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Chapter 30: Night Whispers and Names Lost
Last Updated:
2025-09-01 20:08:42
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Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 55: One Last Pact
When the crumbs are gone and the morning celebration dissolves into tired laughter and soft snores, Rowan drifts toward the door, needing the cold air, needing space to think. He glances back—Thalia is moving through the crowd, saying a quiet word here, touching a shoulder there, but her eyes keep returning to him. When she finally joins him on the snow-dusted porch, it feels like the world shrinks to just the two of them.The woods are impossibly still, birdsong drifting through pines rimed in gold. The pack, for once, is truly at peace—no howling, no demands. Only the hush of survival, and the morning light.Rowan’s heart pounds so loudly he thinks she must hear it. This is it, he thinks. She’s going to ask for her freedom, and I will give it, because I swore I would. Because I love her too much not to.But he cannot quite bear to look at her, so he studies the way sunlight melts the frost from her hair, the steam of her breath, the small scars on her hands from too many battles fou
Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 54: Dawn
When it comes, dawn arrives not with a shout, but a hush—the kind of silence that means every living thing is listening, waiting to see if the world will dare turn again.I stand in the churned snow outside the hall, Thalia leaning against my side, her breathing slow but steady. The pack and our odd new family are gathered all around: wolves sprawled with bellies pressed to earth, witches and humans with faces streaked by tears and soot, clutching each other, too spent for words.At first, it’s only a faint thinning of the night. The blackness loses its edges, colors seep back into the world—bruised blue, lavender, a strange golden green that feels like hope you can taste. The mist drifts through the trees, no longer heavy, but ribboning, silver-shot and curling. Frost on the grass sparkles pink and orange, lighting up in cracks and corners as if stars have fallen and gotten stuck on the ground.There’s a smell—the wild, electric scent of pine needles after snowmelt, the promise of ne
Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 53: Through the Dark (Rowan’s POV):
I’ve faced nights that felt endless before. Nights when the woods were thick with blood and the howls of enemies closing in, when every instinct said to trust no one but the teeth at your side. But I have never, in all my years as alpha, felt anything like this—like the world itself was shrinking to a single, held breath, and something outside wanted to crush it out of us.My pack stands at my back, but the truth is—I don’t know if I can save them this time. My hands are steady, but my heart feels thin, stretched out across a chasm of fear and hope I can’t quite cross.And then Thalia moves—head high, eyes burning, mouth pressed into a line I know means she’s stubborn enough to bite fate if it comes for her. She reaches for her magic and something more—something old, not hers, not quite mortal.Suddenly, her voice is everywhere. Not her voice, exactly, but her will, threaded through us like a second pulse. Her words echo inside my skull, warmer than fire, cutting through the cold like
Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 52: Songs for the Dawn
The world beyond the doors is nothing but shadow and cold, a night so deep it seems to swallow even the idea of morning. But inside the hall, the fire is no longer in the hearth, but in the hands and voices of the living. Thalia feels herself swaying on her feet, the drum of so many hearts beating like a war-song against the dark.The Hollowing claws at the edges, but it cannot divide them. Not now. Their laughter is a barricade, their stories a shield. The old tales say the dark is not evil, only empty—hungry for what it lacks. But here, in the circle of warmth, there is no lack.The doors shudder. A wind howls, mournful, full of longing and rage. The air thickens, pressing tight to every chest, but hands stay clasped, arms wound together. Rowan’s hand is in Thalia’s, his grip the anchor she needs. Mara stands at her back, solid and certain, her laughter rising above the howl.Come outside, Thalia hears herself think, the words like a spell she barely knows how to shape. Let it see i
Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 51: The Light we Carry
The darkness presses in, thick and absolute. For a heartbeat, it seems as if even memory has been swallowed—no name, no future, only the sound of frost crawling and the breathless dread that comes with knowing you are prey and cannot run.But then—something shifts. In the pit of her being, Thalia feels the tangled knot of her own magic, battered but stubborn, and beneath it, the wilder, storm-wracked root of her mother’s power. Fyre’s magic, always too hot, too sharp to handle, is suddenly cool as water, open as a door thrown wide to the dawn.She doesn’t know how she does it. Only that she must.Thalia closes her eyes. In the place where her power lives—bone, blood, memory—she stretches herself out, threads her will through the hall. She becomes the air between bodies, the shiver in every spine, the yearning behind every clenched jaw. She becomes the small hope hiding in the oldest heart.Hear me, she whispers, but not with her voice. Hear me now. I know it’s dark. I know you’re afra
Witch Among Wolves - The Alpha's Enemy Bride Chapter 50: Patterns in the Black
It’s strange what you notice when the world is ending.Not the big things, like the wolves pressed in tight, Rowan’s jaw clenched in silhouette against the last sickly glow from the hearth, or Agatha’s endless muttering as she circles the children, handing out hope like crusts of stale bread. It’s the little things that catch in your teeth and won’t let go: the taste of metal on your tongue, the way the frost creeps in not just at the door but through the cracks in your mind, the way even magic feels thin as old bone, brittle, barely enough to keep a spark alive.I sit on the floor, back pressed to the wall, knees tucked to my chest. If I focus, I can almost ignore the press of bodies—fur, flesh, fear all mixed together. The air is thick, heavy, and every breath tastes of smoke and despair. Someone’s crying, muffled in a stranger’s coat. Someone else whispers a prayer that stumbles at the same spot every time.I try to count the heartbeats in the room, just to distract myself. It’s im
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