บททั้งหมดของ The Alpha King's Breeder: บทที่ 701 - บทที่ 710

MaeveMisty lingers nearby as Ginny, my midwife, rises from between my legs, her face cast in the shadow of the sunset sending golden and crimson streaks of light through the curtains. The snow is melting. Ice thaws on the windows. I relax my legs with a grimace, Misty coming to my side to help me back into a seated position. “So?” Misty asks as Ginny disposes of her gloves. “Is this happening?”“Slowly, but yes. She’s quickening now. Her contractions will grow stronger from her, but they’re still far enough apart that I believe we have some time. A day or so.”“A day?” I whine. Ginny and Misty give me mirrored looks of sympathy, but it’s obvious there’s nothing more that can be done. “Well, that means you have a full day to finally decide what her name is going to be,” Misty quips, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m leaning toward Misty, but I’m sure your Mom and Sarah would beg to differ.”I playfully narrow my eyes. “If she ever makes her arrival, I’ll give her a name. Until then, I’m g

MaeveI can’t breathe through the pain anymore. It grips me, tearing through my back, splitting my spine. I grip Misty’s arms as I howl, tears streaming down my face. Misty’s trembling, holding me upright, her healing powers hard at work mending the bruises and scratches I’ve left on her skin. It’s been four hours of this. Six hours ago, Soren, Blake, and Patton left. Soren told me he'd be back within an hour. Maybe two, at the most. I’ve been counting the seconds.“Maeve, you should try to lie down,” Misty says gently, coaxing me toward the bed, but I furiously shake my head and writhe through another contraction that begins to build at the base of my spine. “No, no, no, no,” I mumble then gasp as the pain curls around me in an iron embrace. “Ginny, how much longer?” Grandma Ella says sternly from my other side as I stand between the two women, my legs shaking, but I’m unable to find the strength to move. I feel Ginny’s hand glide between my legs. The pain is unbearable. I lea

MaeveMonths ago, when the trees were green and summer bloomed all around me, I used my powers to try to spirit home from the Roguelands. My powers did, in fact, take me home, but… not to the home I expected. I should have realized it then. Now, the landscape coming into focus is desolate and barren–an icy hell of wind beaten grass and rough seas… but he’s here. My powers brought me here, back to him, back home.Firestone witches can have mates, and I’ve found mine, but my powers recognized him before I did. I like to think the Goddess had a hand in our first two meetings–that She drew him to that tea shop on the same night as me, seeking quiet companionship. That she urged me in his direction after Brie and Logan’s elopement just so we’d cross paths ago, planting the seed of our bond in both of our chests. Now, my powers have called me home again, but I have no idea where I am. A cold, angry sea laps against a beach of sharp, dark stone. Cliffs overlook the roiling black water, a

SorenPatton limps down the wide, golden hallway somewhere on the fourth floor. He’s dressed in a brand-new tuxedo, something of Jane’s doing, I’m sure, but it fits him like a glove. He checks his watch.Voices drift through the air and the sun beams onto the pristine, crimson carpet. I catch my reflection in one of the many mirrors along the golden walls and stop to adjust my hair, sweeping the chestnut curls away from my forehead. The black-on-black tuxedo I’m wearing was Evander’s idea, even though I could be in sweatpants and a T-shirt right now. The electric hum of the crowd gathered around the palace walls reaches the upper levels of the grand house I now call home, but it’s been like this since the earliest hours of the morning when Maeve sent warriors out into the street to proclaim the birth of the princess. She was, technically, born three days ago, but we’ve had a lot to do since then. Mostly… rest. In fact, Maeve, Fallon, and I haven’t done much but sleep, eat, and sleep

Book 15BlakeI love a straight line. I like a natural, expected curve. I like a perfectly sharpened pencil against graph paper, the rhythmic pull of an eraser swiping away at flakes of lead. I like a solid foundation built on the back of flawless trigonometry–something static, impenetrable, and utterly flawless. I like solid, well-built rooms in shades of muted gray. I like clothes that feel weightless, soft, without a tag scratching my neck or the feeling of fabric rubbing my skin. I like exactly three foods–a rare steak. Nectarines. One specific brand of granola that I’ll stop eating if the recipe even remotely changes. I like a single cup of coffee in the morning–black and bitter. No cream. No sugar. No frills. No color. No emotion. No feeling. Nothing unexpected. Nothing that’ll draw my mind out of the carefully crafted funnel of resistance I’ve crafted where I’m safe and secure, unbothered and unburdened. But… noise…I flinch as another shrill voice wafts from the radio atta