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Chapter 189

Author: Staecy
last update publish date: 2026-04-26 00:44:23

Ronan's POV

The days after the war have their own texture.

Not the urgent, running texture of crisis. Something slower. The texture of people moving through the work that comes after, which is less dramatic than fighting and requires more of a different kind of strength. Wounds healed in the healer's wing and wounds less visible healing more slowly everywhere else. Prisoners tried with the careful formality of a process that needed to be seen to be just, not only to be just. The dead mourned
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  • Wanted By The Alpha And His Brothers   Author’s note

    To Every Single Soul Who Read This Story…I don't even know where to begin.When I first sat down and typed the opening lines of Wanted by the Alpha and His Brothers, I had no idea what this journey would look like. I had a story in my heart — one filled with tension, desire, danger, and a woman caught in the middle of forces bigger than herself — and I chose to share it with the world. With you. And now, here we are, at the end of it all, and I am so overwhelmed with gratitude that I genuinely needed a moment just to collect myself before writing this.Thank you.Those two words don't feel like enough. They never do when you mean them this deeply. But I want you to know that every single time you clicked to the next chapter, every time you stayed up past midnight because you had to know what happened next, every time you smiled, gasped, rolled your eyes at the drama, clutched your chest, or screamed at your screen — there was always a ghost smile on my lips. This story wasn't always

  • Wanted By The Alpha And His Brothers   Epilogue

    Lana's POV Three Years Later Nobody warned me that the hardest part of surviving a supernatural war would be the pack council meetings. I am sitting in the third row of Red Creek's great hall, which Bastien has converted from a place of dramatic confrontations and emotional reckoning into a place of administrative business, which is somehow both less terrifying and more exhausting than everything that came before. He is at the head of the table with the expression of a man who went from rogue brother to Alpha of one of the most significant packs in the supernatural world and still cannot fully believe that this is his life now. Neither can I, honestly, and I have a front row seat. "The border revision proposal from the Night Fang delegation," Bastien says, consulting his papers with the focused attention of someone who has discovered, to his own great surprise, that he actually enjoys the logistics of governance, "requires a response by the new moon. Thoughts?" Idris, seated to

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  • Wanted By The Alpha And His Brothers   Chapter 189

    Ronan's POV The days after the war have their own texture. Not the urgent, running texture of crisis. Something slower. The texture of people moving through the work that comes after, which is less dramatic than fighting and requires more of a different kind of strength. Wounds healed in the healer's wing and wounds less visible healing more slowly everywhere else. Prisoners tried with the careful formality of a process that needed to be seen to be just, not only to be just. The dead mourned in the full ceremony that the days of fighting had not allowed. Finn's burial was quiet. I chose that deliberately. Not to diminish him, but to give the small number of people who genuinely grieved him the space to do it without performance. My mother cried. I held her and let her cry and did not explain the complicated feelings happening in me simultaneously, because they did not require explanation. They only required to be felt, which I did. Jessica remains in her cell. She has stopped spe

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    Lana's POV Ronan’s wrath was a beacon in the crowded room, a silent thunderclap that made the glittering chandeliers feel dim. My breath caught, my steps faltering for a fraction of a second. But Bastien’s arm under my hand was rigid, a reminder of the role we had to play. I couldn’t afford to be

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    Lana's POV The scene in my kitchen, once a place of tentative peace, now felt like a staged tableau of the deepest betrayal. The air, which had been buzzing with their shared laughter, turned brittle and sharp as spun glass. I stood in the doorway, my keys digging into my palm, my heart a cold, h

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