Amara's POV The great hall of the Alpha mansion pulsed with an almost tangible electricity, a joyous current that flowed through every wolf gathered within its ancient walls. Lantern light, warm and golden, chased away the lingering shadows of the day, bathing the space in a comforting glow. Laughter, unrestrained and exuberant, mingled with the lively strains of pack music, creating a symphony of celebration. Food, piled high on long, rustic tables, and amber wine flowed freely, a feast in honor of victory. But more than the warmth, the food, or the music, it was the looks they gave me that truly transformed the atmosphere. The pity that had once flickered in their eyes, the doubt that had clouded their expressions when they spoke of the broken Omega, was utterly gone. Replaced instead by an overwhelming respect. And awe. A silent, profound reverence that made my skin prickle with its intensity. One by one, pack members came to me, their eyes shining with genuine admiration. Some
Amara's POV My punch cut him off. Not a wild swing, but a precise, focused blow. My fist connected with a sickening crack right across his jaw. Cheers exploded from the crowd, a roaring wave of validation that vibrated through my very bones. It wasn't just applause; it was a collective exhalation, a release of pent-up fear and hope. Killian stumbled, shocked, his hand flying to his jaw. His eyes widened, truly seeing me for the first time, seeing the power in my stance, the fire in my gaze. “That broken girl,” I hissed, my voice low and dangerous, each word punctuated by a step closer, “would’ve run. She would’ve hidden. She would’ve broken. But I’m still standing. Still fighting. Still here. And I’m going to make you regret every single word.” He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage, and in one furious, guttural cry, he shifted—bones cracking, muscles tearing, fur ripping through his skin until a massive, grey wolf, eyes burning with untamed savagery, stood before me
Amara's POV The air in the pack training arena crackled with an almost tangible electricity, a raw, primal energy that pulsed with the rising moon. Pack members lined the edge of the clearing in a wide, silent circle, their murmurs spreading like wildfire as the moon climbed higher into the velvet sky, casting an ethereal silver light over the packed dirt and dewy grass. Warriors, elders, even the youngest trainees—everyone had come. They huddled together, a sea of expectant faces, their eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and fervent hope, all drawn by the ancient pull of a challenge, waiting to witness the reckoning. But I wasn’t here for them. Not primarily. I was here for me. For every terrified, broken version of myself that Killian had tried to destroy with his words, his sneers, his crushing judgment. For the girl who once believed she’d never be enough, never worthy of love, never strong enough to stand on her own. And for the Luna I had become, forged in the fires of p
Amara's POV The moonlight, a silent, ethereal presence, spilled through the tall, uncurtained glass windows of the triplets' shared bedroom, painting the dark wood floor with shifting patterns of silver and shadow. The room, usually filled with the vibrant energy of three powerful Alphas, held a profound stillness, a hushed anticipation that mirrored the anxious flutter in my own chest. I stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around myself, not from the chill of the night, but from the immense weight of tomorrow. I watched the ancient trees sway rhythmically in the gentle breeze, their shadows dancing like silent specters. Tomorrow, I would face Killian in front of the entire pack. Tomorrow, I’d either prove I deserved this hard-won title, prove my strength and worth, or risk losing everything I had just begun to call mine—my place, my mates, my very identity as Luna. The stakes felt impossibly high. A quiet rustle behind me, the softest sound of fabric against skin, signaled
Amara's POV “You’re powerful, Amara,” he murmured, his breath warm at my ear, sending shivers down my spine despite my exertion. “But raw power, untempered by precision, can be wasted. Precision makes power lethal. It turns a strong punch into a knockout blow. It turns a simple block into a disarming maneuver.” His hands moved along my arms, guiding my blocks, adjusting my grip for a throw. “Let me help you make it deadly,” he finished, his voice a low, seductive promise. We practiced throws, intricate grappling techniques, joint locks that seemed impossible, and, crucially, breath control—a calm core in the storm of combat. Caden was patient, unyielding in his expectations, and his sharp eyes saw every subtle flaw, every almost-perfect movement. He drilled me relentlessly, forcing me to internalize the techniques until they were instinctive, until they flowed like water. He wasn’t just training me to win a fight. He was preparing me to survive. To overcome. To emerge victorio
Amara's POV The scent of damp earth, pine, and the sharp tang of sweat hung heavy in the air. The combat grounds were a secluded haven, hidden deep within the ancient, whispering woods—a clearing carved out by the triplets years ago for their brutal war games, their grueling pack trials, and their most private Alpha training sessions. Today, however, the arena was mine. Every scuff mark on the packed dirt, every worn grip on the hanging ropes, felt infused with purpose. And I was preparing. Preparing for the moment I would finally silence the boy who once made me feel like nothing, who had whispered doubts into my ears until they became a roar. “Start with me,” Jaxon rumbled, stepping forward into the center of the clearing, his powerful frame radiating an almost palpable aura of raw strength. He wore only combat trousers, his magnificent torso bare, rippling with muscle. I nodded, rolling my shoulders back, feeling the familiar pull of power warming my blood, a subtle hum be