night," Ethan says, syrup dripping onto his plate, his voice light but sincere. "Not everyone can handle a fight like that, especially their first time seeing something like that up close."
I shrug, poking at my pancakes with my fork, the tines scraping the plate with a soft sound. "I didn't do much," I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper, my thoughts still tangled in the chaos of the night before.
"You did enough," Silas says, his voice gruff, cutting through the air like a blade. He stands, taking his empty plate to the sink, the clatter loud in the quiet kitchen, his broad shoulders tense. "We're training today. You're coming with us."
"Training?" I ask, frowning, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth, a piece of pancake dangling.
"You need to learn to fight," Caleb says, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his tone calm but firm. "If they come back, and they will, you can't just throw books. You need to be ready for anything they throw at you."
My face heats up, the memory of last night flashing in my mind, the book hitting the wolf, Silas's surprised look, but I don't argue. After breakfast, they lead me to a clearing behind the packhouse, the ground muddy from the rain, squishing under my boots with every step. The triplets strip off their shirts, their muscles flexing as they stretch, the sunlight catching on their skin, turning it golden. I look away, my cheeks burning, but I can't help noticing how strong they are, how their movements seem natural, like they were born for this. Silas hands me a pair of gloves, the leather worn and soft in my hands. "Put these on," he says, his tone sharp, his eyes locked on mine. "We'll start with something simple to get you going."
They spend hours showing me how to punch, dodge, and block, their voices echoing in the clearing, mixing with the rustle of leaves. Silas barks orders when I mess up, his frustration clear in the set of his shoulders, but Caleb adjusts my stance with gentle hands, his fingers warm against my arms, guiding me with patience. Ethan keeps things light, laughing when I land a good hit, his grin wide and bright. "Nice one, Riley!" he says, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, his black hair sticking to his skin. By the end, I'm sweaty and sore, my muscles aching with every move, but I feel a little stronger, like I might actually be able to hold my own if it comes to it.
Walking back to the packhouse, Caleb falls in step beside me, his boots crunching on the gravel path, his presence steady. "You're a natural," he says quietly, his voice soft, almost proud, his breath visible in the cool air. "You've got fight in you, Riley, more than you know."
"Thanks," I say, brushing dirt off my jeans, the fabric streaked with mud, my fingers rough from the gloves. I glance at him, his blue eyes catching the sunlight filtering through the trees, and my heart does a weird little skip, a warmth spreading in my chest that I don't understand. I look away fast, confused, focusing on the path ahead.
In my room, I wash up, the cold water splashing against my face, washing away the sweat, when I stop dead in my tracks. There's a letter on my bed, my name written on it in Diane's messy handwriting, Riley. My hands shake as I pick it up, the paper crinkling under my fingers, and I open it slowly, my breath catching. I'm sorry I never told you, it starts, her words uneven and shaky. Your dad was an Alpha, a strong one. I gave you those shots to keep you safe. There are wolves who'd kill you if they knew who you are. Tears blur my vision, hot and stinging, as I read it again, the words sinking in. My dad was a werewolf. An Alpha. And Diane lied to me my whole life, keeping me in the dark about who I really am, about the blood running through my veins.
I sit on the bed, the letter crumpled in my hands, my breath shaky as I try to process it. It all makes sense now, why I feel different, why I'm stronger than I should be, why Jasper knows my secret, why the triplets can sense what I am. But it also means I'm in deeper trouble than I ever imagined, a target painted on my back without me even knowing. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, the fabric damp against my skin, my mind racing with questions I don't have answers for. The triplets were right, I'm a wolf. But what does that mean for me, for us? I don't know if I'm ready to face the truth, to let go of the life I've known, even if it's been a lie. The vial in my pocket feels heavier now, a burden I can't shake, and I wonder if I'll ever be free of it, or if I even want to be.