Rejected and Claimed by her Alpha Triplets

Chapter 315 - some cell

315

~Fridolf’s POV

I woke up to the sound of the wind hitting the roof again. The house creaked like an old man’s bones, and I sat up slowly, every part of my body aching. My wound still burned, but I was healing , slowly, painfully. I looked around at the small wooden room that used to belong to the old man. Poor fool. He had no idea what kind of beast he’d given shelter to.

Now he was buried up in the mountains, under the cold rocks where no one would find him. I didn’t enjoy killing him... but I had no choice. I needed this place, and he saw too much.

I pulled the blanket off me and looked at the bandage on my ribs. It was soaked through again.

"Damn it," I muttered, ripping it off. The wound had started to close, but it still stung every time I moved. I had to live. I had to get strong again. I had revenge to take.

I dragged myself to the small table where I’d laid out some herbs I’d gathered the day before. "Let’s see," I said under my breath, mixing them in a bowl.

"If I get this wrong, I might just poison myself."

I chuckled a little at my own joke, though my throat was dry. I chewed a piece of bitter root, hissed at the taste, and started grinding the rest into paste. I spread it across my wound and groaned. The pain made me bite my lip, but it was the kind of pain I welcomed; it reminded me I was still alive.

After that, I sat back and leaned against the wall, staring at the empty space across from me. "Damon. Rowan. Kael," I said each name slowly, like a curse. "You thought you could kill me. You thought your little army could end me. But I’m still here. Still breathing."

I clenched my fist. "You took everything from me. My men. My title. My respect."

It’s been two days. I spent my mornings pushing my body past its limits. At first, I could barely even lift myself off the ground. My arms shook, my ribs screamed with pain, and every breath felt like fire in my lungs. But I refused to stop. I’d drop to the dirt, gasping, then force myself up again.

"Again," I’d whisper to myself, dragging in air through my teeth. "You’re not dead yet."

The first day, I couldn’t do much, just a few push-ups before coughing up blood. I’d lie there on the floor, spitting red and staring at the ceiling, feeling the anger boil inside me. Not at the pain, but at the weakness. I used to be strong. I used to make warriors kneel with just my voice. Now I could barely stand. It made my chest burn with shame.

But slowly, my body started to obey me again. My muscles trembled less, the bleeding stopped, and the air in my chest grew lighter.

When the pain got too much, I’d walk outside into the woods behind the cabin. I’d lean on trees, breathing heavily, dragging one foot after another. The smell of earth and rain filled my lungs. It was quiet there, too quiet. Sometimes, I’d talk to the silence, just to hear a voice.

"You’ll see," I’d mutter, staring at nothing. "I’ll come back. And when I do, they’ll regret not finishing me properly."

At night, when the cold crept in, I’d sit by the fire and clean my wounds with the herbs I’d gathered. The sting of the medicine kept me awake. I liked that. It kept the memories away.

Then one evening, I walked to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. It was dusty, old, and full of scratches. I wiped it with the back of my hand and stared. For a long time, I didn’t even realize it was me staring back. My hair was tangled and dirty, my face marked with scars. My eyes looked darker, emptier.

I decided to improvise and put more beards on my natural one. I made it wild, thick, and uneven.

I leaned closer, touching the scar across my cheek. "So this is what I’ve become," I said quietly. "Not a man. A ghost."

Then I smiled, a small, wicked smile. "Perfect," I whispered. "No one will recognize me either.

That night, I made my plan. I’d disguise myself, become someone else, an old man maybe. Just long enough to walk into the pack again. I needed to see what they were up to. Needed to know how close they were to finding me.

I pulled out the old man’s clothes from the trunk, tore a few pieces, rubbed some dirt on them, and tied a scarf around my head. Then I looked at myself again. "Hah," I laughed softly. "You’d never think I was once a feared man."

I packed a few herbs, my knife, and a small pouch of coins I’d taken from the man before burying him. The road to the pack was long, but I didn’t mind. I wanted to see their faces again. I wanted to breathe their air, just to remind myself what I’d lost and what I would take back.

By the time I got near the pack’s borders, I could hear the usual noise of guards talking, the sound of children playing, and the smell of food from the marketplace. Everything looked so peaceful. I wanted to burn it all down.

I walked slowly, bent over like an old beggar. I muttered to myself, dragging my feet to make it real. When I got to the market square, no one looked at me twice. Good. I listened. That’s all I needed to do.

Two women were talking near the well.

"Did you hear what happened to Beta’s daughter?" one of them asked.

My ears perked up.

The other gasped. "You mean Belinda? Of course I did! She’s in prison. They say she betrayed the Alphas. Helped Fridolf escape."

I smiled under my scarf.

"She used to walk around like she was a queen," the first woman said, shaking her head. "Now look at her. Shameful."

I chuckled. "Ah, Belinda... my sweet, foolish tool."

They didn’t notice me. I moved closer, pretending to pick something up from the ground.

"They’re probably torturing her right now," one of them whispered. "Trying to make her confess where he is."

"Confess?" I said under my breath. "She doesn’t know a damn thing."

I let out a dry laugh. "Now look at her. Probably rotting in some cell."

The thought made me smile. She deserved it. I had used her, yes, but she thought she was using me too. She thought she could betray me and walk away free. Stupid, emotional girl.

I walked away before they noticed my grin. My plan was working without me lifting a finger. Damon and his brothers were wasting their time on her. That gave me more time to move.