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Chapter Thirty-eight

作者: Milly Ly
last update 公開日: 2026-07-01 20:06:53

Phantom’s POV

The note from my mother burns in my pocket like a brand. I’ve read it twice, each word carved into me: Canum has gathered his supporters. The nobles demand a trial. They insist judgment must come from peers, not from an upset and confused nephew wearing the crown.

I know what it means. I know what it will cost. But tonight, I refuse to let it steal her smile.

The morning begins with sunlight spilling across the coast. I wake early, restless, and plan every detail. If Maryel
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  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-eight

    Phantom’s POV The note from my mother burns in my pocket like a brand. I’ve read it twice, each word carved into me: Canum has gathered his supporters. The nobles demand a trial. They insist judgment must come from peers, not from an upset and confused nephew wearing the crown. I know what it means. I know what it will cost. But tonight, I refuse to let it steal her smile. The morning begins with sunlight spilling across the coast. I wake early, restless, and plan every detail. If Maryelle must return to Rome for the trial, then before that shadow falls, she deserves a day that feels like ours alone. I take her to the cliffs first. The sea crashes against stone, spray catching the wind. She laughs when it hits her face, hair whipping wild, eyes bright. She grips my hand, tugging me closer to the edge, daring me to feel the rush with her. I watch her, memorizing the sound, the sight, the way she throws her arms wide as if daring the ocean to take her. I want to hold that mome

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-seven

    Maryelle’s POV I close my eyes, chasing silence. My breath steadies—inhale, exhale—until the palace walls dissolve, until the noise of reporters and Phantom’s silence fade. I tell myself this is meditation, a way to stop overthinking, to quiet the storm. But the quiet doesn’t stay empty. It thickens. A hum rises beneath my skin, metallic and alive, vibrating through bone. My pulse stutters. The air feels charged, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Then I see it. A figure forms in the dark—tall, gleaming, forged from shadow and steel. Its body is both armor and wound, edges sharp, surface fractured, light glinting off seams that look like scars. Its eyes burn with a cold fire, not cruel, but ancient. “You called me,” the voice reverberates, not spoken but felt, echoing inside my chest. “I didn’t,” I whisper. “I was only trying to clear my head.” “You are me. I am you. There is no clearing without facing.” My throat tightens. “What about her? My werec

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-six

    Phantom’s POV The conference room hums with fluorescent light, the buzz overhead mixing with the restless murmur of reporters. The air is thick with perfume, ink, and anticipation. Cameras flash like lightning, each burst ricocheting off the paneled walls, momentarily blinding. The microphones on the long table hiss and crackle, amplifying every cough, every shuffle of paper. I stand at the podium, no longer a prince answering to another’s crown—now king. Every word I speak carries the weight of my people, every silence is dissected. Calm is my armor, restraint my weapon. “King Phantom,” a voice cuts through the noise, sharp, insistent. “Can you confirm who your chosen mate is?” The air tightens. Reporters lean forward, pens poised, cameras ready to capture the moment. My heartbeat is steady, deliberate, a drum I refuse to let them hear. I let the silence stretch, savoring the tension. Then I allow a faint smile to curve my mouth. “The revelation will be made when it’s time.

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-five

    I place a tray of Halo‑Halo on the table, the colors gleaming like jewels in glass. Another of my grandma’s recipes, perfected by Marja, who insists dessert is the glue that holds family together. The sweet chill of shaved ice and fruit seems almost ironic, considering the heat of the questions hanging in the air. “May we please get to the part of this evening where one of you explains who or what originally created werecreatures?” Anna asks, her tone impatient but curious, eyes flicking between us like she’s waiting for someone to finally spill the truth. “Once upon a time, there was a—” “No you don’t,” Shaw cuts in, interrupting me with a smirk. “This isn’t a fairy tale, so it shouldn’t be told as one. Which is why I’m telling her the story.” “And you think you can teach Anna about the history of werecreatures better than I can? You’ve been a werecreature all of what… five minutes? You know what, Shaw? Go ahead. Impress us with your epic storytelling skills.” I cross my arm

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-four

    By late afternoon, I try calling Phantom. Once. Twice. Three times. Each ring stretches like a blade across silence, cutting deeper when no answer comes. My pulse thrums, uneven, tethered to a voice that refuses to break through. Shadows curl at the edges of my thoughts, whispering possibilities I don’t want to name. Breath catches in my throat, fragile, as if the air itself resists filling my lungs. I tell myself he’s busy, that Rome emergencies can’t wait. But the quiet on the other end feels heavier each moment I don’t hear from him. I toss my phone onto the bed, muttering, “Fine. Ignore me. I’ll just host a supernatural dinner party and not overthink about you.” The sarcasm doesn’t soothe the ache, but it makes me laugh, and laughter is better than panic. The sound echoes in the empty room, brittle but defiant, like I’m daring the silence to break. By evening, I overhear Shaw and Israfil bickering outside the mansion Phantom had the keys sent to me before he left. The note sai

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Thirty-three

    Phantom’s kiss still tingles on my lips as I step out of the car, his gaze burning into my back until I vanish into the chaos of school. My pulse thrums, tethered to him even as lockers slam, sneakers squeak, and gossip ricochets down the hall. After last night, the noise feels cartoonish, like the world forgot how heavy everything feels when you’re caught between kingdoms and secrets. Shadows cling to the corners, whispering what I can’t say aloud. The classroom hums with chatter, voices overlapping like static. I spot Israfil and Anna, my pulse skipping, breath catching in my throat. “Seriously, people, I miss one day of school and all hell breaks loose?” I announce, referring to the witch‑made earthquake I heard rattled the halls while I played hooky. Apparently, that’s what tipped my mom off to my absence. I stride toward them, nerves buzzing under my skin. Training this summer was not only in another state but left me with little free time. Months have passed since I’ve se

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Twenty-two

    Vahlia and I finish breakfast and step outside, sunlight spilling across the drive. I freeze, breath hitching, when I see a black sports car parked at the curb—Phantom, shirtless, wiping it down. The gleam of polished metal mirrors the sheen of his skin, every movement deliberate, controlled, like

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Nineteen

    My phone buzzes, slicing through the quiet morning. Outside, cicadas drone in the Georgia heat, their rhythm pressing against the stillness. Al squints at the screen from her bunk bed, hair tangled from sleep. “Who’s calling you at seven in the morning?” Israfil’s name glows. My chest tightens. M

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Eighteen

    My brain is supposed to be sharp, advanced—werecoyote instincts honed to perfection. But when it comes to matters of the heart, I’m just as foolish as any teenager. Proof? Edison’s clammy palms sliding across my back. “I know this is all for show, but I like you,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky w

  • The Alpha’s Forbidden Coyote Mate   Chapter Seventeen

    My stomach claws at itself, twisting, tearing. Acid scorches my throat; I retch into porcelain, praying for escape from my own body. The sound ricochets—metallic, hollow—like the palace itself is listening, every tile a witness to my collapse. Breath splinters, pulse hammering bone, desperate to br

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