로그인Chapter 77: Ronan's POV You see one thing I have learnt about Elara especially as a healer that she is , was that She doesn't Flinch.I've seen it at the clinic, through a window, in those early weeks when I was learning how to be in Silverveil without making everything worse. I'd watch her move from patient to patient and there was something in how she did it, a kind of full presence that didn't leave room for anything unnecessary. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Whatever she was carrying personally got set down at the clinic door and picked up again when she left.And she's doing it now, kneeling in the frost-covered road beside me, her hands working across my left shoulder with a confidence that does not match the tears on her face.She doesn't know she's crying. I'm nearly certain of that. Her voice is completely steady. Her hands are completely steady. Everything about her professional presentation is locked in and functioning a
Chapter 76: Ryker's POV The worse part of this fire wasn't even the heat, it was the smoke though the heat is significant, rolling through the building in waves, pressing against exposed skin, turning the air into something that has to be fought through rather than simply breathed. Not the noise, though the building is making sounds I recognize as structural warnings, groans and cracks that tell you the bones of a place are starting to fail. The smoke is worst because it's invisible and everywhere and it gets into your lungs whether you're trying to prevent it or not, and after about forty-five seconds inside a burning building you stop being able to fully distinguish between breathing and not breathing.We went in because we didn't know.That's the part Elara doesn't understand yet, standing outside watching the door. Mira had Landon. We could see that from the road two figures across from the cottage, one small, both upright. But the bond doesn't work like a headcount. The bond te
Chapter 75: Elara's POV I could see the smoke when before I saw the flames. One second I'm rounding the bend in the cottage road, Marcus's laughter still warm in my memory, and then the wind shifts and the smell reaches me and every instinct I have snaps awake before my brain catches up. I'm running before I decide to run. My clinic bag slams against my hip with each stride, the cold air tearing at my lungs, and then I turn the last corner and the world goes orange. One full wall of the cottage is on fire. Not a small fire. Not something you throw water on and walk away from. The left side of the building — the side with the kitchen window, the herb garden Mom planted the first spring we moved in — is engulfed. Flames race up the wooden siding in jagged lines, smoke pouring upward into the winter dark, and the heat hits me from thirty feet away like a wall. Neighbors have gathered in the road. Someone is shouting for the pack firefighters. Someone else has a bucket that isn'
Chapter Seventy-Four — Elara POV"You're actually eating."I glanced up from my plate. Marcus was watching me over the rim of his water glass with the kind of expression that meant he'd noticed something long before deciding to comment on it."I always eat."He gave me a look. "No," he said. "You consume enough food to convince everyone around you that you've had dinner, then spend the rest of the meal moving vegetables around your plate until somebody gives up trying to make you finish them.""I do not.""You absolutely do.""I resent how confident you sound.""That's because I've known you for years." He pointed his fork toward my plate. "Tonight you've eaten almost everything without being reminded once. That's progress.""It's pasta, Marcus.""So?""So pasta doesn't count."He laughed. "I'm fairly certain every nutrition textbook I've ever read disagrees with you."
Chapter Seventy-Three — Vivian POV Father is in his study when I knock. "Come in." His voice is calm, as if he has expected me all morning. I push the door open and step inside. The study smells faintly of cedar and old paper. Contracts cover half his desk. The fireplace burns low against the winter cold, throwing soft light across shelves filled with leather-bound ledgers and council records. Father doesn't look up immediately. He finishes signing the page in front of him, caps his fountain pen with deliberate care, then finally lifts his eyes to me. "Vivian." His gaze sweeps over my face once. "You've made a decision." I close the door behind me. "The alliance is over." He doesn't react. Not surprise. Not disappointment. Nothing. "The Blackthorn triplets aren't going to choose me." Only then does he lean back in his chair. "And you've accepted that." "I don't have much choice." "No." He folds his hands together. "You don't." For a second, neither of us speaks. Father ha
Chapter Seventy-Two — Rafe POV The hotel suite is quieter than usual. Ryker is already dressed, laptop open on the dining table, coffee untouched beside him as he scans through another Council report. Ronan stands by the window with a mug in his hands, looking toward the village below. No one says much. We've all developed the habit over the past three weeks. Waiting. Watching. Pretending we aren't doing either. I check my watch. Seven forty. Ronan notices. "You've looked at that thing four times in the last minute." "I know." "You planning to wear the numbers off it?" I don't answer. Ryker doesn't look up from his laptop. "Leave her alone if she's still sick." "I'm not going to bother her." "You say that every morning." "Because it's true." Ronan glances over his shoulder. "Is it?" I meet his eyes. "I walk her to work." "You follow her to work." "I walk beside her." "Against her wishes." "Sometimes." A corner of Ronan's mouth lifts. "You know that's a terrible defens
Chapter 2“Mom… why doesn’t my dad want me?”The question hit me like a silver bullet to the chest. I froze in the middle of chopping vegetables, the knife hovering above the cutting board as my six-year-old son, Landon, stood in the doorway of our cozy kitchen, his small backpack still slung over
Chapter 1“You belong to us tonight, little omega. Try not to scream too loudly.”The words still burned in my ears as I shoved open the heavy oak door of our small cottage, the night air clinging to my skin like a second, filthy layer. My legs trembled with every step, thighs aching, core throbbin
Chapter 4“Mom, please… just keep walking.”My voice came out as a broken whisper, barely audible even to my own ears. Landon’s small hand felt impossibly fragile in mine, his fingers sticky from the dried blood on his knuckles. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet any of their gaz
Chapter 3“Take it back!” Landon’s furious shout cracked through the air the second I stepped into the principal’s office. My son stood rigid in the center of the room, small fists clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his knuckles and a fresh bruise blooming on his cheekbone. Opposite him,







