Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 114 Dec 18, 2025 POV: Lysander Lia's invitation to Yellowstone is bait so obvious it might as well come with a neon sign reading "TRAP AHEAD" and yet here we are, organizing a strike team because what other fucking choice do we have? Can't let her keep attacking, keep killing, keep turning every day into a countdown until the next time someone we love doesn't come home. At some point you have to stop running and face the thing trying to destroy you, even when you know it's designed to destroy you back.

The strike team assembles in the main cabin-thirty wolves who can actually fight, not just shift and look intimidating. Kieran's organizing tactical positions with the kind of methodical precision that comes from his wolf being fully back, the bond with Thalia blazing strong enough I can feel it from across the room. "We hit at dawn." He's marking the map with routes and fallback positions. "Three-pronged assault.

Lysander leads Alpha team through the north approach, I take Beta team from the south, Thalia coordinates Charlie team for eastern entry." "You're letting me coordinate a team?" Thalia's still healing from the Montana wounds but her voice is steel. "That's progressive of you." "You're Luna. You lead." Kieran's voice holds that possessive edge that says the bond's not just back, it's thriving. "Besides, you're the only one who might be able to reason with her if this goes sideways." "It's already sideways." I'm calculating numbers, risk assessment, probability of survival.

"We're driving six hours to assault a fortified position against unknown enemy strength. This is the definition of sideways." "Then we make it work anyway." Thalia's checking her weapons with practiced efficiency. "Because the alternative is waiting here for her to bring that total war to our doorstep." The retreat's being left with minimal guard-fifteen wolves max, mix of injured and those who can't fight. Everyone who can hold a weapon is needed for Yellowstone because we're past the point where defensive positioning matters. This is offense or extinction. Those are the options.

Caroline finds me while I'm loading supplies into the lead vehicle, her face carrying that particular expression that says she's about to argue with me and we both know she's probably right. "Don't go." Not a request-a plea wrapped in absolute certainty. "I have to." I keep loading gear because stopping means looking at her means potentially changing my mind. "She's challenging us directly. If we don't respond-" "That's what Lia wants." Caroline's hand on my arm forces me to face her. "She's going to separate you from the pack, then attack here while you're gone.

While your best fighters are hours away." "We have guards-" "Not enough." Her voice climbs, desperation bleeding through the lawyer composure. "Lysander, please. This feels wrong. Every instinct I have is screaming that this is the trap, not Yellowstone. She wants you away from the retreat." I cup her face, see the genuine terror written across every feature. She's right-my gut's been screaming the same thing since Lia's video arrived. But Alpha means making impossible choices, means trusting logic over instinct when they conflict.

"I'll have my phone." My thumbs stroke across her cheekbones, memorizing the feeling. "Anything happens, you call me. Anything. Promise me." "I promise." Her hands cover mine, grip tight enough to hurt. I kiss her and it tastes like goodbye, tastes like the possibility this is the last time, tastes like every mistake I'm making crystallized into contact. The bond hums anxious between us-not demanding, not consuming, just present and terrified. My wolf doesn't want to leave her. Wants to stay, defend, protect what's mine regardless of tactical necessity. But my pack needs me to end this.

Needs the Alpha who makes hard calls, who faces threats directly, who doesn't hide behind guards while others fight his battles. "I love you." The words come out rougher than intended, first time I've said them directly instead of dancing around the implication. "Caroline, I love you and I need you to know that before I-" "Don't." She cuts me off, voice shaking. "Don't say goodbye. Say 'see you soon.' Say 'be back for dinner.' Say anything except goodbye." "See you soon." I force the certainty into my voice. "Be back for dinner.

Already planning what we're ordering because my cooking is offensive." "Your cooking is fine." Her smile is watery but genuine. "You're just spoiled by having access to pack members who actually know what spices are for." "Besides alphabetizing?" "Besides alphabetizing." She's crying now, not bothering to hide it. "I love you too. Come back to me." The convoy rolls out ten minutes later-ten vehicles, thirty wolves, enough weapons to make the ATF deeply concerned about our extracurricular activities.

Kieran's driving the lead vehicle with Thalia beside him, their bond visible in the way they mirror each other's movements without speaking. I'm in vehicle three, Caroline's face in the rearview mirror getting smaller until the mountain swallows her completely. The wrongness settles in my chest and refuses to leave. Every mile feels like driving away from where I'm needed, every minute increases the certainty that I'm making a catastrophic mistake. Alphas don't get to be safe. They get to be right. Hoping those aren't mutually exclusive. Two hours into the drive, my phone rings.

Caroline's name lights up the dashboard and my stomach drops through the floor before I even answer. "Caroline?" Screaming. Not hers-background noise, dozens of voices overlapping in panic and terror. Gunfire, the distinctive crack that means high-caliber rifles. Explosions that make the phone's speaker distort. "Lysander, they're here!" Her voice cuts through the chaos, terror making it almost unrecognizable. "Dozens of them, they're attacking the retreat, they're everywhere and we can't-" Static. The call drops with the kind of finality that means infrastructure damage, not poor reception.

I'm calling back before conscious thought catches up. Straight to voicemail. Try again. Nothing. Try the retreat's landline. Dead. "Turn around." My voice comes out Alpha command that makes the driver flinch. "NOW." The convoy screeches to halt that leaves rubber on highway. Kieran's already on his phone trying other numbers, getting the same dead air I am. "She played us." Thalia's voice carries from the lead vehicle, audible through my open window. "Lia played us perfectly.

Yellowstone was never the target." Every Alpha instinct I have is screaming that I made the wrong choice, that logic and tactics were wrong, that I should have trusted the gut feeling that's kept me alive for thirty years. We're six hours from the retreat. Twelve hours round trip. The attack started two minutes ago. We're hours too late. My mate is under siege by an enemy I led away from, left with minimal defense because I needed maximum offense for a trap that was never meant to catch us.

"Drive." I'm already shifting, bones breaking and reforming, my wolf demanding we run because vehicles are too slow, too limited, too fucking useless when Caroline's dying and I'm not there. "DRIVE FASTER." The convoy spins, heads back toward Montana, toward the mountain retreat, toward whatever's left after Lia's army finishes what I let them start. My phone stays silent. No calls, no texts, no confirmation that anyone survived the first five minutes. Just silence that tastes like failure and the absolute certainty that I'm about to lose everything. Archer