I feel myself being tucked into bed, but don't bother to open my eyes.

I want sherbert. Lime. If the world ends tomorrow, then I want ice cream, damnit.

"Cold," I protest softly when the warm, hard male body starts to pull away from me. Braxton pauses, and a feather-light kiss is brushed over my lips.

Another body edges into the bed next to me. I smell Sean as the male wraps himself around me. Warmth seeps into me again. I hear them talking, two low rumbles of sound, but don't bother to listen to the words.

Braxton leaves as I drift on the edge of consciousness.

"Babydoll? Can you eat, Ili?"

I feel my body being pulled into a sitting position. Sean is cradling me, a comfy, heated chair. Braxton has a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. He sits in front of me and holds out a spoonful.

I accept it, letting them feed me like a pup. I'm totally pretending right now. Pretending that our world isn't crashing down around us. Pretending that we're safe and secure in our secret pack life. Pretending that she-wolves aren't being kidnapped and forcibly impregnated. Pretending that everything sacred and good is still protected. Pretending that my new alpha and luna don't expect me to make the hardest decision of my life. Pretending that pretending my skating is still important is important.

Pretending that these two males really, truly love me. That their feral, wild wolves are not just seeking a female to replace the ones they lost. To pretend that they believe I'm capable of being a Beta to a pack that may not exist tomorrow.

"Ili, we do love you," Braxton says softly. "Goddess, baby, please believe that." Sean hums a low sound in the back of his throat. It sounds like an agreement, but how can I really be sure?

"I've always loved you. You've been my best friend for years," Braxton almost seems hurt that I'm questioning him.

"You hurt me," I say quietly. "Twice." I think for moment. "Three times. I was dying and no one paid any attention." I ignore Sean's sharp intake of breath, the trembling in his arms. "Then the pool. Then the Mark. That's not what best friends do."

"So I suck as a best friend," Braxton says with a note of steel threading through his words, "because I never wanted to be your friend, babydoll. C'mon, aren't we more than that? My wolf definitely doesn't like being friend-zoned by you."

"You had Caroline," I point out. The simple and easy truth.

"Yeah, but I never really had her. She was too sick to be anything but this fading, distant love." He reaches out and strokes my cheek with trembling fingers. "You... you were always the dreamgirl." His eyes flash, deadly serious.

"Not for Sean," I rasp out as my throat swells with tears.

"Stupid," Sean murmurs in my ear. His voice is just a raspy mumble, pain-soaked and so guilty I can taste it in the air between us.

"He was fucking stupid," Braxton confirms gently. "And, babydoll, he was drugged."

"Drugged?" I whisper.

Braxton's beautiful caramel eyes look sorrowful, "yeah, babydoll. He went through a pretty rough withdrawal on the rock."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

I can't see Sean's eyes, tucked in his embrace the way I am, but I can watch Braxton meet his eyes over the top of my head. They have a silent conversation, then Braxton stands up and walks away. He returns with a vaguely familiar black-and-white striped notebook.

Sean takes the offered notebook from Braxton and flips it open in front of my nose.

"Hey! This is my journal! What the hell?" I say, furious when I recognize the neat pup-writing.

Sean ignores my scolding and turns to a page. "Here," he murmurs, "you said we were bossy. If Brat was ten, then you were also a pup. We didn't like you out in the forest. Didn't want you free and playful, like a pup should be."

I read my words, trying to remember that day, and pushing away the odd syntax of Sean's speech. "You growled a lot at me," I say slowly. "And... you smelled my neck and snapped your teeth at me. But... why?" I ask him, feeling confused. "And when did you start taking these drugs?"

"A half-year before this," Sean says, tracing the faded date in the corner of the page. "We were aggressive with our mother, first," he says quietly. "Out-of-control. Our father could not stop us. He worried."

Braxton takes back my journal. "I have my suspicions about what those drugs did to you."

"Locked the wolf away," Sean explains simply.

"Who the fuck put you on those drugs?" Braxton asks.

Sean frowns. "Father. Then... they were gone. Weaned off. The bottle was empty. The other female got them for us."

"Georgina," Braxton spits. "And you just took them, dumbass?"

"Yes," Sean says quietly. Then, a soft huff on the back of my neck, "stupid."

"So?" I say. "Doesn't that mean that if Sean were human, he would have chosen Georgina anyway?"

Sean snarls, sending my she-wolf flopping over, belly-up. He cuts off the sound and nuzzles my neck, murmuring, "sorry. We choose you, our mate. We choose you."

"But-" I start to bring up all the same arguments. Sean wanted Georgina. He didn't break it off with her until she cheated on him. He didn't even know that I was dying. Now he's feral and everyone knows that our wolves are possessive, so isn't this behavior just because his wolf's jealousy was triggered? Or, because of being off drugs? Or both? What happens if he starts taking drugs again? I lose him after he and I have started the bond?

Then I stop thinking. The world is imploding. My suffering doesn't seem that important anymore. Truthfully, I'm greedy enough to want this, to like what Conner and Bailey proposed. I can be the Beta, a paper title like Trey, and have both my males, whether they like it or not. If Sean strays again... this time I'll blow the whole thing wide open. My she-wolf wags her tail. She wants her males. More males for her, I guess...

"I wasn't going to let you sleep in the bed," I whisper as the urge to fight for my space overcomes me.

"You're cold," Braxton shoots back. "You need to rest and eat and stay warm."

"We are warm," Sean adds. "We keep you warm and fed."

"Please, Ili-doll. I'll just be your bestie again, yeah?" Braxton smiles at me, but he can't hide the predatory gleam of his wolf. Sean is more in control, but... I look into his dark eyes... he's too in control. It's unnerving. All of his focus seems to be on me. Everything else is an afterthought.

"OK," I mumble. "But I keep the ability to kick you out."

Braxton wastes no time in setting down the bowl and crawling into the bed with us. Moments after I grant my very reluctant permission to them, I'm sandwiched between two sexy males.

My she-wolf lolls on the ground, tongue hanging out. Sean and Braxton are right, they are warm. I can't remember the last time I felt so toasty.

---

We tug on the Brat's oversized sweatshirt that envelopes our female to her knees. "This needs to come off," we say quietly. "It can be grabbed and used to choke you."

We watch her expressive, grey eyes as her protest dies on her lips. She wears her uncertainty like an ill-fitting cloak. She is so confident, filled with beauty and grace when she dances with the human male. They skated this morning. She was exquisite, but all of that fire has been doused, here in the training room that stinks of males.

Her eyes skitter away from us to dart quickly around the room before returning to us.. All of the beta contenders are nearly nude. They are wearing thin, skin-tight bicycle shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. We tamp down our jealousy. She only lusts for two males and we have begrudgingly accepted that the Brat is the other one.

"Are those shorts normal?" She asks in a voice that is just an octave too high.

"No, Daisy," we say softly. "We typically fight in the nude."

"Oh. So they're wearing clothes for me. How considerate of them," she babbles nervously. Her fingers wind the hem of the sweatshirt, over and over until the tips are white. I rub her back as the Brat reaches out and gently pries her hands loose.

My feet sends an image blasting through our brain. The other female, smugly strutting around the gym filled with males only a few months before. Male eyes devouring her curves. Her stink filling the air. My feet was proud to have her on his arm. We were not jealous of those male eyes when they stared at the other female. When they look at our mate we want to carve them from foolish heads and pile them at her dainty feet.

"Sweatshirt," we rasp, giving the sweatshirt another tug. We won't think of our stupidity. We hate these memories. We try to hide it from her, but the tears that well in her eyes as her gaze shifts away from us speaks volumes.

The mate bond is slowly, sluggishly, starting to come back to life as our little she-wolf gains in strength and confidence. She knows how deep our stupidity truly ran. We bite back our whimper, our 'sorry.' She needs us to be strong, especially this morning, the first day of Challenges. We can't fail her again.

The Brat takes advantage of our hesitation and nuzzles her cheek, murmuring reassurances and love to our Beta mate. "You're the absolute best, Ili. I love you. Don't be worried about these fuckers or anything else, yeah?"

She swallows, hard, as her grey eyes dart nervously around the room again. "Mmhm," she whispers, before clearing her throat. "Yes. I'm ready." She takes the sweatshirt off with just the slightest tremble in her hands. Her beauty nearly sends us to our knees, even though we saw her tousled and sleepy just hours ago.

"Alright, listen up!" Alpha's voice booms out over the chatter. "Today we're focusing on bracketing everyone. To make it even, we will spar until everyone is sorted into their seed. Tomorrow, top seed faces against the bottom. After that match, winner continues until only one wolf is left. You can withdraw from the competition at any time. Today we are not," he emphasizes, "fighting for first blood. Any hit that draws blood, breaks a fucking bone, or knocks anyone unconscious will count as a strike against the attacker. Three kill strikes against you and you are out. Exiting the circle only counts towards strikes one and two. I am watching," he intones, eyes narrowed, "and I don't fucking like cowards or cheaters."

Standing on either side of our mate, arms crossed over our bare chests, the Brat and I don't flinch at the rules from our new alpha. Our female twitches uncomfortably as she eyes the Brat. We suppress our smile. She is right. Three strikes? The Brat will never get through this without cheating for her. He is too soft with our mate. He refuses to see her spine of steel. We need to win this for her. Make her see how strong and stalwart and true we will be for her forever.

"We begin in three minutes when the buzzer sounds. Good luck."

The Brat catches my eye. We nod. We will fight this as the alphas and betas do, with our female in the center. None of these males will touch her.

The buzzer sounds, its low tone reverberating through the room. Our female breathes in one shallow, sharp breath that screams over the buzzer to our ears. We loathe her fear with every part of us, feet and paws.

Wolves spring into motion. Some are too fast, expending too much energy in their bid to take out their competition. Others move fluidly, with purpose. They are the ones the Brat and I must watch.

Our female hesitates, then springs forward like the dancer she is, to attack a male with his back turned. All over the room, voices bark out names as kill strikes are counted.

She gets her hit in, claws to the back of the male's neck. He whirls around, grimacing with a display of sharp teeth, but our mate dances out of reach as quickly as she darted in.

He keeps his claws in as his strike misses wildly. A good thing, but not a guarantee that this match will stay bloodless. The Brat darts in front of him, grinning madly, slapping the male across his face. It's not a kill strike. It's just amusing.

Laughing, the Brat spins away, openly mocking the males who begin to eye him with dark, hostile gazes. We are impressed. Brat has taken the attention from our mate within minutes of the battle beginning.

"Yo, Ryan. How's your mate feel about the pitiful size of your dick? I would offer to show her a good time, but she's already experienced enough, yeah?" Brat taunts. The male, Ryan, gets a punch in. Not a kill strike, and Brat's mouth turns bloody as he grins. I grab Ryan by his neck, a kill strike, just moments before his name is called for his brutal punch to the Brat's face. Two strikes in just two seconds. The male turns pale and sprints away to find a strong position, but it's too late. He has a target painted on his back.

Five minutes after the buzzer there are only five contenders left. The remaining two stalk Brat. He took too many risks and has a strike. Surging forward with him, we begin our attack on the other contender. He is out in quick succession.

Iliana Thomas.

We spin around with no hesitation, pounding the male into the mat. He touched her, brushed his filthy paw over her slender neck. Our name is called as my fist connects with the male's nose and blood splatters across my chest. The Brat's name is called, then called again. We back away, our eyes searching for our mate, standing safely ten feet away, mouth agape as she stares at the Brat wreaking havoc on the male's face.

The Alpha comes into the circle and drags the Brat off of him. The Brat's claws flash, his mouth hurling vitriol at the male groaning through his broken jaw as he bleeds all over the mat.

The clock shows eleven minutes.

We stand and stare at our mate with untamed hunger while she looks back at us with uncertainty in those beautiful grey eyes.

---

I hate these two. Loathe them and want to lock their balls in a vise. What is with these two?! They're toying with me, dragging out this so-called battle for too long. First of all, Braxton should be disqualified for sending Damien to the clinic. Second, they aren't fighting each other at all. Nope, I'm the lucky female who gets to grapple with them. Third, Sean has only one strike and it was for punching Damien so hard the male flew backward five feet. The petty queen in me is pissed about that.

The clock shows fifty-three minutes, then flashes to fifty-four. Arms wrap around me and I swear, by all that's holy, that I feel Braxton's mouth on the back of my neck. Then, I feel his tongue as he licks me. Licks me.

Iliana Thomas

"Shit, babydoll. Sorry, I just couldn't resist..." Braxton's hands slide down my body before he tears himself away.

Oh, and fourth, now that I'm on a roll, my she-wolf loves grappling. Loves it. Ho.

The initial battle knocked out all the other contenders so quickly that Conner was visibly rolling his eyes on the sidelines. In the past half-hour, my new alpha has eaten lunch delivered by a packmate, read the news on his tablet, and carried on several conversations with different packmembers.

I flip around, only to lose my breath as I slam into a heavily-muscled, bare male chest. My hands reach out to grapple as tingles race up and down my spine. My breath is short, my already-starved lungs panting desperately for air.

Sean is covered in sweat, his torso, arms, and hands gleam with it. My hands slid off of his lubricated skin. I can't find purchase to grapple, and he swiftly takes advantage. One broad leg sweeps me up, jutting upward between my legs to unbalance me. An arm reaches for me and I block it, but I can't stop the other from wrapping around my waist and taking me down to the mat.

A whimper claws up my throat as dark eyes flash in concentration. He's so damn careful, but I'm so damn exhausted! I twist my body, trying to use our momentum against him, but he knows that trick. He knows all of my moves well before I try them.

"Get your hips squared up, first, Daisy," he murmurs to me. His breath is hot in my ear, but he isn't breathing hard. Tears sting my eyes as my body naturally obeys him, my she-wolf panting in lust instead of exertion like she should be. I level my body, then twist. I can't wiggle free. It's futile until he lets me go.

"Good, mate," he says softly again. His body is still flush with mine. Our combined sweat soaks through our thin clothes and seals us together. I know without a doubt if we were naked he would be fucking me into the mat. Probably with Braxton licking me.

Down, girl. Stop it right now, I warn my she-wolf silently.

Sean feels the same way. His breathing is growing heavier. I can feel him jutting, hard right at the center of my thighs. I push and gasp out, "get off!"

Sean comes to his senses rapidly, rolling off of me and springing to his feet. I roll in the opposite direction, groaning internally when Sean takes a battle stance. I can't keep sparring with these two. It's just too much.

I fient uselessly and Sean hits me again. Not hard, but it's enough to knock me down on my knees. A hand touches the back of my neck with a whisper-soft touch and Brax's quiet voice says, "that's three, babydoll."

Thank. The. Goddess. I stand, wobbling on my feet, and limp from the mats without looking at Sean or Braxton. I can hear the males calling out to each other and swearing behind me.

Conner hands me water. "Thank you, Alpha," I say through my panting breaths. His worried green eyes land on me and don't leave, even when the grunts and snarls from the mats become louder and more aggressive.

"Fucker," I hear Braxton sneer in accompaniment to the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Sean growls his response, "you refuse to fight our mate properly." His words end in a grunt of pain. He sounded as if he was saying "our" this time as if he and Braxton were ready to both Claim me...

"You should fight with your balls in vise" Braxton hurls back, stealing my idea. Sean growls and I hear a thud, a pained snarl. "With a pike," Braxton gasps out, "up your ass."

Sean growls something, low and harsh, that I can't pick up even with my she-wolf's ears pricked forward.

"Is Ili on the end of my pike then, prick?" Braxton taunts loudly.

I stare at Conner, my eyes widening. I will not look behind me. I refuse. Conner smiles at me, "you did very well," he says calmly. "You need to work on your core strength."

I nod. I know that. I need to work on my strength, period. I won't ever be able to win against one of the males currently beating the piss out of each other behind me, but I can at least hold my own.

Braxton Grim

Sean is the winner. Big shocker, jerks. Too-la-rah. Which means Braxton is the second and I'm the third.

The speakers cough out static, then, Braxton Grim - disqualified. His name disappears from the scoreboard.

"Aw, fuck," Braxton groans as he reaches my side. "That sucks."

"You sent Damien to the clinic," Conner points out.

"But you waited until now to disqualify him?" I blurt out, still stung at how unfair it all is.

Conner shrugs, "I was hoping someone would get a strike in on Sean," he mutters, eyes narrowed on someone over my shoulder.