Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 108 Dec 18, 2025 POV: Thalia Twenty-four hours to prepare for coordinated assault turns out to be simultaneously too much time and nowhere near enough. We're hitting three hunter locations simultaneously using Caroline's stolen intel-spread their forces thin so Lia can't coordinate effectively. I'm leading one team, Kieran another, Lysander staying at the retreat to defend if this is the trap we all know it probably is.

The tactical briefing happens in the main cabin with maps covering every surface and weapons laid out in rows that make the place look more like an armory than a living space. Twelve wolves volunteered for my team-mix of experienced warriors and younger ones who've never fought anything more dangerous than corporate litigation. "Northern Montana compound." I'm pointing at satellite images Caroline pulled from her father's files. "Intel says six mercenaries, light weapons, minimal fortification.

We go in fast, secure the location, extract any intelligence about Lia's whereabouts." "And if there are more than six?" Young wolf named Sarah, maybe twenty-three, looking at me with the kind of terror that comes from knowing she might die tomorrow. "Then we adapt." I meet her eyes, force certainty I don't entirely feel. "You've trained for this. You're ready." Except they're not really ready because learning to counter firearms in twenty-four hours doesn't erase a lifetime of never needing to.

But we're past the point where ready matters-we move with what we have or we die waiting for perfect conditions that'll never come. Training happens at brutal pace that leaves everyone exhausted and terrified and hopefully competent enough to survive first contact. Elder Thomas runs firearms drills, teaching wolves how to dodge bullets they'll never actually see coming until someone's bleeding. "Body armor stops most rounds but not all." His voice is flat, clinical, carrying the weight of conflicts these kids don't remember. "Aim for exposed areas-throat, groin, backs of knees.

Hunters expect wolves to go for center mass. Disappoint them." Marcus demonstrates hand-to-hand against armed opponents, showing counters that require supernatural speed and perfect timing. Half the younger wolves can't execute the moves even at practice speed. The older wolves watch with expressions that say they've done this before, have scars proving it's survivable but costly. They don't share war stories or offer reassurance. Just run drills with the grim focus of people who know exactly how bad this can get.

Night falls and I'm still running my team through tactical scenarios, voice going hoarse from shouting corrections. They're improving incrementally but we need exponential and there's no time left for gradual. "Again." I'm covered in dirt, exhausted, but they need to see their Luna as unbreakable. "Sarah, you're dead because you hesitated. Marcus's nephew, you're dead because you forgot to check corners. Everyone's dead. Again." I feel Kieran before I see him-that awareness that's been building since the bond flickered yesterday. He's watching from the tree line, just presence without words.

"You're staring." I don't look at him, keep my eyes on the training scenario. "You're magnificent." His voice cuts through the clearing and I finally turn to face him. I'm covered in mud, exhausted enough that standing upright requires conscious effort, probably smell like sweat and fear and determination. Not exactly my most attractive state. "What?" He moves closer, that intensity written across every line of his body.

"I'm watching my mate lead warriors into battle and I've never been more attracted to you." The bond flares-not the weak flicker from yesterday but actual bright hot undeniable connection that slams through me with enough force to make me gasp. Recognition, certainty, home-all of it rushing back in waves that make my knees buckle. "You feel it?" My voice comes out strangled. "Everything." His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking across cheekbones. "You're coming back. The bond's coming back. You're mine again." "Always was." The words tear out before I can stop them. "Even without the bond.

Even when I was questioning everything. Always yours." I'm in his arms before I realize I moved, kissing him desperate and relieved and tasting certainty that has nothing to do with supernatural compulsion. The bond settling back into place feels like coming home after years of exile, finding the thing you didn't know you'd lost until it returned. "I'm scared." The confession slips out against his mouth. "Tomorrow I might not come back and the kids-" "You're coming back." Not a request-a command wrapped in absolute conviction.

"Because I'm not raising those chaos demons alone and you're not leaving me to alphabetize the spice rack unsupervised." The joke cracks through terror enough that I almost laugh. "You're ridiculous." "You're the one who married a man who alphabetizes spices." His forehead presses to mine. "Come back to me tomorrow. That's an order from your mate." "You can't order me-" "I just did." His mouth claims mine again, deeper this time, sealing the command with the kind of kiss that makes strategic planning impossible. "Come back.

Promise me." "I promise." The words taste like hope and terror combined. Dawn breaks too fast and with it comes the weight of what we're about to do. Three teams roll out to three locations, vehicles loaded with weapons and wolves who might not all come back. Lysander's staying at the retreat with Caroline and the majority of the pack-defensive positions in case this is elaborate trap designed to pull our best fighters away. The kids are with Rosalie in the most fortified cabin, surrounded by warriors who'll die before letting anything through.

I hugged them this morning, tried to make it seem routine instead of potentially goodbye. Orion asked tactical questions I couldn't answer. Luna cried silently against my shoulder. Phoenix squeezed hard enough to crack ribs, whispering "come back" exactly the way Luna did yesterday. I promised. Hope it's a promise I can keep. My team loads into three vehicles, twelve wolves plus me, heading north toward Montana compound that intelligence says is lightly defended. Six mercenaries, no heavy weapons, should be straightforward assault that gives us intel about Lia's location.

The drive is three hours of silence broken only by occasional weapons checks and nervous shifting. I'm running scenarios in my head, calculating risks, wondering if I'm leading these wolves into slaughter disguised as tactics. Sarah's shaking in the seat beside me, hands clenched around her rifle hard enough that knuckles go white. "Luna? What if-" "Don't." I cut her off before she can finish spiraling. "We trained. We're ready. We do this together." "But if something goes wrong-" "Then we adapt." I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. "That's what wolves do.

We survive." The compound comes into view and my stomach drops through the floor. Abandoned. Too quiet. No lights, no movement, no signs of the six mercenaries intelligence promised would be here. The buildings sit empty against Montana landscape, windows dark, doors slightly ajar. Every instinct I have screams trap but we've come too far to turn back now. Three hours driving, twelve wolves depending on my leadership, pack members dying while we chase ghosts. "Positions." My voice carries to everyone despite wanting to scream retreat. "Standard entry formation.

Watch for ambush." They move into tactical positions we drilled yesterday, rifles raised, checking corners the way I taught them. Professional despite the terror radiating off them in waves I can taste. The first building's door swings open on hinges that need oil, revealing interior darkness that could hide anything. I'm first through because that's what Luna means-leading from the front even when every cell in my body screams this is wrong. Inside smells wrong. Not the lived-in smell of mercenaries using this as base. Not the chemical smell of weapons storage.

Just empty, abandoned, deliberately cleared. We're three steps inside when the door slams shut behind us. And the shooting starts. Archer