Claimed By Her Step Brothers: Theirs To Own

CHAPTER ONE

~~FREYA ASHWOOD~~

“No one wants a failure, Freya. This pack keeps you as an act of charity, one I am rapidly losing the desire to provide. Now, move.”

I didn't flinch. I’d learned long ago that flinching was an invitation for Beatrice to dig deeper. Instead, I kept my eyes on the cracked linoleum of the kitchen floor, tracing the grime I’d be scrubbing later.

"You’re staring," she sneered, her heels clicking toward me slowly. "Don’t tell me you expected a song? A cake, perhaps? To celebrate the unfortunate anniversary of the day you crawled into this world?"

The air in my lungs felt like lead. "It’s my birthday," I whispered, the words sounding pathetic even to me. "I’m eighteen."

My breath caught in my throat, she was across the room. Her fingers didn't just grab; they clamped onto my earlobes with the precision of a predator, dragging me toward the industrial-sized sink. The sting was sharp, but I focused on the cold metal of the faucet to keep from crying out.

"I warned you never to use that word," she hissed into my ear, her breath smelling of expensive tea and malice. "I am not your mother. I am the woman who saved you from the gutter when the Crescent Pack threw you away at six. Remember your place."

I bit my tongue until I tasted copper. My place.

"You turn eighteen today," she continued, her voice dropping to a low, jagged edge. "The Law is very clear, Freya. An unbonded, wolfless female is a drain on resources. If you don't find a mate to claim you by midnight, your 'father' has requested your return to the Crescent Pack at dawn."

The copper taste in my mouth turned to ash. The Crescent Pack. Memories of my father—the Alpha who looked at a six-year-old girl and saw only the death of his Luna—rushed back. Returning there wasn't just an exile; it was a death sentence. He’d hide me in a cellar or marry me off to the highest bidder just to get my face out of his sight.

Beatrice released me, shoving my head toward the stack of grease-stained plates. "Scrub. Then get to the Town Hall. I’ve volunteered your 'services' for the banquet prep. Every inch must shine. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I murmured, my fingers already reaching for the lye. "I understand."

"Mother! Is it ready?"

The kitchen door swung open, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. Brianna bounded in, smelling of expensive lilies and entitlement. I watched Beatrice’s face transform—the jagged lines of her mouth softening into a look of genuine adoration that I hadn't seen directed at me in twelve years.

"There’s a banquet tonight," Brianna chirped, ignoring me as if I were part of the furniture. "The Elite are coming from every territory. Even the Alpha of the Crescent Pack is crossing the border with his sons."

The sponge slipped from my hand, splashing gray water onto my shirt. The Triplets. My half-brothers. The boys who used to pull my hair before they learned to pull my dignity.

"How do you know?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Brianna spared me a glance of pure disdain. "Because I have an invite, Freya. I’m attending on the arm of the Alpha’s son. You, on the other hand, will be seeing your family from the service entrance. Try not to embarrass us before they drag you home."

The Town Hall was a cavern of echoes when I arrived. Beatrice hadn't just volunteered me; she’d pocketed the wages for an entire cleaning crew and left me with a bucket and a prayer.

But as I knelt on the cold marble, a desperate, irrational spark flickered in my chest.

The Banquet.

Alphas and Betas from the West, East, and Riverside would be under this one roof. Somewhere in that crowd of power and ego, a mate might be waiting. Someone whose soul would recognize mine despite my lack of a wolf. Someone who could override the Law and keep me from the Crescent Pack’s gates.

I finished the floors until my knuckles bled, then retreated to the staff locker room. I pulled out my "best" clothes: black jeans faded to the color of a storm cloud, a blue shirt that was two years too small, and the sneakers I’d skipped meals to afford.

From the bottom of my bag, I pulled out a small, handmade bracelet—braided leather and a single, polished river stone.

“A gift shows someone they are seen,” my mother had told me once.

If my mate was out there tonight, I wanted him to know I wasn't just a stray. I was a girl who had been waiting for him with her heart held open.

I reached the back exit just as Brianna was stepping into a sleek black car. She looked like a princess wrapped in silver silk, her mask of perfection flawless. She paused, looking at my faded jeans and trembling hands.

"Are you really going in there like that, Freya?" she asked, her voice hovering between a laugh and a sneer. "You look like the dust you’ve been cleaning all day. No one finds a mate in rags."

I clutched the bracelet in my pocket, my jaw tightening. "I'm going there to work, Brianna."

"Good," she scoffed, the car door clicking shut. "Because by tomorrow, you’ll be gone. And frankly? We’re all ready for the silence."

CHAPTER TWO

~~FREYA ASHWOOD~~

I pulled the back door shut quietly and made my way in between alleyways to get to the banquet.

The alleys were quiet, not a single person in sight.

A gush of wind that blew past had me wrapping my arms around myself to ease the cold.

“Find your mate. It’s your only means to escape.” Mother’s words echoed in my head for the umpteenth time.

The town hall was a good mile and a half away, but I needed the walk, needed the cold air to clear my head, to reassure myself before stepping into the banquet.

“No one hunts for a mate in a rag like that”. I recalled the stinging words, yet again.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the unwelcome echo. My mate wouldn't care. He couldn't care. If he rejected me based on a faded shirt and secondhand sneakers, he wouldn't be the kind of mate I needed to save me from this life.

The pack lands bordered a dense, ancient forest. The main road cut between the woods and the cl