Offered to the Triplet Alphas

"You can't be weak, wife. You now have three husbands to please. Tonight's the night we claim you. You can't let a simple wedding tire you, for our nuptial night holds trials far more demanding." Ezra whispered huskily, tucking my hair behind my ear.

--

"Oh god!” I cried.

"Not god, baby. We are your demons," Ezra growled, pounding faster.

--

"Call my name, Xanthea,” Asher groaned and a tight flutter erupted in my belly.

--

"I can't… I can't take this… anymore…"

And then he hit a spot, and he kept hitting it again and again with every thrust. Sparks charged throughout my body like the lightning cracking in the stormy sky again and again until it was too much to hold back, too hard to… resist.

***

Xanthea Plath, an illegitimate child of the Alpha of Virgo pack, was an omega and omegas weren't allowed to dream, yet she never stopped dreaming. She wanted to be a doctor just like her mother but the luna of the pack, her stepmother would break her physically and mentally and stop at nothing to crush all her dreams. Xanthea had still found a way though all the abuse her steps put her through. But one day her world came crashing down right before her entrance in a medical college when she found out that she was being offered as a bride to the ruthless triplet alphas also known as the demon lords of the Infernal pack of the underworld. Xanthea had heard the horrifying stories of several suitors who had come before her, all of whom had met a gruesome end.

***

Dark reverse harem romance with 18+ explicit content. Readers discretion advised.

“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” — W. B. Yeats

~~~

[Xanthea Plath]

I limped into the graveyard, clutching my broken arm with the other hand. Blood mixed in the rain trailed down from my shoulder to my elbow, down my wrists, making its way to my fingers that clutched the small bouquet of forget-me-not flowers.

Every flower of the bouquet was crushed and marred with blood-stains. The blue ribbon that once tied the flowers together was long lost.

The white gown, soaked by the downpour, hugged my body as if it sought to suffocate me. Inked scarlet, its hem absorbed the black tint of the ground as it glissaded over the sharp blades of overgrown grass.

Today was my mother’s twenty-third death anniversary and my twenty-third birthday.

I forced another step on the muddy grounds of the graveyard with my sprained leg. A thick curtain of rain obscured my already blurry vision. Streaks of rain trailed down my cracked glasses that hung loosely on my nose.

Panting and stifling my moans, I dragged myself closer and closer to my mother’s grave.

Perhaps it was the tears in my eyes, or perhaps it was the rainwater tracing its way down my face. The only sensation that wasn’t a