MasukSurviving as a lone wolf was difficult especially when you have so many enemies chasing after you. Clara left her pack at a young age and found shelter in a small city. It was not long enough till the wolves found her and captured her. She was thrown at the feet of the mighty Alpha and was forced into submission
Lihat lebih banyakPeace didn’t arrive with a roar. It came quietly—like the slow steady healing of a scar—until one day the pack woke up and realized the fear that once clung to their bones had loosened its grip and vanished. The once-shattered stronghold of the pack now breathed with life again. Homes rebuilt with fresh timber. Fields replanted. Wolves who once slept lightly with one ear open now laughed without looking over their shoulders. Clara watched it all unfold from the balcony of the Alpha residence—a home that used to feel too large, too cold. Now, sunlight poured in through windows and the scent of cooked meals filled its halls. The house was filled with giggles, tiny footsteps, miniature chaos. Her daughter—Lyra—ran through the garden below, chasing a butterfly that glowed like moonlight condensed into wings. She squealed as it evaded her, then suddenly, the butterfly paused mid-air… almost like the air itself listened to the child’s delight. Magic. Her magic. Awakening quietly, bea
It started small. A flicker of breath against the air. A pulse that did not belong to ordinary blood. The first time Clara noticed it again was during a quiet afternoon nap. Her daughter lay in the cradle, small fingers twitching as if she was dreaming of running through fields she hadn’t yet seen. Clara sat beside her, humming a lullaby the way her mother once had. Then the room changed. The curtains fluttered… though the windows were closed. The shadows stretched… though the light was still. The air shimmered… like the moonlight was pouring itself inside the walls. Clara’s humming faded as her eyes widened. Her daughter’s eyes opened—bright as polished silver. Too bright. For a heartbeat, the baby stared up at Clara with a clarity that didn’t belong to a newborn. Like she was seeing her… truly seeing her. Then, just as suddenly, the silver dimmed back into soft gray-blue. The shimmer faded. The air stilled. The baby yawned. Clara’s heart pounded. She leaned closer an
The world had gone quiet again, but not in the way it once did after war. This quiet was softer. Livelier. Full of heartbeats and newborn laughter. The packhouse, once echoing with orders and battle cries, now smelled like milk, smoke from the rebuilt kitchens, and blooming moonflowers. Wolves passed through the corridors carrying planks, fabrics, and baskets instead of weapons. The sound of hammers had replaced growls. The sound of life returning. Inside the Alpha’s home, Clara sat by the open window, her daughter nestled against her chest. The child was impossibly small, wrapped in white cloth, sleeping to the rhythm of her mother’s heartbeat. Martin watched from the doorway, his usually commanding frame leaning against the wood, quieter now—almost reverent. “She looks like you when you’re pretending to be mad at me,” he said softly. Clara smiled without looking up. “Then you should be afraid already.” He chuckled and crossed the room, crouching beside her chair. His hand brus
The days began to stretch longer. Peace had a strange rhythm — slower, quieter, but never empty. For Clara, it took time to get used to. No midnight raids. No whispers of enemies in the woods. Just sunlight filtering through the trees, the scent of warm bread, and the small sound of Lyra’s laughter echoing through the den. At first, she thought she’d go mad with the stillness. Then she started to breathe again. Martin had changed too. He no longer rose before dawn to inspect the borders; he woke beside her now — sometimes with his face buried against her neck, his breath steady, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. He still carried the weight of leadership in every movement, but the sharpness that once defined him had softened. One morning, Clara found him outside, shirt sleeves rolled up, repairing a section of the fence that had long since been forgotten. “You could’ve asked for help,” she said, leaning against the doorway, a teasing smile on her lips. “I did,”
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