Fated to the Alpha–And His Triplet Brothers

Chapter 77: Burial

**~ Cyrius POV ~**

Day three.

It’s been three days of searching for Dahlia...and still, she’s nowhere to be found.

I’ve followed traces of her magic. Faint trails, flickers in the air, whispers in the wind. They always lead to something—a burned leaf, a twisted sigil etched into stone but never to her. Every time I think I’m getting closer, it all disappears like smoke.

And to make it worse... I’m traveling with babies.

No one warned me how exhausting this would be. No one said anything about diaper changes, sleepless nights, and random crying fits over absolutely nothing.

I can’t even remember the last time I slept for more than two hours. My back aches. My eyes burn—my patience... thin.

But still...I keep them close.

I’ve grown fond of them. Strangely.

Heather, for one, has a personality already. She doesn’t like being fed while lying down. She’ll scream bloody murder unless I hold her upright, facing me. And then there’s her brother still nameless, still observant. He doesn’t cry much unless she does, or when he’s hungry. He stares a lot. Like he’s thinking. Judging me.

We’re still in New Orleans. I know it’s dangerous. I should have fled by now. But something in my gut tells me Dahlia is still here. Her tracks though faint are rooted in this city.

And surprisingly... everything is quiet.

Cayden and Caspian haven’t launched a full-scale search yet, or if they have, they’re doing it quietly. No bounty hunters. No scent trackers. No wolfs clawing at my heels.

Just silence. Just me and the babies.

Like now.

I sat under a tree near the edge of the French Quarter, worn down and tired. The twins were curled against me...Heather was still wide awake, tugging at my hair like it was her toy, and the boy, already fast asleep in the crook of my elbow.

The breeze was warm. The streets hummed in the distance. For once, things were... still.

And then I heard voices.

A group of men passed nearby. Their conversation was light, casual, and I wouldn’t have paid them any mind if not for one word.

"Marcus."

My head snapped up. That name...

That was it.

That was the name Dahlia had mentioned to me when I first woke. Through my pain, through the haze of resurrection, she’d whispered a name..Marcus. I’d been struggling to remember it since. But now it echoed, loud and clear.

And then I heard the rest.

"Yeah, they’re burying him today. Alpha Cayden killed him and his last kid... brutal."

"Very brutal, to think he was the pack’s former beta."

My chest tightened. My pulse froze.

Killed?

Marcus... is dead?

hear more. My entire

the rest of his family got locked up. The girl too. They’re all done for. Alpha ordered a public burial. Guess it’s happening in a few hours him and that

stomach. Everything around

faces from the slanting ash-yellow sunlight. Heather whined in protest, but I ignored it. My

Marcus was dead.

That someone named Marcus would help me get what I wanted. He knew things, secrets about the

now... he

Murdered by Cayden?

gently against my chest, but I cradled them tight. I couldn’t let them see too much. Couldn’t let the sun get

My mind spun wildly.

Cayden

know that got

The men were heading toward a small square near the edge of town—a public cemetery built for pack warriors and honored elders. I followed carefully, staying among the shadows, avoiding

out a soft coo, still

her little red eyes glinting like dying embers. She didn’t know what was going on. Neither did her brother. But they were part

reason all of this was

Marcus had died for them or Hazel then

to see

hear what people were

maybe... just maybe, someone at that funeral would know where Dahlia had

me to a barrier right at the center stone of New Orleans,

was

of wolves or

to see what was happening. The tension in the air was sharp electric. The type

A burial.

the center, two wolves emerged from the fog..dragging out not one,

Heavy. Covered in claw

other... smaller.

My throat tightened.

It was obvious.

larger was Marcus.

a chill run

were crying, their hands over their faces as they muttered prayers. But

spat

alive, even in death!"

worked with that witch! Thank the Goddess she’s dead now

My heart froze.

Wait....What?

figure who’d spoken. An older man, wrinkled and bitter, stood with his chest

steps were slow, deliberate,

I asked

was working with Dahlia. That serpent.

breath caught in

Dahlia. Dead.

no, no....It

locked, knees

rise again. That I’d become Crescent. That I’d get back everything that was stolen from me. That these

they’re