Mated To My Bully Stepbrothers

My alarm didn't go off, or maybe I was just too exhausted to hear it. But when my eyes snapped open, the digital clock on my nightstand read 5:00 AM, and panic instantly seized my chest.

I didn’t stretch; I didn’t have the luxury of waking up slowly. I rolled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the freezing floorboards of my small, drafty room. It was the smallest room in the Crawford estate, tucked away in the back where the heating vents didn’t quite reach, a room reserved for sevants. But I wasn’t complaining. Complaining didn’t get chores done.

I moved with the efficiency of a soldier—or a very terrified maid. My first stop was the laundry room. The iron hissed as I pressed it against the pristine white fabric of a designer button-down. It was Egyptian cotton, smooth and cool to the touch, feeling like money and arrogance against my fingertips.

I looked down at my own cuff. The grey wool of my school sweater was fraying, the material scratching my wrist. The contrast was almost laughable. The Crawford triplets wore a fortune on their backs every day, while I was held together by loose threads and determination.

I finished the third shirt and hung them on the three designated hooks by the door, perfectly spaced. Nate, Damon, and Cole liked order. Or rather, they liked me keeping their lives in order so they could focus on being the kings of Bloodmoon Academy.

Next came the kitchen. I started the coffee machine, the expensive one that ground fresh beans. The rich, nutty aroma of premium roast filled the air, taunting my stomach. I ignored it, reaching for the tin of generic instant coffee hidden in the back of the pantry. I stirred a spoonful into hot tap water and downed it black. It tasted like burnt dirt, but the caffeine hit was necessary.

I was just plating the scrambled eggs when the air shifted. The temperature didn't drop, but the atmosphere grew heavy, charged with that specific Alpha-blood dominance that made the hair on my arms stand up.

The triplets entered.

Nate walked in first. The Leader. He was already scrolling through his phone, his thumb flicking across the screen with practiced boredom. He didn’t look at me. He never looked at me if he could help it. I slid a plate of eggs toward him across the marble island, and he didn't even blink, let alone say thank you.

Cole followed. The Volatile one. He had a smirk playing on his lips that set my nerves on edge. As he pulled out his chair, his foot lashed out, hooking around the leg of my stool.

I gasped, stumbling forward as my seat was yanked out from under me. My tray of toast tilted dangerously.

Before I could hit the floor, a hand shot out. Fingers clamped around my upper arm—not to help, but to bruise. The grip was painfully tight, digging into my bicep as Cole "steadied" me.

"Careful, stray," Cole whispered, his voice mocking. "You're clumsy today."

I yanked my arm back, suppressing a wince, and straightened my uniform. "Good morning to you too, Cole."

He just chuckled and shoveled eggs into his mouth.

Then there was Damon. The Quiet one. The Dark one. He didn’t sit immediately. He stood by the counter, drinking a glass of orange juice, but his eyes weren't on his breakfast. He was staring at my neck. Just staring. His gaze felt physical, like a cold finger tracing my jugular, making my skin crawl. Of the three of them, Damon was the one who made me want to lock my door twice.

"Good morning, boys."

The booming voice of Ernest Crawford filled the kitchen. My stepfather swept in, adjusting his tie, looking every bit the Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack.

"Morning, Dad," the boys chorused in unison.

Ernest stopped at the head of the island. He looked at his sons with pride, then his gaze flickered to me. It was a brief, dismissive nod.

"Good morning, Iris," he said.

"Good morning, Daddy," I replied, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. It was a lie we both maintained—that we were a family, that he had raised me as his own since my mother died when I was five. But we both knew I was just a liability he was polite enough to feed.

They fell into easy conversation about the boys’ senior year, football stats, and college plans. I ate my toast in silence, invisible again.

"Iris," Ernest said, cutting through the chatter. He didn't look up from his tablet as he slid a piece of paper across the granite. "Your list for after school. The housekeeper is off today, so I need the study dusted and the patio swept before dinner."

"Yes, sir," I said, taking the list. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. "I have to go, now. I’ll miss the bus."

Because, of course, while the triplets had a gleaming black SUV to drive to school, I wasn't allowed inside it. It was 'for pack members only,' or whatever excuse they used to remind me that I was just a step-sibling charity case.

I grabbed my bag and bolted out the back door. The morning air was crisp, biting at my cheeks as I sprinted down the long, winding driveway. The bus stop was a mile down the road, and I could already hear the rumble of its engine in the distance.

I was halfway down the driveway when I heard the roar of a different engine behind me.

I moved to the grass, giving them plenty of room, but it didn't matter. The black SUV accelerated, the engine screaming as it bore down on me. I saw Nate behind the wheel, his face impassive.

At the last second, he jerked the wheel to the right.

The tires hit the massive pothole filled with last night's rain. A wave of muddy, freezing water exploded upward, crashing over me like a tidal wave.

The SUV didn't slow down. It sped off, taillights blurring as they disappeared around the bend.

I stood there, gasping from the cold shock. My uniform skirt clung to my legs, heavy and sodden. My fraying sweater was now a wet, brown mess. I could feel the water seeping into my socks.

I wiped a splatter of mud from my cheek and stared at the empty road. I didn't cry. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"Seven days," I whispered to the empty air.

Today marked exactly one week until my eighteenth birthday. One week until my wolf awakened. One week until I was legally an adult and could figure out a way to escape this hellhole.

I squeezed the water out of my hair, squared my shoulders, and started walking. I had a bus to catch.