All Chapters of The Alpha King's Breeder: Chapter 991 - Chapter 1000

IanOakley moves from one end of the cottage to the other, tidying little sticks and tossing rocks in a pile near what can be construed as the front door. I’m leaning on the stone wall I imagined I might turn into a hearth one day during my ridiculous day dreams, watching her spiral. “Can we please talk about this, Oakley?”“There’s nothing new to say. You’ve already made it clear I cannot stay here with you and that you’re going to reject me. Maybe you’re right, and that’s the only way to save the both of us, but I just–” She skirts past me and neatly sets her armful of twigs on the ground just beyond the cottage rubble. “Don’t touch those. I’m going to make a broom.”“Okay,” I breathe, reaching to catch her arm before she manages to sneak past me again, but I miss, and she goes back to whatever she’s doing. Clearing her mind. Keeping her hands busy while the world burns down around us. I get it. It’s probably why, after returning from the creek, I gathered several logs and started

NaomiOakley fainted again. I can’t say I’m surprised. It didn’t take much to have her lay prostrate in Ian’s lap after just the mention of cutting her afflicted arm off, which is not happening. Not if I have anything to do with it. That marked the end of the conversation. Fraser, to his credit, simply pursed his lips while the rest of us dove head first into a rather righteous argument about our next steps, and then he put us in our places by offering warmth and food. None of us could argue against the fact that we’ve all spent several days cold and wet in the woods and were slowly losing our minds. Ian took Oakley to some room in what I’m now realizing is Fraser’s private wing of this place. His home. His lair. Fennec couldn’t convince Wren to come with him, to do what, I didn’t ask, but instead disappeared into the corridors and adjoining rooms and hasn’t been seen since we shared a quiet, exhausted supper of vegetable soup, cooked by Juliette because Fraser doesn’t eat. Or, at

Oakley“Hi there. No, you’re all right.” Juliette presses against my chest. I ease back against cushions that smell and feel unfamiliar. I have no idea where I am or why she’s here. “Everything’s fine.” A cool rag presses against my forehead, biting through heat so fierce I wonder if my skin is still attached to my body or has melted off entirely. Somewhere in my hazy vision, a door opens and shuts with a gentle click, and a shadow crosses the room to stand at Juliette’s side. “It’s over. Ian will be on his way shortly, I think.” Fennec gripping Juliette’s shoulder comes into view while my vision slowly focuses. I’m in a luxurious four-poster bed with a canopy of thick, creamy white velvet. Now, I remember coming here. I remember being so exhausted that Ian had to help me into a large copper bathtub. I remember him massaging my stiff fingers, so careful of the burns that are still healing. I remember a nightgown falling over my skin and being laid in soft, clean sheets. Then, ever

NaomiMy hand is the size of a cantaloupe but burns a bright, furious red. Little splotches of the deepest blue fan across my knuckles, and even the slightest twitch of my fingers sends a sharp, blinding pain ricocheting all the way up to my shoulder. Fraser adjusts his glasses, pressing them high against his straight, regal nose. Somewhat straight, I realize, since this is the closest I’ve been to the man so far. A faint scar stretches across the bridge of his nose, highlighting a kink from a very old break. The three deep gashes on his face are new and bold, even in the dim, fiery lantern light, but already skillfully tended and pitched together by bandages, like he’s had this happen to him before. We’re in his kitchen, I believe. It is a kitchen, but dated by several hundred, if not thousands, of years. There’s no refrigerator or dishwasher. A large wash basin and water pump serves as a sink, and the fireplace stretching from wall to wall is stained a deep blackish-gray from cent

OakleyCrisp morning air carries the scent of lavender and rosemary. I tuck my sheets in tight, carefully laying out the quilt I just finished and then fluffing my pillows. It’s a familiar morning routine that now feels totally foreign. I used to be able to skip over the squeaky floorboards, having memorized which ones make the most noise, but now it’s unfamiliar, like I’ve forgotten the very layout of my room. I gather my sweat-soaked sheets from the floor and walk into the hallway to toss them down the laundry chute, where busy hands that don’t belong to me will clean them within the hour, and once the sun sets and the laundry is gathered from the line, they’ll be left in front of my bedroom door to repeat the process.Four nights of nightmares. Four nights of thrashing and waking up in a cold sweat. Four nights of echoing pain radiating from the void in my chest where the mate bond used to be.Four nights of fresh scars that continue to carve my skin raw. So, I wear long sleeves