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You’re exhausted, my love. Let me take care of you.
Last Updated:
2024-12-21 19:30:35
Latest chapter
The Triplet's Bullied Mate Whispers in the Hall – Pack Reaction to Lyra’s Power
Elowen's POV The next morning, the grand packhouse, usually a bastion of calm and order, buzzed like a disturbed hive. A palpable tremor of unease, mingled with a surging tide of fervent curiosity, rippled through the gathered members. The word had spread faster than wildfire, carried on the invisible currents of pack telepathy and hushed whispers. Some claimed to have caught the impossible golden light through the upper windows of the nursery, a beacon of otherworldly power. Others swore they had felt a subtle tremor in the very air—like a soft, resonant thunder without a storm, a deep hum that resonated in their bones. But one thing was certain, undeniable, and spoken of in hushed, awe-filled tones: the Luna’s daughter, barely three months old, had done something no newborn of their kind ever had. She had glowed. “Elowen?” Mira, the head omega, a woman of gentle wisdom and quiet authority, approached me cautiously in the bustling hallway. I was rocking Lyra in my arms, attempting
The Triplet's Bullied Mate The Night Lyra Glowed
Elowen's POV It began as a deceptively peaceful evening, one that lulled the senses into a false sense of ordinary tranquility. The persistent rain of the afternoon had finally come and gone, leaving behind a crisp, clean scent of wet earth mingling with the sweet perfume of blooming petals from the rain-kissed gardens. The packhouse, usually a bustling hub of activity and conversation, was unusually quiet—almost too quiet, a hushed anticipation hanging in the air. The only sound breaking the serene stillness was the soft, contented cooing of Lyra from her cradle, nestled by the dancing flames of the nursery hearth. I had just stepped out of the nursery, intending to retrieve a fresh cup of chamomile tea, having asked one of the gentle omegas, Elara, to keep a watchful eye on Lyra while I was gone for mere minutes. Ranon, ever the diligent Alpha, was in the training yard, his powerful form likely cutting through the lingering dampness of the air. Alaric, the meticulous strategist,
The Triplet's Bullied Mate Lyra – 3 Months Old: A House Reborn
Elowen's POV The ancient stone manor had never felt more alive. It wasn't because of the increased number of formidable guards now stationed at every entrance, their presence a silent, unwavering promise of protection. It wasn't even because of the blooming gardens that had seemingly burst into vibrant, impossible life since Lyra’s birth, as if infused with a new, potent magic. No, the true transformation, the undeniable vibrancy that now hummed through every stone, every beam, every shadowed corridor of the packhouse, was the sound of laughter—deep, unfiltered, joyous peals that echoed from dawn till dusk. And it all, unequivocally, came from her. Lyra. She was three months old now, a miraculous miniature of our combined love. Her cheeks were soft and plump, dimpling with every giggle. Her lashes, impossibly long and dark, curled delicately over her luminous eyes. And her laugh… gods, her laugh… it was a pure, melodic sound that could halt even the fiercest Alpha mid-command, disa
The Triplet's Bullied Mate A Quiet Night – Just Them and Lyra
Elowen's POV The moon, a luminous disc of pearl, hung low in the velvet sky, casting long, ethereal silver shadows that danced and shifted across the bedroom walls. The only sound in the vast, quiet room was the soft, comforting crackle of the hearth fire, its flames a warm, flickering counterpoint to the cool moonlight. That, and the gentle, impossibly soft breaths of our daughter, a tiny symphony of new life. Lyra lay nestled in a small, exquisitely carved cradle beside our grand bed, a delicate masterpiece of dark wood and soft, organic cotton. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath, a perfect rhythm that seemed to orchestrate the entire room. Her little fingers, miniature and perfect, twitched in her sleep, curled instinctively around the edge of a pale blanket, hand-stitched with intricate patterns of golden thread that shimmered faintly in the dim light. I sat propped against the headboard, my legs curled to one side, tucked comfortably beneath me. My soft, w
The Triplet's Bullied Mate The Pack Meets Lyra
Elowen's POV The morning sun, a benevolent cascade of light, poured through the towering stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, painting the ancient stone floor in a breathtaking mosaic of vibrant colors—shards of ruby red, sapphire blue, and molten gold. The grand hearth, at the far end of the hall, blazed with a comforting roar, casting a warm, flickering glow across the vast room as the pack gathered in hushed, expectant waves. Whispers, soft as the rustle of autumn leaves, filled the air. A palpable sense of anticipation hummed beneath the surface, mingling with quiet joy and respectful curiosity. But overriding it all was an undeniable current of reverence, a deep, shared acknowledgment of the sacred moment unfolding. At the very center of the hall, bathed in a pool of multi-colored light, I sat on a raised platform, meticulously cushioned with layers of opulent silks and soft, inviting furs. My body still ached, a deep, persistent throb from the monumental effort of labor,
The Triplet's Bullied Mate The Birth of Lyra
Elowen POV The night was strangely quiet, a profound stillness that settled over the ancient Western Forests. It wasn't the kind of silence that felt empty or desolate—but the kind that hummed with a palpable anticipation, like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for a profound shift. The wind, usually a boisterous companion, barely moved, stirring the leaves with only the gentlest whisper. Even the stars felt closer, glowing with an intensified, low silver light above our secluded clearing, as if leaning in to witness a sacred event. And beneath them, within the sacred confines of the birthing tent, crafted from thick, fragrant canvas and imbued with ancient wards, I labored. The pains, once manageable waves, now crashed over me with relentless force, each one pulling me deeper into the raw, primal dance of creation. The birthing room itself was a haven of warmth and comfort, meticulously prepared by the pack’s healers. It was lit with low, golden lanterns that cast f
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