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Chapter Five
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2025-08-04 17:44:01
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REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Seven
When I woke, the world was quiet.The first thing I noticed wasn’t the golden light spilling through the half-drawn curtains but the warmth at my back—steady, rhythmic, grounding. Kristen’s arm was slung around me, his breath grazing the curve of my neck. For a long time, I stayed still, eyes open but mind lost somewhere between dreams and the pull of reality. The silence between us wasn’t heavy; it was the kind of quiet that hummed with what had been said without words.He stirred behind me, murmuring something I couldn’t catch, his fingers brushing against my wrist as if confirming I was still there. And I realized—he always did that. Even in sleep, Kristen searched for assurance, for proof that what he’d finally allowed himself to hold wouldn’t vanish when he woke.I turned in his arms, facing him. His hair was a tangle of dark gold, his lashes still wet from sleep. He looked younger like this, unguarded, as if the Alpha mantle had slipped off his shoulders for a moment. My heart a
REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Six
The house was too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that made every creak sound like a scream.I’d been sitting by the window for what felt like hours, watching the moon drift through the clouds. The glass was cold beneath my fingertips, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw the guard’s face—the lifeless stare, the blood pooling beneath him, the sound of Kristen shouting orders.The scent of smoke and iron still lingered in my hair.The pack house had gone into lockdown, warriors doubled at every post, but none of it soothed the unease crawling under my skin. Whoever did this wasn’t outside the walls. They were here. Watching. Waiting.And I knew something Kristen didn’t.The fabric. That stupid, damning piece of cloth I’d found snagged in the armory. It had Narvia’s scent. Faint, but unmistakable. The same shade of deep red she’d worn that morning, the one I’d complimented absently over breakfast.My stomach knotted. I didn’t want to believe it. Not yet. Not until I understood w
REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Five
ARDEN’S POVThe moon was half-buried behind a bank of restless clouds, and the pack house had finally fallen quiet. From the open balcony outside my room, I could hear the sigh of wind moving through the pines—steady, familiar, yet heavy with something that didn’t belong.Her scent.Lira.It clung to the air like smoke after a fire—sweet, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. I had avoided her since her sudden appearance that morning, pretending she didn’t exist while my chest burned with guilt. But her emotions pulsed through the frayed thread of our bond. Rage. Betrayal. Fear. I had left her behind for good reason, yet the universe seemed determined to punish me for it.When I finally pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night, the world felt too still. I didn’t need to search for her. The bond, faint but stubborn, tugged me straight toward the training ground behind the east wing.She was there—leaning against a tree, silver hair catching the moonlight like strands of fros
REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Four
ARDEN’S POVThe morning sun filtered through the wide windows of the pack house dining hall, spilling golden light across the polished tables and the glimmering silverware. The air smelled of roasted coffee and damp forest earth after dawn’s mist — peaceful, deceptive, almost too still.I was halfway through a cup of bitter brew when the door opened, and peace shattered like glass.She stood there — pale hair tangled from travel, clothes dust-stained, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak. The world narrowed to the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears.Lira.For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe. The mug in my hand tilted, spilling hot coffee over my fingers. Pain brought me back, but only barely.Whispers rippled through the room as the wolves noticed her. Strangers weren’t welcome here, not without invitation, and certainly not ones that carried such fierce energy.Eliana’s gaze flicked from me to the girl and back again, confusion tightening her features. Kristen
REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Three
It was almost midnight when the first whisper reached me.,The packhouse was quiet — too quiet — save for the faint hum of crickets and the wind’s soft breath against the windowpanes. Kristen wasn’t with me; he had been buried in late work at his office, overseeing reports from the southern border. He’d barely spoken at dinner, his mind miles away, his frustration simmering beneath every clipped answer.I’d told him to rest. He’d just kissed my forehead distractedly, muttered something about “unfinished patrol schedules,” and left. That was hours ago.Now, lying awake in our bed, I couldn’t shake the heavy stillness pressing against my skin. The packhouse wasn’t usually like this. Its heartbeat — the laughter, the footsteps, the murmured conversations — had dimmed lately, as though something unseen was coiling tighter around us all.I slipped out of bed, pulling my robe around me, the hem brushing the polished floor as I moved toward the door. Maybe a walk would help clear my thoughts
REBIRTH OF THE STORMWOLF Chapter Fifty Two
The morning air was still thick with the lingering scent of pine and cinnamon rolls when Kristen knelt before me.For a heartbeat, I thought I’d imagined it—the Alpha of our pack, my mate, my fated, bowing to me as though I was someone he needed to convince. The golden light of dawn poured through the glass windows, brushing over his features, softening the hard lines of his face. But nothing could soften the pleading look in his eyes.“Eliana,” he began, voice steady but edged with fear, “let’s have the mating ceremony. This week. Before the full moon.”My heart thudded violently against my ribs.The words should’ve made me happy. Every she-wolf in the pack dreamt of this—of her Alpha choosing her, claiming her before the moon goddess and the pack. It should’ve been my fairytale ending. But something inside me shifted, heavy and uncertain. Because the look in his eyes wasn’t one of love—it was one of desperation.“Kristen…” I whispered, barely trusting my own voice. “This week?”He n
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