All Chapters of CHOSEN FOR THE ALPHA: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Lyon's POVSome nights don’t feel like night at all.They feel like something holding its breath.That’s what the world feels like after I leave Theressa’s porch—quiet in a way that isn’t peace, still in a way that isn’t calm. The street behind me looks ordinary, washed in the soft yellow glow of streetlights, but everything inside me is wired so tight my bones ache with the strain.A stranger stood at her window.A stranger touched the silence she sleeps in.A stranger sent a message meant to provoke me.And it worked.But just because they got a reaction doesn’t mean they got what they wanted.I walk down the empty street slowly, letting the cold air settle into my lungs. Not to calm myself—there’s no calming what’s moving through me—but to sharpen it. To turn the anger into something I can use.Rage is a messy thing.Precision is lethal.Zeo is quiet inside me.Too quiet.His silence means he feels what I feel:Tonight is not random.Not accidental.Not curiosity.Tonight was a tes

Lyon's POVSilence can be peaceful.Stillness… never is.Tonight, the stillness settles so thick around Theressa’s room that even my breathing feels too loud. I stay seated in the chair across from her long after my explanation ends, long after her heartbeat steadies, long after the tremor in her voice disappears.She’s calmer now.But I’m not.The weight of everything I just told her sits in the air between us—heavy, new, dangerous. And though she tries to hide it, I can feel the fear she hasn’t voiced yet, tucked low beneath her ribs.Not fear of me.Fear for herself.Fear of what’s coming.The thought tightens something inside me.“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.Her voice is small—not weak, just unsure of the shape of her new reality.I meet her eyes.“I will be,” I answer. “Once I know you’re safe.”She shifts on the bed, pulling her knees up slightly. Her hair falls over her shoulder, softening her expression. But her gaze never leaves mine.“What happens now?” she whispers.A

Lyon's POVThere is a particular kind of darkness that settles only when the world has decided to watch you without blinking, the kind that doesn’t hide anything but instead exposes whatever lies beneath the surface. The night surrounding Theressa’s house has shifted into that kind of darkness, no longer an ordinary absence of light but something more deliberate, like the whole street is waiting for my next move, as if the quiet itself has become a participant in the tension pulling tighter around the edges of her home. I can feel it in the subtle changes of the air, in the way the cold breeze drags across the ground with a weight that doesn’t belong to wind, in the faint tremor of instinct warning me that the forest behind the neighborhood isn’t resting anymore but observing, calculating, learning.I stand beneath her window for several minutes, listening to the murmur of her breath moving gently through the thin wall, each exhale slow and careful, the way someone breathes only after

Lyon's POVThere is a strange kind of clarity that comes only after a long stretch of tension, the kind that makes every detail feel sharper than it should, the way the night air tastes colder when you’ve spent too much time listening for footsteps that never fully reveal themselves. Sitting inside Theressa’s room for those few minutes earlier did not calm me the way I hoped it would, because everything about her—her voice, her fear, her attempt to stay steady—reminds me that she is now positioned at the center of a world I never intended to pull her into. And yet, here she is, handling it with more honesty than most wolves I’ve met in my life.But honesty does not erase danger.I step outside again after she asks me to stay only for a little while, and I stay close enough that she can hear my presence if she listens for it. The porch supports my weight easily as I lean against the pillar, arms crossed, gaze tracing the length of the street with a patience I’m not sure I can maintain

Lyon;s POVThere’s a particular silence that begins to settle around a house when fear has already passed through it once, a silence that isn’t restful but cautious, the kind that stretches itself thin across every shadow as if waiting for the world to decide which direction it wants to lean next. I stay in the chair beside Theressa’s bed long after her breathing evens out, long after her trembling stops, long after the nightmare’s residue fades enough that her chest rises and falls with something closer to calm. She’s asleep now — not deeply, not peacefully, but enough that exhaustion finally pulled her under.For the first time tonight, the room no longer feels like it’s suffocating.But the world outside hasn’t softened.I lean back, elbows on my knees, letting silence settle over me in slow waves. I can feel Zeo pacing beneath my skin, not frantically, not with panic, but with a controlled tension that rises whenever danger shifts closer. The house is steady, the yard is quiet, an