Four Mates and A Rogue

Raven Blackwood moved like a ghost through the dense forest, her heart hammering against her ribs as she dodged the tangled undergrowth. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her nose, but beneath it lurked something far more dangerous—the musk of wolves, their scent marking the boundaries she had just crossed.

She had been careful, staying on the fringes of pack lands for years, avoiding conflict, avoiding death. But tonight, desperation had made her reckless. The gash on her thigh throbbed, hot and sticky with blood. She had barely escaped the rogues hunting her down, and if she didn’t find shelter soon, she would collapse right here, in enemy territory.

A foolish way to die.

She tightened her grip on the crude dagger strapped to her thigh, more for comfort than any real hope of defense. A lone rogue stood no chance against an entire pack. She should turn back, find a safer place to lick her wounds, but she knew the moment she stopped, the exhaustion would claim her. And then she’d be easy prey.

A howl split through the air, echoing through the trees like a warning. It was close—too close. They had caught her scent.

Cursing under her breath, Raven pushed forward, her body screaming in protest. Her wolf clawed at her mind, urging her to shift, to run faster, but shifting took energy she didn’t have. Instead, she staggered through the thick foliage, her vision blurring at the edges.

The snap of a branch. The rustle of movement.

Then a deep, commanding voice rang out.

“Stop.”

Raven froze. Not because she wanted to, but because every instinct in her body screamed at her that she was already caught.

From the shadows, figures emerged. Three men, towering and lethal, their eyes glowing in the moonlight. They surrounded her with the ease of seasoned hunters. Their power crackled in the air, filling her lungs like smoke.

Pack wolves.

And judging by the sheer dominance radiating off them, they weren’t just any wolves. These were high-ranking, powerful men—wolves who could kill her with a flick of their wrists.

The man in the center took a step forward. His scent hit her first—dark spice and cedar, tinged with something uniquely his. Alpha.

She met his gaze, forcing herself to stand her ground despite the way her legs threatened to give out beneath her. His eyes were like shards of ice, silver-blue and piercing. He was broad-shouldered, his black shirt clinging to muscles honed by battle. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly as if something about her unsettled him.

“She’s a rogue,” one of the men beside him growled. This one had a sharper face, his blond hair tousled as if he had just woken up. His green eyes flickered with distrust. “She’s trespassing.”

“I know.” The Alpha’s voice was quiet, but it held a lethal edge.

Raven took a slow step back, her fingers curling tighter around her dagger. “I don’t want trouble.”

The blond scoffed. “Too late for that.”

The third man, taller than the others and with a calm intensity, narrowed his eyes. “She’s injured.”

Raven resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if she didn’t already know that. But his observation earned her a long, assessing look from the Alpha.

Something passed between them—something invisible and electric.

Then it hit her.

The bond.

It crashed into her like a tidal wave, seizing her breath, twisting her insides into knots. The overwhelming sense of mine took hold, an instinct so primal it sent her reeling.

Her heart pounded. No. No, no, no.

Not here. Not now.

And definitely not them.

The Alpha’s expression darkened. If he had felt the bond too, he gave no sign of it beyond the slight flare of his nostrils.

“Take her,” he ordered.

Panic surged. She lashed out, her dagger slicing through the air, but the blond was faster. He caught her wrist, twisting it with expert precision until the weapon clattered to the ground. Before she could react, the third man moved behind her, locking his arms around her shoulders in a grip that was firm but not cruel.

Her vision swam, a wave of dizziness threatening to pull her under.

“She’s burning up,” the tall one murmured.

“She’s still a rogue,” the blond snapped.

The Alpha said nothing for a long moment. Then, to Raven’s horror, he reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His touch sent a jolt through her, white-hot and undeniable. Her wolf stirred, but she fought it back with every ounce of strength she had left.

His voice was quiet, but it held the weight of an unshakable command.

“Who are you?”

Raven’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

The exhaustion, the blood loss, the shock of the bond—it was all too much.

The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was the Alpha’s face, his expression caught between fury and something she couldn’t quite name.

Then she collapsed.

Heat.

That was the first thing Raven felt when she drifted back into consciousness. It wrapped around her like a smothering blanket, pressing into her skin, seeping into her bones. Her body ached—sharp, persistent pain flaring in her thigh where the wound had been. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked. She was weak, too weak, and that realization sent a surge of panic through her.

She forced her eyes open, blinking against the dim light. The ceiling above her was made of wood, the grain rough and unpolished, but sturdy. The air smelled of pine and something darker—wolves.

Pack territory.

Her muscles tensed.

She turned her head, scanning the room. It was small but well-kept. A single window was half-open, allowing a sliver of moonlight to slip in. The bed she lay in was softer than anything she’d slept on in years. A thick blanket was draped over her, the scent of it unfamiliar yet strangely soothing.

Then she caught movement.

Near the door,