Page 4 of Sold to Three Alpha Kings

“The elders put out a decree.” One of them is clutching a length of blue silk to her chest as if it might run away. “The Alpha Kings of our region are looking for a mate. A shared mate—all three of them, together. Can you imagine being claimed by three Kings at once?”

“Oh, to be an Omega,” another sighs. “King Chris never smiles, but I’d bet he’s magnificent in bed. Ruthless. Dominant.”

“You can have him. I want Wayne.” Laughter. “He’d drink you under the table and then carry you off into the woods himself. Man’s built like a tree.”

“You’re both insane,” the first one says. “Sinth’s the youngest and the only one who’s actually kind. He wouldn’t treat an Omega like meat. But still—all three? That kind of power, that kind of luxury—”

I turn away before I hear the rest.

Hot wolf kings. I nearly laugh. They talk about the three of them like something to be worshiped, and maybe on this island that’s exactly what they are.

But I know what’s underneath the worship. Cold or wild or gentle, it doesn’t matter which—they’re still Alphas. Still men who look at women, especially Omegas, and see something to claim, breed, and keep.

No different from my father sizing up a daughter as currency, or my brother treating a woman like property he hasn’t collected yet.

Being the shared mate of three men just like my brother must be hell. All those egos propped on one woman’s back.

I want no part of it.

I slip away from the girls and back into the crowd, one hand finding the hidden pouch through my skirt without me even meaning to.

Tomorrow the ships come in.

Tomorrow, while my family sits around dreaming about silver they’ll never see, I’m going to walk onto one of those ships, hand over everything I’ve saved, and disappear off this cursed island for good.

One more night. That’s all I have to survive.

Chapter 2 - Sinth

I’m standing outside the council hall with a blank expression on my face as I recall the incident from three days ago. Their voices still echo at the back of my mind, a reminder of the chaotic scene they created. Sometimes, those two forget who they are and allow their emotions to get the better of them.

As a twenty-eight-year-old Alpha leader of the Trident Pack, I’m the youngest of the three Alpha Kings that rule this region of the Star Island.

The other two are Chris Winterborne and Wayne Black. Chris is the Alpha leader of the Snowpeak Pack—thirty years old, powerful, and ruthless. The man has ice in his veins and isn’t exactly known for his warmth because he has none.

He never smiles, and his deep, husky voice always commands attention whenever he speaks. He’s mastered the art of self-control and is always calm. But never gentle.

And then there’s Wayne Black, thirty-one years old—the stark contrast to Chris Winterborne. Wayne is loud, free-spirited, and sometimes a little too down-to-earth for a powerful leader like himself. He controls the Forestguard Pack, and he’s respected as much as he is feared.

Wayne is full of life and bellowing laughter. He enjoys having fun—partying and drinking excessively. Unlike Chris, Wayne believes in allowing emotions to run freely like the wind. And because of that, the two of them don’t get along.

They’re always at each other’s necks. And whenever their banter spirals out of control, I’m one who always cleans up the mess they leave behind. Honestly, it’s exhausting sometimes.

I let out a quiet sigh and step in through the giant doors. My boots click against the polished floor, my jaw tight as I casually head toward the large table that dominates the center of the hall.

It’s been three days since the duel, and the scent hasn’t faded, not fully. I can still smell it, underneath the beeswax candles and old stone—char and blood. There’s also the particular acrid tang of two Alphas trying to kill each other in front of half the region.

Blows were exchanged on that day, and until now, I still can’t get the image of the Elders’ disappointed faces out of my head.

With my hands tucked away behind my back, I move quietly, the sound of my echoing boots filling the air.

Chris is already there. Of course he is. He seems carved, like he’s been sitting in that chair since dawn, spine straight, hands folded, white-blond hair combed back that highlights his rigid jawline. His eyes—ice cold are fixed on me, his presence effortlessly dominating the hall.

Wayne isn’t here yet—he’s never on time for anything that requires him to sit still and be lectured.

I take my seat at the table, fingers combing through my blond hair.

Chris’s eyes are still fixed on the front door, as though he’s waiting for someone in particular. I don’t need to be psychic to know who it is.