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Chapter 175: The Quiet in Between the Storm

Auteur: Solo J wright
last update Dernière mise à jour: 2026-03-04 00:17:23

SHARON’S POV

The second morning after the summit felt strangely soft, like stepping into someone else's peaceful dream. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window in wide, warm bands across the quilt. It settled over my legs and the gentle curve of my belly. I stayed on my side for a while, one hand resting where the baby moved in slow, lazy kicks, as though it were waking up slowly too.

Morris was already downstairs. I could hear the quiet clink of a spoon against a mug, the soft hiss of t
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  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 175: The Quiet in Between the Storm

    SHARON’S POV The second morning after the summit felt strangely soft, like stepping into someone else's peaceful dream. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window in wide, warm bands across the quilt. It settled over my legs and the gentle curve of my belly. I stayed on my side for a while, one hand resting where the baby moved in slow, lazy kicks, as though it were waking up slowly too. Morris was already downstairs. I could hear the quiet clink of a spoon against a mug, the soft hiss of the kettle heating water. That was an ordinary and comforting sound, the kind I had stopped expecting to hear again after the night everything nearly burned.I let the stillness wrap around me a little longer. There were no echoes of shouts in the halls, no rattle of chains, and no sister glaring at me with eyes that promised violence. Just sunlight warming the sheets, the faint smell of coffee rising from below, and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.When I finally pushed back the covers and

  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 174: Night Without End

    MORRIS’S POV Moonlight cut through the narrow gap between the heavy velvet curtains and fell across the quilt in a single, unyielding stripe, like a blade laid flat and waiting. I stared at it until my eyes ached, willing the silver line to creep, to blur, to prove the night was still crawling forward. It refused. The room held its breath, Sharon’s slow, even breathing beside me, the faint groan of old timbers settling deeper into the earth, the far-off hoot of an owl that carried too much weight to be casual. Every sound felt deliberate, as though the house itself were listening.But sleep wouldn’t come. Every time my eyelids dropped, Sandra was there, teeth bared in that feral, laughing snarl from the summit hall. The way her voice cracked on Sharon’s name, not in grief but in promise. The absolute conviction in her eyes as the chains yanked her backward: this isn’t the end, it’s only intermission. I could still see the precise angle of her head when she spat the words “sister” l

  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 173: The Road That Leads Nowhere 

    SANDRA’S POVThe wagon reeked of moldering hay, axle grease, and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood someone had tried and failed to scrub away. Underneath it all was me: three days of unwashed skin, fear-sweat turned sour, and the faint coppery bite of split lips that never quite stopped bleeding. Every rut in the road drove the iron cuffs deeper into my wrists. The metal had warmed to body temperature by now, but it still felt like a living thing, greedy, patient, chewing.They hadn’t bothered blindfolding me. No hood, no sack over the head. That was deliberate. The High Alpha wanted me to memorize every mile of this exile: every twisted pine, every smear of mud, every fading glimpse of the jagged skyline that used to mean home. Jordan Pack receded like a wound slowly scabbing over. I could still taste the throne on the back of my tongue, iron and salt and the ghost of power I’d almost swallowed whole.Three days. Three nights chained to the bench like cargo. The guards barely spo

  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 172: The Last Shadow

    SHARON’S POVJordan Pack council chamber smelled exactly the way I remembered: cedar oil, old parchment, beeswax candles, and the faint metallic bite of wolf anger held barely in check. I stepped through the tall double doors with Morris at my side, his hand rested low on my back, it was not possessive, it was just there, steady. The same hand that had held me together when I screamed for dead children who weren’t dead. The same hand that would steady me now.The long table stretched down the center of the room. Twenty-three elders were already seated. Their faces I hadn’t seen in years, some looked older, while some looked exactly the same. All of them watched me walk the length of the aisle like I was a ghost wearing someone else’s skin.Sandra sat at the far end in chains. She had iron cuffs on wrists and ankles. Her black gown was replaced with plain gray prisoner linen. Her hair was loose and tangled. And her eyes were red-rimmed but burning. When she saw me she jerked against th

  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 171: The Fall of the False Queen

    SANDRA’S POV The moment Sharon dropped the hood I felt the air leave the hall. My face went from smug to blank in half a heartbeat. My lips parted, but no sound came out. My eyes locked on Sharon’s, her wide, glassy eyes stared back at me. My pupils were blown black with disbelief.She took one step forward in one pace like a ghost. “Hello, sister.”The word cut through the sudden silence like a thrown knife.I jerked as if I’d been by Sharon. One hand flew to my throat, as my fingers clawed at the silver torque. My chest heaved once, twice. This was a dream. This has to be a dream, it certainly has to be. Please this can’t be happening here. “No,” I whispered.She took another step forward like the ghost of her that traumatised me every single night. I stumbled back into the nearest table as a goblet tipped and dark wine spilled across the white cloth like blood.“No,” I said again, louder this time. “You can’t do this here, please. Don’t do this. Let me go, I didn’t kill you. I

  • THE PREGNANT SHE WOLF   Chapter 170: The Summit of Ashes

    SHARON’S POV I woke Darius with a bucket of ice water.He came up choking, lungs seizing, body jerking hard against the ropes that cinched his wrists to the iron chair legs. Water streamed down his face, soaked his shirt, and dripped onto the bare concrete. The single bulb overhead swung lazily, throwing his shadow long and jagged across the wall. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, then froze when he finally focused on me. Morris stood three paces away, arms folded, face carved from stone. Kelly leaned against the far wall, chain coiled loosely in one fist, expression calm in that way that always made people sweat.Darius tested the ropes once. Found them solid. Then he laughed—a short, cracked sound that died fast.“So it’s real,” he rasped. “You’re real.”“Very.” I stepped closer. “And still breathing.”He coughed water from his lungs. “Thought the ghosts finally finished me off.”“They almost did.” I crouched so our eyes met level. “But you’re here. Talking. That mea

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