All Chapters of The Alpha King's Breeder: Chapter 861 - Chapter 870

Book 18SkyeThere’re only two types of people who would ever remotely consider calling Lunaria home.The wolves of the small towns and rural pack territories that dot the eternally icy, always dark frozen wasteland so far north of Crescent Falls that the sun only rises a few inches over the horizon for three months out of the year… and people like me–intellectuals. Researchers. Souls chasing the unexplainable with new scientific methods and theories even magic can’t decipher. People who haven’t been outside in weeks because the daily negative sixty-degree low is cold enough to freeze eyeballs in less than ten minutes. Crazy people. I digress.I love it here. The darkness. The stars. The endless, flat landscape of ice against the wash of the aurora, painting the sky in shades of emerald and pale pink every night… and day, in reality. It’s fall, a week before the official start of the semester, and already the sun has failed to rise for several days, barely poking above the horizon, gi

SkyeDr. Scarlett, also known as Alex, moves into the crowd, but that doesn’t stop me from unintentionally catching his tall, imposing figure in my peripheral vision. He’s taller than everyone here, and his hair is, in fact, so black it’s nearly blue–absorbing every fractal of light in the room like a black hole.Dr. Gerralde turns to me, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a short, sharp chuckle. “Whenever I think the physics department is full of antisocial weirdos, I am reminded that the biology department might actually be worse off than we are in that regard.”“He’s far too young to be a department head,” I rush out, but then quickly reel myself back in and clear my throat.“Not a department head–yet. Although, I know the university president has him pegged as the future dean of the biology department as long as he doesn’t go into industry. He’s a professor, and he has been for a few years now. He is leading his own lab, though.”I’m not sure why I want to know, bu

AlexToby grunts with effort as we move the patch in place. It’s nothing more than a sheet of steel to frame one of the smaller tunnel entrances in the lab, creating an archway leading down into the glacial, blue-tinged darkness below.“Shit!” Toby huffs.“Just hold it in place a moment longer,” I say through gritted teeth, my gloved hands slipping over the metal while trying to get a good grip. The whirling screech of the drill echoes all around us as I drive several screws through the steel and into the ice. Sensors secured to the tunnel are supposed to catch cracks before they spread, and so far, none of the sensors are going off.“One more,” I rush out, breathless, and I send the last screw through the metal. Toby eases the pressure before letting go entirely, his hands falling to his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.Puffs of cold mist leave my mouth while I examine my work and check the sensors.“Well,” Toby remarks, chuckling. “Good thing the dean doesn’t know about this

SkyeAbby slouches in one of the firm, slightly worn armchairs in my office, picking fluff from the seams while I hurriedly answer several emails. She tilts her head, watching me like a hawk, her bright, nearly-white blonde hair falling over her shoulder in a platinum sheet. I glance at her, huffing a breath, and ask, “What?”“You’re freaking out.”I slowly close my laptop, sliding my hands over its outer shell. “I am not.”“You are. I can see all the arteries in your neck. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles scowling like that. You’ll be fine, Skye. Jeez, you’ve lectured before!”“Not at the graduate level.” Even the mention of it has my chest tightening to the point of pain. Abby ignores my comment and takes several seconds to swivel side to side in the chair, readjusting her position, the shiny yellow fabric of her parka crinkling with every move she makes. The sound gnaws at my nerves, and she knows it.I roll my lower lip between my teeth and let it go with a pop. “Can I ask

AlexWalls of ice reflect an icy blue, turning the scratch paper littered over my metal desk a hazy cerulean. My gloved hands steadily manage a pen after years of practice, but many of my lab assistants and postdocs still grumble about my nearly unintelligible handwriting. In my defense, I had to learn an entirely new written language in my early twenties. I shift my weight on the stool beneath me and brace my elbows on the desk. Behind me, the main area of the lab is alive with murmurs, the hum of lab equipment and heaters, and the crunch of threaded boots over the sleek floor of ice. I look back down at my notes. They’re nothing major, just personal commentary on a recent discovery in a core of ice brought up from nearly two miles below the surface–the deepest we’ve ever been able to drill without something going wrong. The chemical makeup wasn’t anything unexpected–water, of course. A few traces of the same glassy, dust-like sediment we found in another core a few feet above thi