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Where it’s just us, firefly.
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2025-04-24 00:42:50
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The Triplet's Bullied Mate It’s a claim.
Elowen’s POV The air shifted, a subtle, insidious ripple that wasn’t of the wind or the night. One moment, I was sparring with Ranon, my violet-blue witchflame dancing around my fists, the satisfying ache of exertion a familiar comfort. The next, a cold, foreign tendril of magic snaked into my core, coiling around my newfound power. My knees buckled, the strength draining from my limbs as if the earth itself had betrayed me. Ranon, ever vigilant, caught me instantly, his powerful arms tightening around my waist, pulling me against his warm, solid form. “El? What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice was a guttural rumble of concern, his golden eyes searching my face, already sensing the unseen threat. My skin prickled, a thousand tiny needles piercing my aura. My magic, usually a vibrant, eager presence, recoiled, pulling in on itself, a frightened beast retreating into the depths of my soul. I could feel it in my blood, in the ancient, burning runes etched into my arms – a searing disco
The Triplet's Bullied Mate The Ritual of Claiming
Caelum's POV The hidden cave reeked of blood and old spells, a potent, metallic tang mingling with the sharp, acrid scent of ancient, forbidden magic. It was a scent that clung to the damp stone walls, seeped into the very earth, and permeated my skin. A sickly, fireless glow illuminated the intricate carvings etched across the rough stone. These weren't the weak symbols of blessings or protection; no, these were symbols of possession, of absolute control, and of unmaking. A dismantling of what was, to reshape it into what I desired. I knelt before them, shirtless, my powerful frame a stark silhouette against the eerie luminescence. My pale skin was smeared in ash and binding ink, ancient substances that crackled with dormant energy. My silver eyes, usually cold and calculating, were locked onto the flickering glyphs, burning with a fervent, almost manic intensity as I whispered in the old tongue—words not meant for human or wolf ears, words that vibrated with a primal authority. T
The Triplet's Bullied Mate Whatever Caelum was planning…
Elowen's POV Ranon knelt beside me, ignoring Theron, brushing my hair from my face with a gentle hand, his touch a profound comfort. His gaze was filled with a deep, concerned tenderness. “You alright, El? Any serious damage?” I nodded, breathless, but something inside me was shifting. The anger, the fear, the doubt—it was all coalescing into a sharp, focused determination. “I’m fine. I… I want to go again.” The words were raw, laced with a new kind of hunger. He helped me to my feet, his strong hand supporting my elbow. Then, with his free hand, he drew a symbol on my shoulder with his fingertips—one of the complex, ancient runes from his family, a wolf’s head entwined with a crescent moon. A grounding mark, a protection. His magic seeped into my skin, a warm, resonant hum, and I felt it—his presence, his strength—rooting me like an unshakeable anchor. “Let go, Elowen,” he whispered, his golden eyes holding mine, filled with an unwavering trust. “Let the fire take you. We’ll
The Triplet's Bullied Mate She’s pushed far enough.
Elowen’s POV The training grounds had never looked so alive. Or maybe that was just me. The familiar clearing, usually a simple patch of earth, now pulsed with a vibrant energy, bathed in the sharp morning light. The air shimmered with an almost visible heat, a subtle distortion that spoke of raw power. My own magic swirled just beneath the surface of my skin, restless and eager, pulsing like a second, wild heartbeat in sync with the ancient rhythm of the earth itself. I could feel its pull in my fingertips, a tingling sensation, in the marrow of my bones, a deep resonant hum, and even in the subtle way the wind responded to my breath, swirling around me in gentle eddies. Alaric stood across from me, a formidable silhouette against the rising sun. He was shirtless, his skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, every muscle defined. His swords were strapped to his back, silent witnesses to our ritual. Today wasn’t about weapons, about physical combat, or even about wolf magic. It
The Triplet's Bullied Mate Witchblood to wolfblood.
Elowen's POV Alaric stepped forward, his expression softening as he reached out and cupped my cheek, his touch reverent, almost trembling. His thumb stroked my skin, as if assuring himself I was real, tangible. “You’ve changed, El. Profoundly. But you came back. You found your way back to us.” His voice was thick with relief and profound affection. “I will always come back to you,” I whispered, meeting his gaze, the words a sacred promise. Ranon, unable to contain himself any longer, pulled me into his arms before I could say anything else, his hug crushing, almost painful in its intensity, but utterly vital. His face buried in my hair, his voice a rough, desperate whisper in my ear. “Don’t ever walk into the fire without us again, Elowen. Don’t ever face such darkness alone. Not again.” “I had to,” I murmured into his broad chest, holding onto him tightly. “But I’m here now. I’m truly here.” Theron, ever the tactician, reached for my hand, holding it gently between his, his
The Triplet's Bullied Mate A prison of his own making, fueled by his betrayal.
Elowen’s POV I stepped through the mist of the ancient forest just as the first fragile fingers of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and lavender. The air was cool and damp, clinging to my skin, but beneath it, a new heat radiated from within me, a subtle hum of power that had not existed before. The winding, shadowy path that had led me down into the earth, into the heart of my ancestors’ exile, had closed behind me. The coven, the women of the Broken Flame, had faded into memory, their solemn faces and burning eyes etched onto my soul, their ancient chant still echoing faintly in the deepest chambers of my mind. But I wasn’t the same. I was fundamentally, irrevocably changed. Something ancient and wild burned beneath my skin now, a living fire that pulsed with a rhythm alien yet utterly familiar. The symbols, the intricate runes etched onto my arms during the ritual, glowed faintly even in the weak, nascent light of morning, shimmering with an inner luminescence. They pulsed
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