บททั้งหมดของ Alpha’s Obsession : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 128

The dawn came slow and soft, spilling gold through the windows like the sky itself was exhaling after holding its breath all night.Clara stirred beneath the blankets, her body aching in ways she couldn’t name. The air smelled of earth, herbs, and faint moonlight. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Martin — slumped beside her bed, his head resting on his forearm, exhaustion carved into his face.For a long time, she just watched him breathe. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched every few seconds, as though he was still fighting something even in sleep.“Martin,” she whispered.His eyes flew open instantly, wild and alert. But when they landed on her, all that sharpness melted into relief so deep it nearly undid him.“You’re awake,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Clara—”She reached up, cupping his cheek. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “I think… it’s over.”He let out a shaky laugh that sounded half like a sob, then pressed his forehead ag

The rain stopped two days after the Blood Moon, as if the skies themselves had decided to rest. By then, the pack house no longer smelled like smoke and iron, but of earth and new timber. Wolves worked shoulder to shoulder, patching walls, clearing debris, and replanting the fields that had been trampled by war. The rhythm of rebuilding became its own kind of music — hammers thudding, laughter rising, paws shifting across wet soil. From the porch, Clara watched them with a calm heart. Her recovery had been slow but steady. The healers insisted she rest, yet she often found herself drifting outside just to see everyone — to remind herself that the world was still moving, that it hadn’t stopped in fire and loss. Lyra lay sleeping in the crook of her arm, bundled in pale cloth that smelled faintly of wild mint and moonflower. The faint pulse of her tiny heartbeat was enough to anchor Clara to the present. “Are you supposed to be out here?” She turned at the sound of Isreal’s voice.

The days began to stretch longer. Peace had a strange rhythm — slower, quieter, but never empty. For Clara, it took time to get used to. No midnight raids. No whispers of enemies in the woods. Just sunlight filtering through the trees, the scent of warm bread, and the small sound of Lyra’s laughter echoing through the den. At first, she thought she’d go mad with the stillness. Then she started to breathe again. Martin had changed too. He no longer rose before dawn to inspect the borders; he woke beside her now — sometimes with his face buried against her neck, his breath steady, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. He still carried the weight of leadership in every movement, but the sharpness that once defined him had softened. One morning, Clara found him outside, shirt sleeves rolled up, repairing a section of the fence that had long since been forgotten. “You could’ve asked for help,” she said, leaning against the doorway, a teasing smile on her lips. “I did,”

It started small. A flicker of breath against the air. A pulse that did not belong to ordinary blood. The first time Clara noticed it again was during a quiet afternoon nap. Her daughter lay in the cradle, small fingers twitching as if she was dreaming of running through fields she hadn’t yet seen. Clara sat beside her, humming a lullaby the way her mother once had. Then the room changed. The curtains fluttered… though the windows were closed. The shadows stretched… though the light was still. The air shimmered… like the moonlight was pouring itself inside the walls. Clara’s humming faded as her eyes widened. Her daughter’s eyes opened—bright as polished silver. Too bright. For a heartbeat, the baby stared up at Clara with a clarity that didn’t belong to a newborn. Like she was seeing her… truly seeing her. Then, just as suddenly, the silver dimmed back into soft gray-blue. The shimmer faded. The air stilled. The baby yawned. Clara’s heart pounded. She leaned closer an